Swampland: James BurtonJames Burton
James Burton Swampland Interview
Guitar Man: An Original Six-String Journeyman
by James Calemine
March 2007
Born in Shreveport, Louisiana, on August 21, 1939, guitarist-extraordinaire James Burton began playing music professionally at 14. He recorded the inimitable solo on Dale Hawkins’ hit “Suzie Q” at 15. By the time he was 16, Burton operated as the guitarist in Ricky Nelson’s band. Burton played in Nelson’s band for eight years. In 1964, he started the Shindogs—the houseband on the TV show Shindig—with Delaney Bramlett.
To even seasoned guitar legends, James Burton’s sound remains unmistakable. Burton went on to record with over one thousand artists, some of which included, Herb Albert, Buffalo Springfield, Hoyt Axton, J.J. Cale, Johnny Cash, Judy Collins, Nat King Cole, Willie Nelson, Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, the Everly Brothers, Elvis Presley, Merle Haggard, Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris, Waylon Jennings, Jerry Lee Lewis, Billy Joe Shaver, Bobby Darin, Joni Mitchell, Phil Ochs, Buck Owens, Glen Campbell, George Jones, Dean Martin, Randy Newman, Sammy Davis, Jr., Frankie Lane, Burl Ives, Charlie Rich, Duane Eddy, Townes Van Zandt, Henry Mancini, Leon Russell, Hank Williams, Jr., John Denver, Ronnie Hawkins, Ry Cooder, Ronnie Milsap, Del Shannon, Jimmie Dale Gilmore and many others.
The great southern music fan and Rolling Stones guitar legend Keith Richards inducted James Burton into the rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2001. James Burton’s guitar style inspired the “chicken-pickin’” sound. Burton’s spirit and talent remains a graceful presence on any music scene.
From March 31 through April 2, 2007, James Burton will host the second annual James Burton International Guitar Festival in Shreveport, Louisiana. The purpose of this festival serves to provide local kids with musical instruments and opportunities. Some of this year’s guests include Dickey Betts, Ed King, Chris Isaak, Rick Derringer, Lee Roy Parnell, The Cox Family, Doyle Dykes and Rick Vito.
In this Swampland interview, Mr. Burton discusses his early musical aptitudes and various career moves leading all the way up to his latest Guitar festival. Swampland’s proud to present this insightful conversation with a living guitar god.
What was your first guitar?
Well, my first guitar was actually an acoustic guitar. I’m not even sure the name of it. Unfortunately, I don’t even have it. I didn’t keep my first guitar. It was something like a Regal. A Silvertone Regal. It was in that category. I’ve got some old pictures at home that I think I have with that guitar.
How old were you then?
Oh, I started playing when I was 12 or 13. I got my acoustic when I was 12.
At 15 you were already recording the solo on the Dale Hawkins hit, “Suzie Q”.
Yeah, I actually started playing when I was 13. My mother and dad bought me my first electric—Fender Telecaster—a blonde body, a beautiful, two-pick up, Telecaster.
Do you still have that one?
Oh yeah. They bought me my first guitar and I started playing. I went professional when I was 14.
How did you land the Dale Hawkins gig?
Well, it was just a blessing from God I guess. It was like he just put it in my hands and said ‘Here, play.’ It was just incredible. When I was in school, I won a couple of talent contests. Then I went out to one talent contest that they had in Bossier City at a night club. So my dad drove me over there and walked up to the guy and said ‘My son plays guitar and he’s 13 years old. Is it okay if he plays the talent show?’ The guy said sure. I won first place that night. I won first place in three talent contests and then I went to cutting records when I was 13 and 14. I think I played on Merle Kilgore’s first record. Then when I recorded “Suzie Q” I was 15—around 1953 or 1954.
I’m sure “Suzie Q” opened a lot of doors for you.
It did. Well, when I was working with Dale Hawkins in a blues band we cut “Suzie Q” and a few others with him.
What were your early musical influences?
Oh, you know—the old blues stuff like Chuck Berry, Lightnin’ Hopkins, B.B. King, Bo Diddley, Elmore James, John Lee Hooker…stuff like that. Country music was my first love. I learned from those old country albums.
I interviewed Charlie Louvin two weeks ago. Did you listen to the Louvin Brothers music?
Yeah. I loved the Louvin Brothers music…Charlie and Ira…
So, “Suzie Q” got your name around…
Yeah, and when I was 14 I played guitar on the Louisiana Hayride at the Municipal Auditorium in downtown Shreveport, Louisiana. I was playing with guys like Floyd Kramer and Jimmy Daze on steel guitar. I played behind guys like George Jones and Billy Walker—all the great music acts that came through there. Then I went to work with a guy named Bob Luman. He had a pretty hot band. I cut several records with him, and we played on the Hayride as well. But I didn’t play the Hayride the same time as Elvis. Elvis would come and play the Hayride and our manager—Horace Logan—would send us off on tour. When Elvis would go on tour we’d come back and play the Hayride. I knew all those guys. You know, D.J. Fontana—the drummer—is from here in Shreveport. I met Elvis in 1969 when I put his band together. But I knew Scotty Moore, D.J. Fontana, Bill Black and all those guys. They used to come and sit in with us. Bob Luman and I toured with Gene Vincent, Jerry Lee Lewis…ah, there’s so many…
You’ve played on, last I could check, at least 400 artists albums. Is that an accurate count?
Well, it’s a lot more than that. I’ve got a discography some place at home where the list goes forever. I’ve played with artists like Nat King Cole, Ray Charles, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Frankie Lane, Burl Ives…the list just goes on. That’s not counting the Monkees, Glen Campbell, Charlie Rich, Buck Owens, Merle Haggard, Elvis, Emmylou Harris, Hoyt Axton-I played on almost all of his albums…
Like the Louvin Brothers, I discovered your playing through the music of Gram Parsons. Could you talk about him a little bit?
Well, Gram…I played on a Byrds record. Gram was a singer in the Byrds. Gram and I were good friends. We used to go out to the Palomino Club in North Hollywood and jam. He’d always call, ‘Man, I’m going out tonight. I need you to come play guitar with me.’ We’d go out and play and he’d get up and sing. One day I got a phone call from Merle Haggard. Merle said, ‘Do you know this guy Gram Parsons?’ I said yeah I know Gram. He said, ‘Well, is he an okay country singer?’ I said yeah, he’s a good singer. Merle said would you be interested in co-producing a record with me on him? I said, Well, sure, I’ll do that. Then about two weeks go by and never heard back from Merle, so one day Gram called me and said ‘James’—he jumped through the phone man—‘I got a deal. My manager Ed Tickner got me a deal on Warner Brothers.’ He said, ‘We’re going in the studio.’ So, we went in the studio and started cutting. We cut a couple of albums real fast. That’s where I met Emmylou. Then when Gram passed away then Ed Tickner took over Emmylou and got her the same deal with Warner Brothers. So we went to the studio and started recording with her. It was a hot band. Did you see that Gram DVD?
Oh yeah. It was great to see you play that riff to “Ooh Las Vegas”. You covered some ground before meeting up with Gram. Nat King Cole and Ray Charles are heavy company…
Oh yeah. I did the Andy Williams show with Ray Charles. I’ve recorded with so many artists it’s frightening.I’ll throw out a few names of other artists you’ve performed with such as Ricky Nelson. You were all over his music…
Yeah, I met Ricky when I was 16. When I went to work with him—I guess I was with him for about eight and a half years. I think I was with him up until about '64 or '65. Then we did a TV show called Shindig. That was me and Delaney Bramlett—we were the Shindogs—me, Delaney, Julie Cooper, Chuck Blackwell and Glen Hardin.
I’ll throw out another favorite of mine you played with, Townes Van Zandt.
Townes Van Zandt, yeah I cut records with him. I remember Townes Van Zandt real well. He was a good writer. I played a lot of Dobro stuff in his music. He was a sad writer. He kind of reminded me of Hank Williams.
They died the same day, January 1. Talk about working with Johnny Cash.
Well, Johnny called me to do a TV show and that’s when I made my exit from Ricky because that TV show happened to be Shindig. So, I went in and did the very first show with the pilot for Shindig and the producer Jack Goode was a huge fan and he said, ‘Man, I want you on the show every week.’ So, that’s when he said let’s put a band together. So we formed the Shindogs.
Another great guitar player you’ve worked with is J.J. Cale.
Oh yeah, J.J. is an old buddy of mine. He’s a good writer, a good friend of Leon Russell. I knew J.J. for a long time. I also recorded with him on some stuff. We did an album called Shades.
How about Leon Russell? I’ve always loved his music.
Oh man, Leon and I go way back when he was 18 years old—Russell Bridges. I met Leon when he first came to California. He was playing out in the valley at the Sun Valley Ranch with Sonny and Al Jones who is actually from Shreveport-Bossier City. Their sister is Billie Jean
Horton now who was married to Hank Williams and then when Hank died she married Johnny Horton.
You played with Ronnie Hawkins…
Oh, Ronnie Hawkins. Crazy guy. He’s doing pretty good. He was really sick for a while, but I think he’s doing better. Ry Cooder and I overdubbed on an album for him in California—he came to California. He tried to get me to Canada several times to do some stuff with him but I was always so busy. He called me to ask if I could come in and overdub on an album because they already cut the tracks and everything and they just wanted me and Ry Cooder to overdub on it. Ry Cooder is another good buddy of mine.
Your playing fit in well with Buck Owens’ sound.
Well, pretty good. Don Rich was a good friend of mine. Of course, Buck and I played with a guy from North Hollywood—Jimmy Schneider—and the steel guitar player Tom Bromley. Tom Bromley went to work with Buck. Yeah, I did a few sessions with ol’ Buck. Actually I also did a production for him on his son Buddy Allen.
So, of course in 1969 you began playing guitar for Elvis Presley. How did that come together?
Well, in ‘68 Elvis called me for the comeback special. That’s the one where he wore the black leather suit. I couldn’t do it because I was doing an album with Frank Sinatra with Jimmy Boyd producing. So I couldn’t do the Elvis comeback special on NBC. It was 1969 and he called me and we talked about three hours on the phone. He asked me if I’d be interested in putting a band together for him because he wanted to go play Vegas. He got tired of doing movies. He wanted to do some live shows.
Was that when the one at the International Hotel was recorded?
Yeah. At the International Hotel, that was the very first show we did in the August of ‘69. The first guy I hired, the piano player in ‘69, was Larry Muhoberac. He knew Ronnie Tutt from Dallas, Texas; they worked together. Ronnie wanted to move to L.A. So, when I set up the rehearsals and when Elvis came in we actually had Larry on piano, Ronnie Tutt on the drums, and me. Glen Hardin couldn’t make that one, but Jerry Scheff was on bass. Jerry and I worked together on a lot of record dates together. I always loved his playing. He always stuck in my mind when bass players’ names came up.
You’ve been in the middle of some serious musical endeavors, playing with very well-known artists and you’ve always maintained a sense of professional and personal balance. Do you think being able to go out and do your own thing between other artists’ sessions kept you from getting bogged down. For instance, like a musician who has been in the same band for years and feels trapped?
Well, it was always smooth for me. Elvis and I became real good friends. His music was great. He was a great entertainer and it was like doing my show. When we would go play Vegas for a month, and after we played for a month, I’d go back to my home in L.A. in Burbank and record sessions with all my clients and different artists. When we’d get through recording, I’m back on the road with Elvis. Then, also, during that time with Elvis I was also working with Emmylou Harris. We started back in ‘74, I think. But from 1969 up to 1977, I played on everything Elvis put out. I was on everything. Nine years with Elvis. It was a cooking band…At one point, I heard somewhere you were so busy you began giving people Glen Campbell’s number for work.
Here’s the deal. I met Glen Campbell when he first came to California. I was playing a club out there with a guy who was a stand-in for Elvis. He was actually a friend of Elvis’, named Lance Legall. We had a blues band. When I wasn’t out working with Ricky Nelson I’d go play the blues clubs. Glen came to town and one night he came to the club and sat in and played. He sounded real good and everybody really liked him. So, Glen and I became real good friends. I played on his first record for Capitol Records when he got his record deal. Ricky Nelson didn’t want me to play on other recording sessions back in the early days when I was with him because he always said my sound was his sound and he didn’t want me to go out and play with other artists. So when I went and did the TV show that was kind of an exit for me to go out and do a lot of studio work. I gave Glen my recording sessions. I would tell my clients who called me to call Glen. Of course, I always played on Johnny Burnett records and Roger Miller—my old buddies.
You played on various occasions with Hoyt Axton and Jerry Lee Lewis…
Oh yeah, a lot of Hoyt Axton records. God, you name it. Unbelievable. A lot of Jerry Lee Lewis… “Rockin’ My Life Away”…
You’ve played with Carl Perkins…
Yeah, he’s a good friend of mine, Carl.
Talk about playing with Merle Haggard.
I played on a lot of Merle Haggard records. The first one I played on with Merle was “The Bottle Let Me Down.” He wrote a song and he loved that style of playing’ I played on Ricky Nelson records, the name of that record was “You Just Can’t Quit”. I did a guitar lick on it and it blew him away. So, he called me and said, ‘Man, you got to play on my records.’ I did “Working Man Blues.” “Mama Tried”…
Since Macon, Georgia, is just south of here, did you ever get to play with Duane Allman?
I never met Duane. They got real hot there for a while. I invited Dickey Betts up to the show. I hung out with him on his bus one night. He’s a great guy.
You played on Everly Brothers records.
JB: Yeah man, two or three albums. They’re good friends of mine. Phil Everly lived a few blocks around the corner from me in Burbank, California.
How many albums would you say you’ve played on?
Oh, it’s up in the thousands. It’s unbelievable. I probably got a record of it all. I used to keep up with it pretty good in L.A. doing studio work, but I kind of got out of it when I started traveling a lot.
When did you move from Louisiana to California? Your home base is in Louisiana these days, right?
I still have my home in Toluca Lake in Burbank—we always rent it out to nice people. We actually moved back here in 1988 or 1989, maybe ‘90.
I know there are so many, but what are some of your most vivid moments in your career?
Oh, there’s so many. I don’t know. Of course, some of the moments we talked about, but I did an album with Mama Cass. I played on Mamas and Papas records. The Beach Boys--going up to Brian Wilson’s house up in Bel Air, California and playing all weekend. The Monkees’ Mike Nesmith did a three-day recording at RCA and he wanted us to come and stay the whole weekend. He didn’t want us to go home. He said, ‘Stay here. We’ve got catered food—we’ve got everything you need here.’ We recorded for three days straight. Many, many great moments—especially with Elvis—like the satellite show (Aloha from Hawaii); millions of people saw that one. I’ve done some great projects with Johnny Cash. I cut all Michael Parks’ records with him. I played with Judy Collins, Buddy Emmons, Henry Mancini…
Charlie Rich…Del Shannon…Jimmie Dale Gilmore…
I saw Del Shannon two weeks before he committed suicide. He was a good buddy of mine. Danny Gatton, he’s another old buddy.
Let’s talk about the James Burton International guitar Festival which takes place at the end of March.
It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve always worked with so many great artists and I never really had time for myself. I was cutting records at Capitol Records with folks like Wanda Jackson, Wynn Stewart…you name it. It gets mind boggling to talk about it. I can’t remember all of what I’ve played on. There’s just so many sessions. Every now and then I’ll talk to someone and they’ll mention stuff I played on that I forgot about, but I’ve always wanted to do my own show. The first one was in 2005.
That was the year you began the Foundation?
Yes, in 2005 we started, and we called it the James Burton International Guitar Festival. I realized that calling and inviting my friends to come like its ‘James & Friends’. I invited all these wonderful people—they’re all friends of mine. This is a perfect opportunity—I wanted to give something back to the kids because they’re going to continue our music. I thought it would be great to donate money to the kids for musical instruments, music theory and do a scholarship. The first show was great, it worked out so well. We did it on my birthday weekend of August 20-21. My birthday is the 21st that’s why we did it that weekend. That’s when I displayed my new signature guitar. I’ll have to send you one of these books, you’re gonna want one. A good friend of mine, Steven Seagal, was invited and he said, ‘Don’t take my name off the list.’ He was in Romania and couldn’t make it. He was doing a movie. He did a great DVD for me to play at the show, which I did, and it was great. That year we had Johnny A, a great guitar player out of Boston—great friend of mine. Jeff “Skunk” Baxter with the Doobie Brothers, Matthew & Gunnar Nelson, Jeff Cook with Alabama, Johnny Rivers, Johnny Hiland—great guitar player—lives around the Nashville area—a knock-out player. Greg Koch came, he works for Fender, he’s a great guitar player. He brought some good guys to play with--Roscoe and Jerry Donahue. We had Seymour Duncan…Sonny Landreth. This was the first part of the show. After a 15-20 minute intermission, then Eric Johnson and his band played, Doyle Dykes, Dr. John, Steve Cropper, Steve Wariner, Brad Paisley—it was a great line-up.
You are a guitar player that even guitar legends look up to for your tone & style…
Well, I appreciate that. The great thing is this show is James & Friends. We all love each other. It’s just a blessing from God. We’re all so close, like a big family.
What are some your latest musical activities besides this benefit. Have you appeared on any recent records?
I’ve been traveling over in Europe a lot. We do this ‘Elvis on the Big Screen’ show. It’s all Elvis live with the original band—singers, everything. We go to Europe a lot. We just did a tour in Australia. We all got monitors—Ronnie, our drummer, wears earphones. We all have count-offs for the intros. It’s a great show. It’s just like Elvis being there. I just got a call from a friend of mine who wants me to go back over there in November and December—my wife said no, but he already booked the shows. Man, I need a vacation (laughs)!
So, with the festival coming at the end of March, I’m sure you’re gearing up for that in a big way.
We’re very fortunate. We have some wonderful people on board and it’s a lot of work putting a show like this together. We have so many wonderful volunteers and we still get calls from people who want to do everything they can. We don’t make a dime from this. All the money goes to buy instruments for the kids. We just went to Shriner’s Hospital and put over twenty guitars in that hospital. My first show that we did in ‘05 we made enough money to furnish over 600 guitars to the schools for the kids and actually buy a music program. We’re looking to go to Saint Jude’s and now there’s a lot more—the other Shriner’s Hospital wants to talk about us doing some stuff with them.
Talk about the movie filmed at your bar.
Yeah, we gotta talk about that. We did a movie with Kevin Costner. Kevin came here to film The Guardian. After he filmed The Guardian, he stayed over in Shreveport and did another movie called Mr. Brooks. In The Guardian we actually used my club—The James Burton Rock & Roll Café—downtown. In the movie they called our place Maggie’s Hanger. When you see the movie and you see the front of Maggie’s Hanger—that’s my club. They covered up Elvis, Ricky and Roy Orbison, and made it into a Coast Guard looking place—with the ropes and helicopters…anything that had to do with the coast guard. It’s a great movie. You’ll see me onstage with Bonnie Bramlett—she’s such a great singer—and she played Maggie in the movie; she did some acting and sang a couple of songs and I played guitar with this band from Chicago.
Talk about your signature guitar series.
I’ve been with Fender since the ‘50s—we go back to ‘56-‘57. Leo Fender had been giving me guitars since then. Leo and I were real good friends. Me and Jimmy Bryant—a great guitar player—we’re probably the first two guys to play the Fender Telecaster. Jimmy was the first and I was the second. After CBS bought Fender and then it went back to the Fenders, when CBS got out of it, I had a great idea—I thought it would be great to have a signature guitar. I wanted to have my own James Burton telecaster, so I did, and I was playing a Paisley Pink one with Elvis—but I’d been talking to Fender for 20 years about doing a signature model. Well, when Dan Smith came to Fender when he left Yamaha, him and a guy named Roger Baumer, we started putting it together. We came up with the idea of what I wanted which was to do a three pick up telecaster with a paisley pattern. Not the pink paisley, but do my own design like the black & gold paisley design. We did a black and red paisley, and then I did one with a solid red and solid white pearl. Now, my newest guitar has flames on it with the paisley pattern—it’s a pretty hot one. So, anyway that was my idea to do the signature models. They make and sell them everyday. I did one in blue, kinda like a blue flame. The pink one, even though it wasn’t my signature guitar, became famous because I played it with Elvis. I played it with a lot of different artists. I’m really glad we did that.How many guitars do you own?
Oh, god. I don’t know. I guess I should get a count. It’s a lot. I don’t really keep them at home. I keep them in music storage places. I only travel with one guitar and the most is two for a backup. I’m playing my black and red paisley now—the one with the flames—I’m playing that. It’s a three-pick up, five-way switch with an overdrive.
What’s been the main thread of solace throughout your career?
I think the interesting thing is being active. Just staying busy, working with so many different artists is great. It’s good for you.
What are your plans after this Foundation show?
I’m going to Sweden and Copenhagen to do some shows with a band over there, the Cadillac band and some friends of mine. We’ll do a few shows and I’ll come back and do some shows. The rest of the year is unbelievable—back and forth to Europe.
When will you announce this year’s line-up for the foundation show?
Probably in the next two weeks we’re going to make some announcements of all the artists coming. The dates are March 30, 31, and April 1. When you see the line-up, you’ll have to get down here for the show. Keep your fingers crossed, and say a prayer.
Thanks for taking the time to talk with us…
Hey, you’re welcome. It was my pleasure. You’ll enjoy all the talent coming to the show. Look everything over, and if you need anything just give me a call. When you come, bring your camera because you’ll want to get a picture of my statue and Elvis’ statue right next to one another…
August 19, 2009
James Burton - Swampland
Swampland: Jim Dickinson's Best Memphis Barbecue & Favorite Meals On The Road
Swampland: Jim Dickinson's Best Memphis Barbecue & Favorite Meals On The RoadJim Dickinson's Best Memphis Barbecue & Favorite Meals On The Road
When I interviewed the High Priest of Memphis Mojo—Jim Dickinson—I asked him if he’d be interested in submitting his inimitable insight on barbecue, music and movies. Mr. Dickinson sent along some very interesting details on these cultural topics. His expertise in these categories out rank any civilian perspective. Swampland/Mystery and Manners is proud to present Jim Dickinson’s article on Memphis Barbecue and his Favorite Meals On The Road. In the next Jim Dickinson Installment, he’ll share his insight on his favorite films, pianists and desert island albums. James Calemine
Memphis Barbecue and Favorite Meals On The Road
By Jim Dickinson
There are two things that people from Memphis and people from anywhere else cannot peaceably discuss- the shuffle beat and barbecue. To those of us fortunate enough to be from Memphis, if you have two hands on the snare drum you are playing a march and if you grind your meat up it's dog food and there's no such thing as barbecue beef.
That said, even in Memphis the best barbecue is a memory. Culpeppers was King. The rib sandwich was a thing of beauty. The pulled pork sandwich always with slaw (the best sweet slaw has mustard and Louisiana hot sauce mixed in it) at Paynes on Elvis Presley Boulevard is the last of the best.The greatest of all time pulled pork barbecue sandwich however honors go to an obscure storefront on Summer Avenue in the Berclair district where I was a boy. It was called Shorty’s, named after the famous chef from 3 Little Pigs over by the Memphis State campus in the Normal neighborhood.
Shorty’s sauce was as good or better than Barretta’s and his meat was cooked to disintegrating perfection. He had the occasional coon or opossum if you were in the secret circle. Never had a Que to compare.
The Rendezvous in Memphis is famous for tourist barbecue. I am not a fan of dry rub, but I have to say their barbecue lamb chops are immorally good. There is a good Tops on Union Avenue in Memphis in the Medical Center and a good Coleman’s #2 in Hernando, MS. But if you get much further away from Memphis the sauce gets weak and vinegary and the waitress ask you if you want slaw as if it was a choice.
I do not hold with Texas or East Coast barbecue. It’s like the groove in a Memphis drum track with the horns dripping down like thick brown-red sauce. There’s nothing like the real thing.
FAVORITE MEALS ON THE ROAD
K.C. Steak House Carlile, AR
-Jack Cheese Sandwich and French grind coffee
-Home baked hippy bread
-Alfalfa sprout organic mustard
On the road with Arlo Guthrie- Eugene, OR-Whole Earth Dirt Eaters Food Cafe
Trucker breakfast- The Elite
Cafe on the traffic circle, Waco TX
Smoked Sausage sandwich and hot slaw, grill fried Ray’s Lounge Madison
Ave. Memphis, TN
Roast beef sandwich with onions, pepper and horseradish on a hard roll- -
Elsie’s 1969s Cambridge MA
Chicken Salad- Jim’s Food Center, Oxford, MS
Dyer’s Hamburger- Beale Street, Memphis, TN
DoNuts anywhere in New Orleans, LA
Chicken Fried Steaks. Threadgill’s- Austin, TX
Dylan's "Brother," Jim Dickinson, Has Died
 | August 16th, 2009Dylan's "Brother," Jim Dickinson, Has DiedBy John Lewis |
Bob Dylan and Jim Dickinson, who passed away yesterday, were kindred spirits. When Dylan won his Grammy for Time Out of Mind, he thanked “Jim Dickinson, my brother from Mississippi” in his acceptance speech. In Chronicles, Dylan wrote that he found himself “thinking about Jim Dickinson” while recording Oh Mercy in New Orleans and noted that “we had a lot of things in common and it would have been good to have him around.” And during the “Street Map” segment of Theme Time Radio, Dylan referred to Dickinson as “that magical musical maestro from Memphis” and claimed “he was the kind of guy you could call to play piano, fix a tractor, or make red cole slaw from scratch.” It’s high praise, and well deserved.
As Dylan wrote, Dickinson had “manic purpose” and recorded the last single, “Cadillac Man,” for Sun Records; played with the Stones (“Wild Horses”), Ry Cooder (including the Paris, Texas soundtrack), and Aretha Franklin (Spirit in the Dark); and produced albums by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, Big Star, and The Replacements. He also cut a handful of excellent solo albums, including Dixie Fried, Free Beer Tomorrow, and Jungle Jim and the Voodoo Tiger.
Dickinson took his work seriously, and part of his job was passing on what he’d seen, heard, and learned along the way. Just ask his sons, Luther and Cody, of the North Mississippi Allstars. He thought long and hard about the musical and social significance of the music he loved so much. That’s why he’s the most articulate talking head in a string of documentaries, riffing about the importance of Sam Phillips, Johnny Cash, or the city of Memphis (in Scorcese’s blues series). He got it, and he wanted you to get it, too.
That’s why he spoke so freely about the Time Out of Mind sessions. Over the last decade, few outtakes have leaked from those sessions—Dickinson always claimed “Red River Shore” was the best song they cut and was glad to see it finally released on Tell Tale Signs—and most of the players have been tight-lipped. But not Dickinson. He felt obligated, as an oral historian and storyteller, to talk about that seminal moment in Miami.
Never self-aggrandizing, he focused on the small, but hardly inconsequential, details and placed them within the grand arc of Dylan’s career. From the strong coffee Dylan drank to casual conversations in the parking lot, nothing seemed to escape Dickinson’s gaze. He offered a rare and respectful peek from a peer—or, rather, a “brother”—into Dylan’s world.
Dickinson had been working on an autobiography, so, hopefully, more details will emerge if it gets published.
I’ll post more about Dickinson in the coming days. I considered him a dear friend and spoke to him every few weeks for the past 15 years. He was a giant among men.
He also had a strong Baltimore connection in that he produced two CDs by my wife’s group, Boister, and was a big fan of the band's. At his invite, they recorded their most recent disc at Dickinson’s Zebra Ranch studio in Coldwater, Mississippi last summer. Here’s a quick You Tube video from those sessions.
[photo: Bob Dylan, Daniel Lanois, Jim Dickinson, courtesy Jim Dickinson]
Jim Dickinson Friend - Stanley Booth (Best Rock Writer Ever - Former Junkie, Stones Pal, etc.) Can I Get A Witness - The True Adventures of Stanley Booth (I've posted this probably five times over the years, but this seems like a good time to do it again - for the uninitiated!) via the remarkable swampland.com
Swampland: Stanley Booth: Can I Get A WitnessStanley Booth: Can I Get A Witness
Can I Get A Witness
The True Adventures of Stanley Booth
By James Calemine
Winter 2000
Jack Kerouac was a writer. That is, he wrote. Many people who call themselves writers and have their names on books aren’t writers and can’t write—the difference being a bullfighter who fights a bull is different than a bullshitter who makes passes with no bull there. The writer has been there or he can’t write about it. And going there he risks being gored. To write they must go there and submit to conditions they may not have bargained for. The only real thing about a writer is what he has written, and not his so-called life.
--William Burroughs
…The only answer to this is that people without hope do not write novels. Writing a novel is a terrible experience, during which the hair often falls out and the teeth decay. I’m always highly irritated by people who imply that writing fiction is an escape from reality. It is a plunge into reality and it’s very shocking to the system. If the novelist is not sustained by a hope of money, then he must be sustained by a hope of salvation, or he simply won’t survive the ordeal. People without hope not only do not write novels, but what is more to the point, they don’t read them. They don’t take long looks at anything because they lack the courage. The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience, and the novel, of course, is a way to have an experience.
--Flannery O’Connor
...The silver hair calls to mind an aged wisdom. Without knowing him, you’d never realize this southern gentleman—dressed in khaki pants and tweed jacket, sitting in the passenger seat of your truck, riding up Highway 99 towards Darien, Georgia, to eat alligator tail—is living testimony to the severe price that one must pay for the sake of his art. You wouldn’t know that this man, Stanley Booth, epitomizes the survivor. In pursuit of his craft, Booth traveled with the Rolling Stones, overdosed at Graceland, suffered epileptic seizures while withdrawing from drugs, broke his back, went to jail, crushed by a lumber truck on the Memphis-Arkansas bridge, assaulted by Hell’s Angels at Altamont, and written legendary music books.
No writer documented the progression of American music and its musicians with first hand accounts like Booth. His stories travel in music history from the slave days into 20s jazz through the blues decades into present day music affairs, and he paints the historic and cultural backdrop during each musician’s era. There is no substitute for Booth’s storytelling.In May of 2000, Booth’s classic The True Adventures of the Rolling Stones, was republished, with a new Afterword written by the author. Also, in October of 2000, Booth’s second book Rythm Oil, an indelible collection of music essays, was reprinted.
Despite obscurity in the mainstream literary/music/pop culture—where hack journalists write tell-all books and make large sums of money from rehashing old articles and interviews. Booth knew almost all the people he’s written about, including Elvis Presley, B.B. King, the Rolling Stones, Furry Lewis, Gram Parsons
, Al Green, Dan Penn, Spooner Oldham, Aaron Neville, Hank Crawford, Ernest Withers, Lash Larue, Bobby Rush, James Brown, Dewey Phillips, William Bell, Sam Phillips, Rufus Thomas, Sam the Sham, Mose Allison, Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Carla Thomas
In time, Booth traveled from his native South Georgia to Memphis, London, Los Angeles, New York and many nameless juke joints to preserve and document the stories and accomplishments of talented American musicians. Booth once wrote: “The blues is subtle; its appeal lies, like most pleasures, beneath the surface.” No one describes the nebulous line between obscurity and fame better than Booth.
Sitting at one of Archie’s small red Formica tables, drinking sweet ice tea, I thought how appropriate it was to be sharing gator tail appetizer with a man who killed his first alligator at the age of twelve. After all, Stanley Booth still keeps a pistol next to the typewriter.
II
Irvin Stanley Booth Jr. was born on January 5, 1942. He was the only son of Stanley and Ruby Booth, who lived in Waycross, Georgia, a small South Georgia town sixty miles from the coast and thirty miles from the swampy Florida state line.Booth’s grandfather worked for a Naval Stores Company, and Booth’s early youth was spent in a turpentine camp, an isolated world of gum barrels, pine trees, and swamp.
In those swamplands young Stanley began to perceive hidden shadows in “paradise and within myself.” At five years old, he witnessed a black man named Frank Porter, a man who worked for his family, attempt to kill his grandfather by stabbing him. Booth would later tell me, “I loved all those people in the turpentine camp—the whites and the blacks—but I soon discovered something else was going on.” Booth learned darkness always loomed close.The swamp’s floating islands, which shift with each footstep, earned it the Seminole Indian name, Okefenokee (for which there are 77 different spellings) meaning “Land of the Trembling Earth”.
“I loved the swamp country,” Booth said, and he later wrote of his childhood there, “At times I was afraid, but nothing in the woods was as frightening as what I would find in the outside world.” In a 1969 review of fellow Waycrossian Gram Parsons’ old band, the Flying Burrito Brothers, Booth wrote: “Memphis, Birmingham, and Atlanta are Southern, but they are nothing like Waycross: people around Waycross think of Atlanta the way you and I think of the moon—a place that, though remote, might possibly be visited by us or our children.” Times have changed, but not much.
Booth also wrote in the same article about the Land of the Trembling Earth: “Men have walked into the swamp—where even the pretty little plants eat meat—never to be heard from again. The people, dealers in, among other things, pine trees, tobacco, peanuts, sugar cane, moonshine whiskey, trucks, tractors, new and used cars, bibles, groceries, dry goods, and hardware; in isolated farms on swamp islands: in turpentine camps deep in the woods, like Dickerson’s Crossing, Mexico, the Eight Mile Still; in unincorporated settlements like Sandy Bottom, Headlight, Thelma; in towns like Blackshear, Folkston, Waycross; from banker to bootlegger—all share two curses: hard work and Jesus.”
The Booths moved from Waycross to Macon, Georgia, when Stanley was sixteen years old. In 1959, he graduated from Sidney Lanier High School for Boys, where he marched and carried an M1 rifle. That year the Booths moved again—this time to Memphis, Tennessee, where Stanley Sr., was an insurance executive. Booth wrote: “I knew little about the place other than it was on the Mississippi River and had an association with the kind of music I liked. I soon learned that Memphis was, if anything, even more ‘Southern’ and puritanical than Macon, with no liquor served by the drink and almost no integration. Restaurants, taxis, hotels, parks, libraries, movies, all were segregated. Blacks still sat in the back of the buses. Whites who wanted to hear black music went to an all-white club called the Plantation Inn across the river in West Memphis, Arkansas, and listened to a singing group called the Del Rios or to Loman Pauling and the Five Royales. My first experience on Beale Street was being thrown out of a Ray Charles concert at the Hippodrome for sharing a table with some black classmates from newly integrated Memphis State University.”
In 1962, Booth hopped a greyhound bus to San Francisco, soaking up works of Jack Kerouac and Miles Davis, meeting Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Alan Watts, and scored his first lid of marijuana.
The same year Booth graduated from Memphis State, where he studied art history, and went on to graduate school in New Orleans at Tulane University, only to return to Memphis without taking a degree. As he put it: “I left school because it distracted me from writing—or maybe because it didn’t. I enjoyed living in New Orleans, but lack of money and the bad feeling I had about the racial climate there led me back to Memphis. An ironic move.”
In the summer of 1964 Booth returned to Memphis. during this time he became a black belt and began to teach karate. In late 1965, Booth took a position with the Tennessee Welfare Department.
Appalled by the system, Booth quit the welfare department in 1966 and wrote a novel in eighteen days about Memphis' racial disturbances, predicting the act of military tanks patrolling resedential streets that occurred two years later.
Then Booth met bluesman Furry Lewis. Booth's friend Charlie Brown ran a club in Memphis called the Bitter Lemon where Furry would sometimes play. Booth got to know Furry and often accompanied Lewis, who worked for the Memphis Sanitation Department, while he swept the streets hours before the city awakened. Lewis was a kind of mentor to Booth. Several years later Booth explained their street level project: "This guy I knew named David Mays and I took an overdose of LSD one night, and we became so brilliant that we developed the War on Poverty: Memphis Area project South Summer Workshops Program. Over the years it cost the government millions of dollars. The first year, I taught writing, and Furry taught music, and made a thousand dollars for working for six weeks, two hours a day, you know. For years afterwards he would say, 'Stanley! What ever became of the guvment?' (Laughs) Because the government money was so good, you know."
Booth's story called "Furry's Blues", published in Playboy magazine, won Booth Playboy's best nonfiction writer in 1970, when Booth was in the process of writing a book about the Rolling Stones.
During this time, Booth attended the funeral of bluesman Mississippi John Hurt with his girlfriend and Furry Lewis. Unprepared, Furry and Booth were asked to eulogize the great John Hurt. Booth later wrote: "I may have even gotten an amen or two." At the end of the year, Booth and his bride were married by his friend Charlie Brown.
In early 1967 Booth spent time at Graceland with Elvis Presley concerning a story he was writing about the King. The piece was published in Esquire and turned out to be the first serious article written on Presley. Booth was so trusted that Dewey Phillips (who either called Booth Birdbrain or Elvis) gave him an overdose of Darvon at Graceland.
Booth later wrote that publishing the Elvis article--whose first line in the original version reads, "Talking about eatin' pussy"--made him a professional journalist, something he never wanted to be.
Soon Booth began writing about musicians working for Stax
During this period, Booth was keeping time with another freak behind music, Memphis producer-musician Jim Dickinson. He and Dickinson met in Memphis and spent much of their time, as Booth put it, "Talking about music and shining the light of conciousness towards the dark end of the tunnel."
It was Dickinson who gave Booth his first definition of soul: "You hear soul explained in terms of oppression and poverty, and that's certainly part of it--no soul musician was born rich--but it's more than that. it's being proud of your own people, what you come from. that's soul."
Booth then wrote a story for Eye magazine on B.B. King, and during one of the last interviews for the article, B.B. and Booth drank bourbon for breakfast--an interview that took place the day after Robert Kennedy's assassination.
Booth would later write: "Having written about Furry Lewis, Elvis Presley, Otis Redding, and B.B. King, I slowly awoke to the realization that I was describing the progress of something, a kind of sexy, subversive music."
Booth's pursuit became an intense path of seeking out and writing about one great musician after another. Booth's definition of the trail he was wandering down was, "As B.B. shows us, the blues' origins are in human need, the desparate cry of a kidnapped and orphaned people, singing in a foreign tongue a sorrow song that proves in the end to be redemptive, transcendent, spiritually liberating in the realest kind of way, ultimately life-changing for performers and listeners alike."
In September of 1968, Booth went to London for Eye magazine to write about the Rolling Stones. The story Booth was writing turned out to be Brian Jones' last drug trial. it was suggested by certain publishers Booth should write a book about the Rolling Stones, but Booth was, in his own words, far too "serious and high-minded."
Booth was hesitant to write about the Rolling Stones, not only because "They were rock and rollers, but young, rich, and white." It was, of course, Jim Dickinson who told him the Stones "were bound to be good ol' boys."
Having always been a country music freak, Booth took an interest in the Byrds' classic country album, Sweetheart of the Rodeo
In the spring of 1969 Booth reviewed The Gilded Palace of Sin, by Parsons' band, the Flying Burrito Brothers. Booth wrote: "The album's ending somehow summons up a vision of hillbillies and hippies, like lions and lambs together in peace and love instead of sin and violence, getting stoned together, singing old time favorite songs. Perhaps Parsons, coming from the country, feels more deeply than most of the strangeness and hostility of the modern world, but he speaks for us all. Gram Parsons is a good ol' boy."
Stones secretary Jo Bergman called Booth in Memphis on July 3, 1969, to inform him Brian Jones drowned in his swimming pool. From that moment on, in pursuit of the story, Booth plunged into the wicked vortex of the Rolling Stones.
Fall, 1969. Political unrest fills American cities. Cultural lines are drawn. The Stones flew to Los Angeles in October to rehearse for their upcoming tour, and Booth joined them three days after they arrived. Thus began his true adventures with the Rolling Stones.
Booth was at the house the Stones were renting when, in his words, "The back door opened and in walked a gang of men. Tall and longhaired, they stood for a moment in the center of the room as if posing for a faded sepia photograph of the kind that used to end up on posters nailed to trees: The Stones Gang: Wanted Dead or Alive," though only Mick Jagger, standing like a model, his knife blade ass thrust to one side, was currently awaiting trial.
"Beside him was Keith Richards, who was thinner and looked not like a model, but an insane advertisment for dangerous carefree Death--black ragged hair, dead green skin, a cougar tooth hanging from his right earlobe, his lips snarled back from the marijuana cigarette between his rotting fangs...one of the others, with dark hair frosted pale gold and a classic country western outfit from Nudie the Rodeo Tailor, I remembered seeing on the television and record covers--he was Gram Parsons, and he came, so I heard, from my hometown, Waycross, Georgia, on the edge of the Okefenokee Swamp. We had not met, but I reviewed his band, the Flying Burrito Brothers new album The Gilded Palace of Sin. I had no idea he knew the Stones. Seeing him here, finding another boy from Waycross at this altitude, I sensed a pattern, some design I couldn't make out, and I got up to speak to Gram Parsons, as if he were a prophet and I were a pilgrim seeking revelation."
The 1969 Stones tour ended with Altamont. the Maysles Brothers--Al and David--filmed a documentary called Gimmie Shelter, following the Stones from the East Coast down to Muscle Shoals, Alabama, where they recorded "Brown Sugar", "Wild Horses", and the classic Fred McDowell song, "You Got To Move", and then to the disastrous Altamont. Booth makes a small appearance in the film, and escaped Altamont with the Stones on a private helicopter. Parsons and Booth were the last two people to climb on the chopper.
In Muscle Shoals, Booth invited Jim Dickinson to the Stones recording session and introduced him to the band, who needed a piano player on a song called "Wild Horses", which ended up on Sticky Fingers.
The 1969 tour was successful and groundbreaking tour for the Stones--excluding Altamont. All the while Booth dueled with parasites and agents of all kinds, who made every attempt to distract or discourage him from writing the book.
In the coda of The True Adventures of the Rolling Stones, Booth explained: "Following the tour that ended with Altamont, I went to live in England and stayed until, after a certain weekend in Redlands, I decided that if Keith and I kept dipping into the same bag, there would be no book and we would both be dead."
Booth returned to Memphis from England, and his interest in the medicine cabinet increased. He began working on the Stones book--the first draft of the book was uncapitalized, unspaced, uncorrected--and the publishers loved it. Expectations were high, but soon Booth became burdened with distractions.
The experience of being so close to the Stones would come with a price. Jo Bergman told Booth--long after it was too late--that an astrologer advised her that Booth would write his book, and that it would cost him everything except his life.
In early 1971 Memphis law enforcement officers discovered cannabis sativa plants growing in Booth's vegetable garden. When his home was raided and searched, other substances were found, and seven felonies resulted. If Booth had received the maximun sentence on all seven counts, he could have been sentenced to 140 years in prison.
Fortunately for Booth, Memphis had an enlightened Attorney General who realized Booth was a writer, not a drug dealer. Booth was let off with a fine and a year's probation. After that, Booth went into hiding. For almost ten years, he lived in a log house his parents owned in the Boston Mountains of the Ozark Plateau in Newton County, Arkansas. It was the same area Jesse James and the Younger brothers had hidden in.
During the Rolling Stones 1972 American tour, Booth went on the road with the Stones again, but things had changed. People like Princess Lee Radizwell and Truman Capote were also traveling with the Stones. Booth later wrote of the '72 tour: "It was an ugly scene full of amyl nitrate, Quaaludes, tequila sunrises, cocaine, heroin, and too many pistoleros, and it left me with more material than I could ever use. At its end, I weighed about 100 pounds." Booth then disappeared back into the hills.
In January of 1973, Booth's friend, Charlie Freeman, a Memphis session, guitarist, and founder of the Mar-Keys, died. Freeman had gone on the road with Jerry Lee Lewis and Slim Harpo, and had been the guitarist for the Memphis band, the Dixie Flyers, which also included Jim Dickinson. The Flyers cut records with musicians like Carmen McRae, Ronnie Hawkins, the Memphis Horns, Delaney and Bonnie, Aretha Franklin, Taj Mahal, Little Richard, and Jerry Jeff Walker.
Booth wrote an obituary for Charlie Freeman in Rolling Stone called "Blues For the Red Man". Booth published the story under the pseudonym the Okefenokee Kid. At Freeman's funeral Booth met Fred Ford. Ford--a phenomenal Memphis saxophonist (Ford barked like a dog at the end of Big Mama Thornton's original "Hound Dog')--who often played with Phineas Newborn, became another frame of reference for Booth's writing. Booth remained dedicated to forsaken talents in the mean streets of Memphis, like the Newborn family.
The Newborn Brothers, Phineas and Calvin, sons of master drummer Phineas Sr., could play the entire range of western musical instruments. Phineas, a pianist, could rival the best players around. When Memphis legend W.C. Handy became too old and frail to play the annual Memphis Blues Bowl black high school football game, he passed on his trumpet to Phineas Newborn.
Around the time Charlie Freeman died, Booth's long relationship with his companion of ten years came to an end. Days darkened. Booth later described the personal signpost, noting that he "entered into a deep depression that I would not escape till I had gone crazy, had fits, married two more times and came back to (excessively) robust health." In September of the same year, Gram Parsons died of a morphine and tequila overdose in a motel near Joshua Tree, California.
By 1975 when the Rolling Stones came to Memphis, Booth no longer had the heart to go across town and see them. The Stones book was still not complete. Booth was in the Ozarks the day Elvis died. One of his marraiges ended the same day. "I guess she figured it was a no win situation."
On March 24, 1978, Booth, dosed on acid, fell from a north Georgia waterfall. In the fall, he smashed his face and broke his back. In time he became addicted to painkillers. Booth told me of that period: "I never thought i would write again--it was terrible."
On July 3, 1978, Booth's only child, Ruby Elenora was born. Distractions of fatherhood soon added to his complications. Booth later went to Elvis' doctor, George Nichopoulos (he wrote a chilling story about Dr. Nick called "The King Is Dead! Hang the Doctor!"), who told him, "It looks like you survived a war." Booth later wrote: "After a year I tried to stop taking the drugs my doctors prescribed. I tried twice, and twice had grand-mal seizures, full-scale epileptic brain-fries, blind-rigid, foaming at the mouth, fighting off unseen enemies, screaming, turning into a hydrophobic wolf."
In 1979, starting to recuperate, Booth accompanied Fred Ford and Phineas Newborn to Europe for the Montreaux Jazz Festival and other European shows. Booth lost his most inspiring friend in October of 1982, when Furry Lewis died at the age of 89. He later gave insight to the wicked zone of originality where hipsters and parasites run in: "The night Furry died I saw that fat yellow moon and I knew it would carry him off. The funeral was crowded, lots of TV cameras and speeches by people who never knew him, who couldn't find his house with a police escort. Never mind."
Booth's frustration began to mount. As great talents and friends died neglected, years rolled by, and Booth began to live and suffer in lonely obscurity--much like the poverty-stricken blues musicians he wrote about for so long. With death all around, Booth knew he had to finish the Stones book, as he said, "Because I would rather have died than let go of it before it, not I, was ready. I thought it might be the last thing I ever did, if I ever managed to do it, and i wanted to make it right, or as close as I could make it."
In 1984, Booth's Stones book was published. Much had changed in America during the fifteen years since Altamont. The book survived for years in paperback in spite of confusion concerning its title. The book received good reviews, but sold few copies due to lack of promotion, as Booth explained in the Afterword (a severe literary lesson) of the reprinted edition: "I called the book The True Adventures of the Rolling Stones all the (considerable) time I'd been writing it. some genius at the publisher's got the inspired notion of calling the first hardback edition Dance with the Devil. (Editors generally don't give a damn what writers think their books should be called, and in any case are usually frustrated writers themselves, desperate to demonstrate what they sincerely believe to be their superior creativity. Young, unpublished writers should consider yourselves warned).
"Well, that edition came and, owing to the publisher's excellent marketing skills, disappeared muy pronto. Because the book did quite well in the UK under its real title, the American paperback was called The True Adventures. The funny part is, a few years later the same publisher put out a novel by the actor Kirk Douglas, and it was called Dance With the Devil. Somebody at that publishing house really likes that title and may keep calling books that until one is a big success."
Even Keith Richards said: "Stanley Booth's book is the only one I can read and say, 'Yeah, that's how it was.' Stanley is a lovely guy--he's got an eye. That book took longer to write than the Bible."
Booth's parents had retired and returned to South Georgia. Booth waited for the Stones book to be published and then he followed his parents, taking up residence in Brunswick, Georgia.
Now past his toxic nightmares and the Stones book no longer serving as an albatross, Booth began to focus on gathering stories he'd written and known long before he met the Rolling Stones. He began to compile all the music stories he'd written since he left the Swamp of South Georgia, almost twenty-five years earlier.
III
Your humble scribe met Booth in 1986. I'd read The True Adventures of the Rolling Stones two years earlier as a sophomore in high school in Brunswick, Georgia. I was amazed, having always loved language and music, how the book fused all the aspects of art intertwining with culture, politics, music, literature, and the lives of artists struggling in pursuit of their craft or folly.
I was astonished to discover Booth lived thirteen miles from where I grew up on St. Simons Island, Georgia. It would be like meeting a legend--perhaps it would be possible to even obtain advice for a young aspiring writer. Any mythical notions concerning the craft of writing would soon evaporate.
During this time, Booth began researching a book he is calling The Pea Patch Murders, a novel based on actual murders that occured near Waycross. Booth's great uncle solved the crime. Booth also began compiling and cultivating autobiographical stories he is calling Alligator Alibis revolving around a young boy growing up in the South Georgia swamplands.
I've spent many commonplace days with Booth: driving through dangerous neighborhoods looking for the remotest barbecue shack, haggling with crazy women, listening to obscure jazz and blues records, and drinking. Some extremely uncommon days: a 911 call, a Keith Richards concert, a lawsuit, and a savage journey to Memphis.
"Me and him just like brothers," Furry Lewis would say of Booth, who would later write, "but he would never let me forget who the older and wiser brother was." I adopted similiar traits of deference.
Through the years of keeping time with Booth, I began to understand the cause and curse of an uncompromising artist blessed with talent but dogged by obscurity, demanding revisions concerning terms of success and accomplishment.
In December of 1988, Booth and I drove from South Georgia to Atlanta for the opening night of Keith Richards' first solo tour at the Fox Theatre. Booth hung out with Richards for over a week in Atlanta, Los Angeles, and New York; the interview was published in Playboy. The story, "The Devil at 45" was publsihed in Smart, an ill-fated magazine, and later in a book Booth was calling Rythm Oil.
While researching a story about the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, when Brown was having problems with the Augusta, Georgia, police department, Booth met the woman who spent extensive time with Brown at the time. Little did Booth know, this woman would later sue him for ten million dollars for the story he wrote about Brown.
In July 1990, Booth was invited by one of his old karate students, Jimmy Crosthwait, to hang a one man show of his color photographs at a Memphis art gallery. The photographs were visions of alligators, gravestones, a naked wife, and desolate swamplands, amongst others.
Domestic tribulation caused Booth's then fiancee to refuse his company on the trip. Booth asked me if I wanted to go instead. I'd never visited Memphis, and what better host for a visit to Memphis than Booth? Knowing Booth's self-fullfilling prophecy--his problems with "police, publishers, and women"--should have warned me of the trouble to come. After an eventful visit to Memphis, he informed me he wanted to stop in Atlanta on the way home to interview this woman for a story he was writing about James Brown. What transpired that week would create complications for years to come.
Booth completed the James Brown story, "The Godfather's Blues", at the end of 1991. The piece took two years to write because South Carolina authorities would not allow Booth to speak with James Brown. It would be this story that stalled the publication of Booth's next book.
Booth's second book, Rythm Oil, was published in the United States in March of 1992, which was a year of turnoil. Rythm Oil (intentional misspelling taken from a mojo potion sold on Beale Street) is a book of twenty pieces journeying through America's musical south. Rythm Oil spans Booth's entire career up to 1992.
Rythm Oil begins at the crossroads with stories about Robert Johnson, Otis Redding, Gram Parsons, Charlie Freeman, Al Green, Phineas Newborn, Stax, Furry Lewis, B.B. King, and James Brown. The journey continues onto places like Graceland, New Orleans, Atlanta, and even a story called "Wiregrass", the name for the territory around the swamp he grew up in. Rythm Oil proves a vital resource concerning some of America's greatest music pioneers.
In October of the same year, Booth and Random House discovered the woman Booth interviewed for the James Brown story was suing then for ten million dollars. She claimed the manner she was portrayed in "The Godfather's Blues" appeared demeaning. The woman wanted the story removed from the book, and she demanded royalities from all future sales on the book. The suit was for invasion of privacy. having begged Booth to tell Brown's story, she then sued him when, as she requested, he published it. she told Booth she and Brown were lovers, then denied having told him that. Luckily, booth had tapes, and yours truly as a witness.
The lawsuit diverted publishers energies for any thoughts on promoting Rythm Oil. legal proceedings and concerns began further straining Booth's personal life. No matter how ludicrous the lawsuit, it was quite real.
A horrific legal desperation gripped Booth. He kept a sense of humor, but his frustration was obvious. Lesser talents seemed to prosper all around Booth while he was being sued for telling the truth. In May of 1993, I gave my deposition concerning the lawsuit, serving as the only witness in the case since I had been present for interludes of Booth's interview.
About once a month, I would return to south Georgia and pay Booth a visit. We'd play music, talk literature, shoot pictures in the swamp, analyze classic movies, indulge in fine spirits, and wait for word on the lawsuit. To keep things interesting, every blue moon we might burn furniture in the backyard.
Booth plodded through all the personal distractions, sequestering himself, focusing on The Pea Patch Muders, Alligator Alibis, and research on a collaborative book about Memphis photographer Ernest Withers, as well as various magazine articles.
Booth was still fighting the legal battles of Rythm Oil when he agreed to write a Keith Richards biography. Soon after the book was finished, Booth began having problems obtaining contractual advances. booth wrote the Keith Richards book in forty-four days.
While payment problems heated up on the Keith biography, the lawsuit cooled off. On August 24, 1994, a relieving decision came across in the summary judgement, which stated: "Therefore, notwithstanding the Court's finding the publication at issue was not false as a matter of law, Plaintiff may not recover damages for defamation on the additional ground she has not met her burden of producing clear and convincing evidence of actual malice on the part of either defendant."
Yet another legal battle was in motion, however. Booth was having problems obtaining payment for his Keith Richards biography, which was published in 1994. His agent died, and soon Booth was forced to deal with those in charge of his estate for the fulfilling of the contract. All the while Booth plodded on in austere toil with utmost concern for his craft.
Once asked about the responsibility as a writer, Booth replied: 'I think when I was writing about music I was trying to focus on what was valuable and significant in that tradition. And just describing somebody like Furry, and I'm not done, I hope, writing about Furry in a lot of stories, I haven't yet, but if you just describe what somebody like Furry said, you're doing the Lord's work in a sense as far as the music is concerned, because Furry was the music, in the same way Keith is, you know, but even more so. He was completely identified with his musical style, endeavors, ideas, and that's what makes life, what gives life significance. And if you're lucky enough to have talent, it will really give sustenance and meaning to your life, as long as you do right by it. So I don't think it has anything to do with self-aggrandizement or any sort of selfish motive. I think that if you are given the burden of a talent, you have to deal with it the best you can. And, you know, it really doesn't matter what happens to you while you're trying with it as long as you're doing your best. that's all you have to worry about."
In 1995 Booth began researching and writing a book about Johnny Mercer, the Savannah songwriter. During one of his frequent visits to Savannah, Booth photographed and visited Flannery O'Connor's childhood home, and he wrote a sad and sobering tribute to O'Connor called "Crying In the Wilderness". That summer Booth went out on the road for a few shows with the Atlanta band, the Black Crowes.
Booth is a technical master at word economy. His work contains a strong sense of style, and he operates under no illusions. Your humble scribe has become accustomed to his ruthless editorial eye. He once wrote to me: "You have to love your work, to lavish an insane amount of love on it, and time, and care, and vigilance--to eat and sleep and shit with it until you absolutely know there's nothing wrong with it. You must do this because nothing else will suffice."
In 1969, while writing a review of the Memphis Country Blues Festival, Booth wrote an analogy for blues players, but it serves a pable for all the arts: "By now there must be in the world a million guitar virtuosos; but there are very few real blues players. The reason for this is that the blues--not the form but the blues--demands such dedication. This dedication lies beyond technique; it makes being a blues player something like being a priest. virtuosity in playing blues licks is like virtuosity in celebrating the Mass, it is empty, it means nothing. Skill--competence--is a necessity, but a true blues player's virtue lies in his acceptance of his life, a life for which he is only partly responsible."
In 1996, Booth's friend Lee Baker, guitarist for Mud Boy & the Neutrons--another Jim Dickinson band--was murdered. One more sad casualty in a long line of lost heroes.
Several years elapsed in anonymous work. One festering summer evening Booth and I endured a 911 episode that would cause the hair on anyone's head to stand on end--indeed the statute of limitations have not elapsed to reveal such an incident. It certainly was not an evening for the weak-hearted. We had experienced enough craziness together to understand the other's merciless obstacles. It was only appropriate Booth read from the bible at this correspondent's wedding.
In 1998 Booth's publisher allowed The True Adventures of the Rolling Stones to go out of print. Booth shed light upon the ruthless business: "Fourteen years later the publisher let the book go out of print, making this new edition possible. In all that time they paid me not a dollar of royalties. I made no royalties on the paperback edition, because the hardback had been published so unsuccessfully. The book sold many thousands of copies and generated a great deal of income, but not for me. Children, beware."
In September of 1999, Booth accepted Gram Parsons' induction into the Georgia Music Hall of Fame, an honor that speaks for itself. In Macon, Georgia, at the Gram Parsons tribute, Booth told a story, with an ironic grin, about how every Thursday Gram was defeated at the Palomino Club in L.A. by a guy in a wheelchair singing Johnny Cash's "I Walk the Line". Booth remains an expert at irony.
Booth's old friend Fred Ford died in November of 1999, forcing him to write another obituary, serving as a witness to one more fallen hero.
Rythm Oil was reprinted (Da Capo) in October of 2000. A complete book waiting on the horizon is another compilation of Booth's essays called Cowboys, Country Boys, and City Slickers. This book chronicles the lives of : King "Joe" Oliver, Ray Charles, Hoagy Carmichael, Phineas "Little Red" Newborn, Fred Ford, Frank Sinatra, Bireli Lagrene, Jerry Lee Lewis, Waylon Jennings, Miles Davis, Mose Allison, and the Black Crowes.
Booth's Johnny Mercer biography is now halfway complete. This book explores the songwriting world of Mercer from his Savannah origins toward his singular niche forever etched in the songwriting and music world. Booth is also working on a Gram Parsons biography, which is due in 2002.
In all Booth's work, he uses the miracle of language to breathe eternal life into the accomplishments and circumstances of great American musicians, some who died poor, neglected, talented, and forgotten. Booth serves as a voice for these underdog, or underground, musicians.
Booth's writing remains a cornerstone testimony of Sunday morning gospels, minstrel sideshows, sawmills, scaldcat, funeral parlors, wizard oil, swamp water, shotgun shacks, dirt roads, Mississippi churches, Memphis mean streets, bottleneck junctions, catfish, barbecue woodsmoke, gris-gris, juke joints, railroad tracks, traveling medicine shows, stone cold fevers, voodoo practioners, mojo dust, soul food, zombie powder, midnight undertakers, whiskey stills, cut-throat wages, chickenyard fiddles, devil's shoestring, spooky field recordings, Civil War songs, fatback grease, black cat bones, and many other redemptions and temptations buried in American music folklore and fact...
Jim Dickinson After Drinking a 1 litre bottle of barcardi
GOD I LOVE WHEN THIS HAPPENS. I SAW THIS A COUPLE YEARS AGO, AND NOW THAT JIM'S DIED, IT'S GOT 1,500 HITS. GREAT VIDEO, BTW.