FIRST lady of country music about to go to her grave--abusing anesthetics (before Michael Jackson made it cool), and slamming Hillary Clinton's outrageous slander--what Burt Reynolds did to get the two first ladies "together again"
NASHVILLE — Country superstar Tammy Wynette, who died at home under tangled circumstances on April 6, 1998, had become hopelessly addicted to powerful painkillers, primarily Demerol, Dilaudid and Versed, according to a controversial new book by one of Wynette's daughters.
"Tammy Wynette: A Daughter Recalls Her Mother's Tragic Life and Death," by Jackie Daly (Putnam), was published on Monday (May 8), the day that depositions were to begin in a wrongful-death lawsuit filed against the late singer's doctor. The $50 million lawsuit, filed by the singer's daughters on April 5, 1999, alleges that the doctor maintained Wynette "on a regimen of narcotic and other addictive prescription medicine." The time of death — Wynette was 55 — was never established, and no autopsy was performed.
The book recounts Wynette's tumultuous life, career and five marriages, including a stormy six-year union with country legend George Jones. Wynette (born Virginia Wynette Pugh) moved herself and her daughters to Nashville from a life of poverty in rural Mississippi, where the former hair stylist became a country music superstar with such hits as "D-I-V-O-R-C-E" and "Stand by Your Man"
Questionable Circumstances
Daly charges that Wynette, at the time of her death, had developed a dependence on painkillers, which she injected with syringes.
Daly writes that after the veins in Wynette's arms collapsed, she resorted to shooting the drugs between her toes and ultimately had a permanent catheter inserted into her side, into which a needle could be inserted for shooting the drugs directly into her bloodstream.
She died at home, on a living-room couch, with her fifth husband, country music producer and songwriter George Richey, present.
The body remained there for hours as friends and relatives came and went and everyone waited for her private physician to fly in on a chartered plane from Pittsburgh to determine the cause of death.
Daly says that the National Enquirer knew about the death long before Nashville authorities were summoned.
Daly writes that she herself had been to the house earlier that day and had found Wynette asleep — or at least totally unresponsive — on the couch, with Richey sitting in a bathrobe, uncommunicative.
Daly quotes the call from the house that finally went to 911 at 8:59 p.m. that evening:
Caller: "Yes ... We've had a death at 4916 Franklin Road. Could you send someone, please?"
911 operator: "OK. Was it an expected death, sir?"
Caller: "Uh, it was kind of unexpected, but it was a natural death, yes."
911 operator: "Well, we have been getting several calls and I'm not going to put this over the radio. Is this, by any chance, Tammy Wynette?"
Caller: "Yes, it is."
911 operator: "OK, sir."
Wynette's primary physician, famed Pittsburgh liver-transplant specialist Dr. Wallis Marsh, flew to Nashville that night and declared Wynette's death due to a blood clot to the lungs, although no autopsy was performed. The body was then embalmed.
Wynette's daughters obtained a court order last year to have Wynette's body exhumed for an autopsy to determine the cause of death. The autopsy proved that traces of the drugs Versed and Phenergan were still in her body, although no exact cause of death could be determined, other than the expected finding of heart failure.
The daughters then filed a wrongful-death lawsuit against the doctor and Wynette's widower, Richey. (They later dropped Richey from the suit.)
Richey recently sold the luxurious Nashville mansion where they lived for $1.2 million.
The house formerly belonged to country music legend Hank Williams.
Wynette died in the same room where Williams' widow Audrey Williams died in 1975 of alcoholism.
Heavy Turbulence
In one sensational passage, Daly writes that Wynette's infamous 1978 kidnapping from a Nashville shopping mall had been staged by Wynette herself — possibly in league with Richey.
Daly says her mother told her she had been beaten by Richey and concocted the abduction/beating story to explain the bruises. Her mother told her, Daly writes, that she pretended to have been kidnapped from the Green Hills Mall and forced to drive out of town, and then claimed to have been beaten and dumped by the side of the road.
Daly hints that Wynette would deliberately hurt herself in order to gain access to drugs, and once hurled herself offstage during a concert to earn a trip to the emergency room.
During her life, Wynette underwent more than three dozen major surgeries, primarily due to abdominal adhesion. All of these occasions, Daly writes, triggered prescriptions for major pain-killing drugs.
She says Wynette's drug problems were linked to her disastrous marriages and stormy affairs, as with actor Burt Reynolds.
Only George Jones, Daly says, truly loved Wynette, but she writes that his own addiction to alcohol doomed their marriage from the start.
Stories about George Jones are like Oreos: you're never satisfied with just one. Some are hilarious, some are heartbreaking and all of them are part of country music history.
Jones earned the nickname "The Possum" early in his career thanks to his apparent likeness to the furry marsupial (hopefully not when they're hissing). When the native Texan eventually moved to Nashville, he had a desire to establish his own club.
When he adopted the Nashville sound in the early 60s, his success skyrocketed. He also knew that owning a club would help his career even more. He particularly wanted a place with his name on it.
Or at least close to his name.
The Original Nashville Hangout
In 1967, Jones opened up "Possum Holler" on Nashville's famous lower Broadway Street. Jones chronicled the 500-seat venue in his autobiography, I Lived To Tell It All. It was the perfect location: across from Ernest Tubb's record shop, next to the famous bar Tootsie's and on the other side of the alley from the Ryman Auditorium, then the home of the Grand Ole Opry.
While Jones eventually opened all kinds of venues and theme parks with his name on it, nothing quite compared to the original Possum Holler.
Jones let his band "The Jones Boys" become the de facto house band when they weren't on the road. That meant anybody at any given time had a world class band ready to play behind them. That coupled with Jones' long list of country star friends meant an amazing concert could break out at any time. And often did.
"There was hardly ever a shortage of talent inside the old room, which had a high ceiling and was located on the top floor of an old building," Jones wrote in his book. The club captured a certain sense of camaraderie, one Jones later goes on to lament.
"The club was open during the days when Nashville's country stars were an unofficial 'family,'" says Jones. "We hung out together. Today's stars are so reclusive that they work entire tours together and never see each other. In an earlier day stars struggled together financially. Today they're rich by themselves."
Just about everybody who was anybody in town, including Saturday night Opry-goers, ended up hanging at the club. Artists and their bands would finish up and head down the back alley to Possum Holler and close it down. Artists hung out and played together, and the audience got the benefit.
Merle Haggard, Charley Pride, Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton, Porter Wagoner, Waylon Jennings, Dottie West and countless others descended upon the Holler regularly. The Grand Ole Opry quartet The Four Guys would even take breaks from their own club to play at the always happenin' Holler.
It wasn't just artists, either. Possum Holler became a hangout for songwriters, many of whom actually pitched their tunes in the club. It was its own concentrated version of Music Row, right downtown. The Club Goes Down The Tube Possum Holler's most respected and frequent visitor was Roy Acuff. He was the only man in town whom his peers called "Mr.," a testament to the respect he commanded. His museum, "Roy Acuff Exhibits," was the floor below Possum Holler. And he owned the building. Of course, all the respect in the world didn't stop the Holler's toilet from overflowing and leaking into Acuff's museum one fateful day. It ruined one of his exhibits. The problem was irreparable, and Acuff had to make the tough call to close down Possum Holler.
"He was calm as could be when he told [the manager] Billy that we would have to close the doors to Possum Holler," Jones recounted. "'But Why,' asked Billy. 'You love this place.' 'I know it son,' he said. 'I know it. But we just can't have turds inside my exhibits.'" There's no good way to close a club, but that's as good as a bad thing gets.
But it wasn't the end of Possum Holler. In fact, after Jones married Tammy Wynette and had the biggest successes of his career in the early 70s, he opened another. This time, "George Jones' Possum Holler" found itself in Printers Alley, a spot made famous in the early 40s as the area where everybody in news and print would hang out after work.
Printers Alley
Jones had much less involvement with the new club. His name was on it, but he didn't own it. In fact, Kenny Rogers bought the building and gifted it to Jones' one-time manager Shug Baggot sheerly out of the kindness of his heart. Baggot convinced Jones to open up the "World Famous Possum Holler," which was an immediate hit with tourists and country fans.
And though it still attracted countless regulars, it didn't have quite the same vibe as the original. Baggot ran it quite a bit differently than the original, and it didn't have the same "artist hangout" allure.
Baggot and Jones had many fond memories together, but Baggot was also the one who turned Jones onto the most destructive path in his life. While trying to shock Jones out of a drunken mess before a show, Baggot gave him cocaine. It was the beginning of the worst part of Jones' career.
Jones eventually found sobriety and recovered his career in the 80s, though he never tried to open another club in the same vein as the original Possum Holler. Maybe the industry changed too much. Maybe country became too popular, making a spot where all the stars hang out impossible.
But Possum Holler's initial success eventually inspired a lot of country artists to open their own venues, too. While some have been successful and some flopped, the idea of country stars with bars persists even today. Just look at Toby Keith's "I Love This Bar" chain for proof of that -- not to mention the countless one-offs owned by artists across the country.
The club is another piece of George Jones lore. As always, The Possum is always imitated but never duplicated.
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
In this session, which was assigned by Liberty records and took place
at RPM, she sang two of these songs.
In an interview Ray Charles had
already declared that the final piano chord on You Love Me Like You Say was his.
When these tracks, after almost 40 years, were first issued by Stateside, Clydie said in the liner notes that Ode To Billy Joehad been arranged by Ray Charles.
Listening
to this recording, it becomes clear that he subtly contributed to it as
well.
At 0:25 you can vaguely, in the background, hear him respond to
Clydie's call (just as he did in the live version that was captured
at the Blues Thing concert), and the final piano chord is unmistakably his also: he plays Pop Goes The Weasel!
In the line-up above, instruments were inferred based on what these
musicians were best known for. Jim Gordon, a multi-instrumentalist, may
also have played reeds, flute or clarinet. The attribution of the alto
to Charles W. Miller is uncertain. Regrettably, I haven't found anything
on Robert L. Stolz. Dick "Slyde" Hyde was credited for "1 Dbl", i.e. he
either played a second instrument (in his case that may have been any kind of horn), or he was paid double as a 'first call'-session musician.
The Stateside release credited Ike Turner (who recorded it in 1972)
for writing the song. Taylor's own original is from 1964. Ray Charles
was mentioned in the notes to Taylor's compilation CD The Galaxy Years:
"Members of the Ray Charles band are said to be present on some
selections and indeed [a few tunes from this period] have a strong
Charles flavour". Any contributions by band members (or maybe even the
song being recorded - at RPM??) may explain how Ray got to know the
song, which wasn't a hit.
F.l.t.r. Merry Clayton, Alex Brown, Gwen Berry, Clydie King at Newport Jazz Fest on July 7, 1968. From Michigan Daily (Jul. 13): "Charles is an unequaled musical institution. He closed his performance with High-Heeled Sneakers [= Hi Heel Sneakers], bringing the house down 8 times. One highlight of the remarkable afternoon was the performance of Ode To Billy Joe by Sister Clara [= Clydie] of the Raelets. The Ode will never sound the same."
The Raelette singing this great song is "Sister" Clydie King.
The tune first appeared on a bootleggish live CD, It's A Blues Thing, released in 1995 (cf. Amazon).
The concert was in 1968.
The studio version on the compilation CD Clydie King - The Imperial And Minit Years (EMI
Europe, 2007; track #18) was probably recorded on an earlier date
(February 22, 1968) than the live concert (also from '68, but precise
date unknown). Ray's ad-libs on the studio version are barely hearable
(session notes here).
In the liner notes of her compilation CD Clydie declared that Ray arranged the song for her.
I'm not James Bond or Jimmy Beard But I know what to drink with weird. White or red, Your meal's still dead, Just get fed and Go to bed. And whether to drink old or young Is down to Rampling or Christensen. Chardonay with fish fillet And meat with Vosne Romanee. But when I drink, There is no doubt, I place my order and Make it stout: A Guiness and a Jameison, 'What was it that you called me, then?' Cape buffalo, lion, antelope, I'd even order for the Pope. Christ-blood singing in a chalice, Sweet red wine drunk without malice. Abstemious host? The Father, Son, without the Ghost. For there is spirit stronger still, There's Mountain Dew in them there hills; Unfettered by the soul's religion-- Black Velvet bubbles, Paris to Dublin. To begin, how about an apertif? Kir, why not? Please make it brief. And should you want a postprandial, The green stuff's good after a while. Absinthe makes the tart grow fond, La fee vert waves her magic wand. And if there is no place to go, I'd stay inside with Veuve Clicquot. It's time to drink your rations up, To lullabies that fill your cup.
