Next week will mark the anniversary of the death, on October 22, 1965, of Memphian and bassist William “Bill” Black Jr., who died of a brain tumor. Black was most famous as Elvis Presley’s bassist in the singer’s early days at Sun, and his instrumental outfit, Bill Black’s Combo, recorded at Hi Records and sold millions of albums.
According to local historian G. Wayne Dowdy’s On This Day in Memphis History, the headline announcing news of Black’s death was “Combo Man Dies of Brain Tumor.” Well, Black was undeniably a “Combo Man,” as the moniker of his solo instrumental group makes abundantly clear, though it might have been nice to include his name in that headline. At least it wasn’t “Elvis’ Former Bassist Dies,” which wouldn’t have surprised me. That’s the nature of a bassist, or any member of the “backing band,” to be honest — you get comfortable living in someone’s shadow.
Bass is the bridge between melody and rhythm, the instrument that helps tie the whole outfit together. Unless we’re talking about famed Motown bassist James Jamerson, jazz aficionado Victor Wooten, or maybe The Who’s John Entwistle, the listener doesn’t always notice the bassist. But you would notice it if they weren’t there.
“Quite often it was his joking around that took some of the heat off of Elvis, making the crowd laugh at Black’s comedy routines, and stopping them running the Mississippi Tupelo Flash out of town on a rail,” writes Peter Butler on the website for the Rockabilly Hall of Fame. Butler continues, saying that one especially enthusiastic example of Black’s showmanship was caught on camera at a performance at the Naval Station in San Diego in 1956. “He gets so worked up during ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ that, at one point, he looks like he’s just about to ride his instrument off into the sunset!”
Maybe this story about Bill Black stuck with me, as Memphis magazine executive editor Michael Finger suggested, because I also play bass. I think, though, it’s because my mind has been occupied of late with thoughts of other people we notice primarily when something goes wrong. I had in mind, a few weeks ago, around the time that our “Best of Memphis” issue hit stands, to use this column space to offer public thanks to all the Flyer folks who keep this publication on schedule. But some item of local news caught my interest and seemed to take precedence, and the moment passed, an event that is itself emblematic of the phenomenon I’m describing here.
So without further ado, please allow me to offer my compliments and thanks to the staff of this paper whose bylines you don’t see every week. Thanks to the sales staff, the designers in the art department, the folks in circulation who make sure this paper hits newsstands on time, and to the managing editor. Thanks to the copy editor, who makes sure that my “public thanks” don’t become something far more embarrassing to see in print.
I hope that my readers will follow my lead and keep gratitude, patience, and empathy at the forefront of their thoughts as we enter the home stretch of the pandemic’s second year. Halloween is right around the corner, and after it, we’re due for another unusual holiday season. I wanted to get this note in early, though, before that season begins in earnest. To me, it’s always seemed like the end of the year — from the Best of Memphis party on through New Year’s Day — is a blur, a hallucination of altered print deadlines to make room for holidays and then the holidays themselves, a sprint through a festive tunnel toward a new year. I’ve worked in retail and in shipping, and neither of those industries is a cakewalk in the last quarter, even in the best of times.
Please be mindful of shipping delays, that the people working through staffing shortages are working twice as hard to compensate. Remember that people have worked in hazardous conditions. Remember that we have lost 715,000 U.S. citizens to Covid. No one we meet is a robot, and they have likely lost friends and loved ones, made sacrifices, faced the uncertainty of the day with whatever strength they can muster.
In other words, from one combo man to anyone who will listen, be kind, dammit.
