Tag: Jerry Lee Lewis

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Music Music Features

Jerry Phillips On the Unhinged Genius of Jerry Lee Lewis

Jerry Lee Lewis and Knox Phillips in the 1970s (Photo: Courtesy Jerry Phillips)

The passing of the great Jerry Lee Lewis last Friday, at the age of 87, has brought floods of memories rushing back for those who knew him. As drummer J.M. Van Eaton posted on social media, “He was the greatest entertainer of them all. A musician’s musician. So lucky to have played on his early Sun recordings.”

That quote alone pinpoints what made Lewis stand out among the other stars of Sun Records: his virtuosity. True, The Prisonaires, Elvis Presley, and Roy Orbison had golden voices, and Carl Perkins was no slouch on the electric guitar, but both “Jerry Lee Lewis And His Pumping Piano,” as he was billed on his early Sun singles, were equally dazzling.

“He could play anything with ease,” recalls Jerry Phillips, son of Sun Records founder Sam Phillips. “He could sing any song, ‘Over the Rainbow’ or ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm,’ it didn’t matter.” Nothing expresses that better than the album Jerry Phillips recommends to anyone hankering for some prime Jerry Lee: The Knox Phillips Sessions, a little-noticed recording date from the ’70s that was not released until 2014.

Phillips’ words took me back to my first encounter with the Killer in the late ’80s, sitting cross-legged on the dance floor of Hernando’s Hide-A-Way, at the foot of the piano. Hearing Lewis sing, “Somewhere over the rainbow …” then ad-lib, “there’s a place Jimmy Swaggart only dreams of” as a dig at his more pious cousin, will be forever burned into my cerebrum. And that’s precisely the irreverent energy present on The Knox Phillips Sessions. Lewis’ irrepressible talent and ferocity are on display there, thanks to the hands-off production of Jerry’s late brother Knox.

“It was a time when Jerry Lee was out of his contract with anybody,” recalls Phillips. “He came to the studio and Knox was engineering, and we just started the tape machine and let him go. It was a very interesting trip. And it’s all on tape: He takes to the piano and goes, brrrring! Then he says, ‘The pills just hit!’ and takes off playing ‘Meat Man.’ He’d want to go to the strip club about midnight, so we’d all jump in his Rolls-Royce and go there, and then come back and do some more recording. Of course he wasn’t sleepy, you know what I’m talking about?”

Like his father before him, Jerry Phillips tells it like it is, and so does this album. Phillips notes: “I told Knox, ‘Sam cut the first great recording of Jerry Lee, and you cut the last one to really capture the man.’” Hearing the album today, it’s striking that such an unhinged moment was recorded as it was, without filters or editing. For it perfectly captures Lewis the artist-as-provocateur and all the multitudes he contained, from the sanctity of “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior” to the much lewder sentiments of “Lovin’ Cajun Style” to those electrifying moments where he indulges in an eerie falsetto.

At that point in his life, Lewis was feeling reflective, even as he reveled in the wild hedonism of Memphis in the ’70s. He turns “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” into a tribute to himself: “My name’s Jerry Lee Lewis, piano playing motherhumper, country and western motherhumper, just a plain motherhumper when I take a notion. … I seen a cat down at Fridays. Picked a little fight with him. He broke my nose, I had a hold, and I whooped the shit right out of him. They call me bad, bad, bad, the Killer! Meanest man in Memphis, Tennessee!”

Indeed, at times it seems Lewis is writing his own elegy, as when he mulls over the death of songwriter Stephen Foster in “Beautiful Dreamer,” introduced on the album by an unidentified narrator. “Thanks, Stephen, Al, Hank, Jimmie, and Jerry Lee,” intones the voice, invoking Lewis’ late heroes, Stephen Foster, Al Jolson, Hank Williams, and Jimmie Rodgers, as if Lewis had already ascended to heaven. Then the Killer chimes in again: “Lost in the arms of life’s raging sea, neighbors … you’d better think about it. God bless you.”

A service for Jerry Lee Lewis will be held on Saturday, November 5th, at Young’s Funeral Home in Lewis’ hometown, Ferriday, Louisiana, with the visitation at 10 a.m., the funeral at 11 a.m., followed by a public celebration of his life at the Arcade Theater.

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We Recommend We Saw You

We Saw You: Jerry Lee and Me

Michael Donahue with Jerry Lee Lewis and Steve Cropper at an event on October 6th, 1995. Irma S. Waddell took the photo.

I can’t say I ever “interviewed” Jerry Lee Lewis, but I asked him questions and he answered over the years at several events.

The first question was at one of his birthday parties in the 1980s, probably at his Memphis home. I had never met him or said a word to him before that night. I walked up to him with notebook in hand and said, “Jerry Lee, I’m Michael Donahue with The Commercial Appeal.”

He responded, “That’s YOUR problem.”

That was that. The rest of the evening was sort of downhill.

That was Lewis’ cantankerous side. Which made me a little gun-shy going face-to-face with the Killer over the next few decades.

I photographed and videotaped him, most notably was when he was the guest of honor at his 75th birthday celebration. Kris Kourdouvelis and Sharon Gray hosted the lavish event at The Warehouse off South Main.

Everything was centered around Lewis, naturally. There was a choreographed dance number to “Great Balls of Fire,” and people gave warm speeches about him. All the while the Killer, wearing black-and-white loafers, kicked back in a comfortable chair with a cigar in his mouth. I don’t remember him ever taking the stage.

When he finally left to go to his dressing room, I followed him with my video camera. I didn’t know which Jerry Lee would speak that night, but I asked him something like, “How do you feel having all these great accolades said about you and all these festivities in you honor?”

He responded: “I feel like I want to go HOME.” That was one of the cantankerous responses.

Someone backstage that night said to me, “You’re not going to use that quote are you?”

“I sure am.” It was the kicker to my video about the event.

Other sort-of-close encounters with Lewis included maybe two or three visits to cover events at his home in Nesbit, Mississippi. I sat down and played his piano during one of those visits, just to say that I did. Someone snapped some photos.

I played Jerry Lee Lewis’s piano at an event at his home in Nesbit, Mississippi. Un-asked.
An “I couldn’t resist” moment at Jerry Lee Lewis’s piano in Nesbit, Mississippi.

Guests were roaming about his place during another event. There were cardboard boxes full of Lewis’ shoes in his garage or maybe a storage area. The boxes were dated, so there were shoes from different time periods. There were two-toned shoes, like maybe red and black. Red was definitely a Jerry Lee Lewis clothing color of choice.

I also got to see Lewis perform on many occasions. One late night at the old Hot Air Balloon (or whatever night spot was in that space at the time) in Overton Square, Lewis suddenly showed up. And he played the hell out of the spinet piano. But the vibe — at least from the management — wasn’t so cheerful when he was through playing. It’s possible that he damaged the piano in some way, maybe slamming the top down a little too hard.

But he was amazing to watch. Even in his later years, when he was slowly led to the piano bench, Lewis exploded once he sat down in front of that keyboard. He was on fire. He played the piano like he was in his teens or 20s. Everyone expected him to jump on the bench and start rat-a-tat slamming the keyboard cover up and down during those one-man musical extravaganzas.  

The last time I photographed Lewis was at the opening of the Hyatt Centric Beale Street Hotel on April 29th, 2021. The event included notables, including Billy Gibbons from ZZ Top. But the big star that night was, as always, Jerry Lee Lewis. He was in a wheelchair and attended with his wife, Judith.

During his later years, Lewis was friendly but distant when we crossed paths. In one photo I took that night, Lewis is giving his trademark defiant look at the camera while surrounded by his fans, including Jerry Lawler and Kevin Kane.

Jerry Lee Lewis and his wife, Judith, at the opening party of the Hyatt Centric Beale Street Hotel. With fans, including Kevin Kane and Jerry Lawler. (Credit: Michael Donahue)

But one of my favorite Lewis stories was the time I saw him in the audience at the Orpheum. It was one of those “Should I or should I not speak to him?” moments. Lewis and fellow wild man piano player Jason D. Williams were leaving. They were about out of the auditorium door when I greeted them. Lewis turned and looked at me and said, “Hey, Killer.” He even smiled.

I was on cloud nine. Jerry Lee Lewis could do no wrong.

We Saw You
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Music Music Blog

Remembering the Killer

Jerry Lee Lewis (© Laurence Agron | Dreamstime.com) Rock and Roll Legend Jerry Lee Lewis performs at ChicagoFest on August 6, 1979. Lewis, whose death was announced today, was an inductee into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and held 4 Grammys including a Lifetime Achievement Award.

As we reflect on the storied career of the late Jerry Lee Lewis, whose death was announced today, we recall when the Memphis Flyer‘s John Branston enjoyed this remarkable audience with the Killer some nine years ago. The story offers a vivid portrait of the artist at home in Mississippi with his wife, Judith Coghlan Lewis.

Read the story here.

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Music Music Blog

Jason D. Williams to Rock Halftime at the Liberty Bowl

Jason D. Williams (photo courtesy AutoZone Liberty Bowl)

Pounding pianist and showman Jason D. Williams has carried the torch for old school rock-and-roll for decades now, having left his native El Dorado, Arkansas for Memphis so long ago that we might as well call him a true blue Memphian. Now, his identification with the Bluff City is assured, as he will represent the city to the world during halftime at the Liberty Bowl next Tuesday, December 28th.

Another Memphis native will be featured the night before: Andy Childs will receive the Bowl’s Outstanding Achievement Award at the President’s Gala and headline the entertainment with his band Sixwire on December 27th at The Peabody at 6:30 p.m.

Yet, perhaps because he’s often associated with the oeuvre of Jerry Lee Lewis, it’s Williams who is arguably the most historically “Memphis” of practically anyone playing music today.

“Jason D. is a high-energy entertainer with his own great songs to go along with the rock-and-roll classics he puts his own special touch to such as ‘Great Balls of Fire’ and ‘Whole Lotta of Shakin Goin’ On’,” said Steve Ehrhart, Executive Director of the AutoZone Liberty Bowl. “Jason D. will make this year’s halftime finale a show we’ll all remember for a long time.”

I rang Williams recently to hear his thoughts on taking the stage as the television cameras — and the world — looked on.

Memphis Flyer: Thanks for taking a minute to speak with us.

Jason D. Williams: Just take your time, I’m just sitting around here eatin’ a pickle.

Congratulations on being chosen to play the AutoZone Liberty Bowl.

Thank you! I think it’s quite an honor. They wanted to feature somebody that lived in Memphis, who was an international touring act, so they kinda got the best of both there. I’m very excited about playing it!

Anything out of the ordinary planned?

As far as the performance goes, I’m doing one original called ‘Going Down to Memphis.’ And then I wanted to do the Chuck Berry song, ‘Memphis.’ And then there will be 600 band members that’ll be marching to me playing. So God help ’em! And they’ll help me play ‘Great Balls of Fire’ and ‘Whole Lotta Shakin’.’

It’s great you’re keeping that tradition of boogie woogie and rock-and-roll piano alive.

I thank you for saying that! I wonder if that music is conveyed anymore. A lot of people are doing that music, without a big name, and I’m not sure it’s conveying anymore. Even though to me, it was a storybook, a lesson. Those guys gave me a direct history lesson in Music 101. From the roots of it through the other directions it took. For instance, you take somebody like Jerry Lee Lewis singing ‘Five foot two, eyes of blue,’ and that was a lesson on the chords of the 1800’s. Or ‘Alabama Jubilee,’ or ‘Sweet Georgia Brown.’ Between him and Leon Redbone, you could just about get all the storybook you needed on how to play good ol’ chord changes. Because those songs have a lot of the changes that go through everything, not just the pounding rockabilly stuff. You listen to that stuff, or even Al Jolson, and you’ll get all the changes you need to be a great musician.

With those old songs, you can give them a rock-and-roll treatment or whatever …

You sure can! They allowed themselves the chord changes and the phrasing. Now, when Jerry and that bunch came along, they had not been interchanged at all. So when Jerry would come up and do a country version of ‘Sweet Georgia Brown,’ everybody went, ‘Wow, didn’t know that could be changed like that!’ And I don’t know a lot about what I’m talking about, because it just comes naturally to me. I don’t even know how in the world I got to where I am.

Those old standards really influenced early rock-and-roll. Like Little Richard doing ‘Beautiful Dreamer.’

That’s what I’m talking ’bout!

Do you have songs like that in your set?

Oh yeah! I’ll go from ragtime up to some Elton John or ‘Freebird’ or whatever. Whatever comes to my mind. I usually am the first one to hear what I’m doing. I’m just an audience member too. My fingers take off and I start singing, and it could just be something somebody said in the audience, and my fingers take off, and I go, ‘Okay, here I go!’

The best way to describe it is: I’m Jackson Pollack meets Joe Namath meets Vladimir Horowitz. And I sit there, just like an audience member, and I’m entertained. And if you’re not entertained as a musician, I figure nobody else is either. Not long ago I said to myself, I’m not going to go see another band that’s rehearsed. And if you look at all the people that influenced me, not one of them were these real rehearsed people.


I always say, me and the band are in the same book, a lot of times on the same paragraph, but very rarely on the same sentence. You have to let the sentence just sort of come about.

Jason D. Williams plays the halftime finale at the AutoZone Liberty Bowl, featuring Texas Tech vs. Mississippi State. It can be viewed on ESPN, Tuesday, December 28th, at 5:45 pm CST.

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News The Fly-By

Fly on the Wall 1487

The Killer

On Sunday, CNN reported that the fire in Jerry Lee Lewis’ great balls had finally been extinguished. Sun Records’ piano-pounding problem child was dead at the tender age of 91.

Improbable as it may seem, Lewis, a notorious hell-raiser who’s already outlived label-mates like Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, etc. is still very much alive and only 81 to boot. CNN got the name wrong. It was actually Jerry Lewis, America’s great cinematic clown and mighty lion of the Labor Day telethon who’d gone on to headline that big casino in the sky.

The badly titled obit went viral soon after it went live thanks to the cable news channel’s army of sworn enemies (aka Trump voters) who shared contempt on social media with posts saying, “Oh Wow! They are so used to reporting #FakeNews, when they have a real item to report, they can’t do it. Why are they still on the air?”

and …

“The Clown News Network reports Jerry Lee Lewis died, not Jerry Lewis. These people are the fake news kings. Utterly corrupt and incompetent.”

It’s a pretty ridiculous screw-up and the sort of thing Fly on the Wall would normally make fun of, too. But sometimes an error is just an error and not the CNNd of times.

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Film/TV Film/TV/Etc. Blog

Sun Records Episode 3: In The Third Person

The big news from the third episode of Sun Records is that Johnny Cash finally got something cool to do.
The episode opened with him hanging with his buddies in a beer hall in Landsberg, Germany where he was stationed in the early 1950s. (Idlewild Presbyterian Church’s Fellowship Hall gets a featured cameo as the watering hole.) At the prodding of his buddies, Cash busts out into an impromptu oom-pah song, wowing the crowd. This is the first time Kevin Fonteyne has shown believable talent as a singer—although I have no idea if he actually sang himself—and I started to possibly buy into his Cash portrayal. Later, Cash shows his introspective side as he passes up the opportunity to see a movie in the base lounge to sit by himself with his guitar, working out some songs. He gets a big idea when his buddy casually mentions Folsom prison. We all know where that’s going.

Col. Tom continues to be the most compelling character in the series. When he first see him this week, he’s getting some heat from his bookie—turns out the Colonel likes to gamble, and his eye for the ponies is not as well developed as his eye for singing talent. Nevertheless, his grandiosity is in full effect. He’s already starting to refer to himself in the third person. “Are you proposing impropriety on the Colonel’s part?” he says to Eddy Arnold.

But while his gambling instincts may be faulty, his hucksterism is on point. He sells fans to the fans at the un-air conditioned Peabody Dog Patch Jamboree. The show is a Memphis musician cameo-fest: The Subteens’ Mark Aiken gets a line as the stage manager, and guitar slinger John Paul Keith gets a double cameo as two different guitar players! He’s like Clark Kent, just take off the glasses and you’re somebody else. Had I not been familiar with JPK, I might not have noticed his duplicity, which is a tribute to the skill of the makeup and costume folks. If there’s one thing Sun Records has been consistently good at, it’s deploying all of the budget- and time-saving tricks in the book.

Meanwhile, Eddy Arnold’s career is blowing up, but he’s getting wise to Col. Tom’s chicanery. The Colonel’s already got another mark—Hank Snow, played by St. Louis musician Pokey LaFarge—so he fires the client before Snow releases him.

Back at our titular studio, Sam, Dewey, and B.B. King are pretty pleased with their recordings, but label head Joe Bihari (Mike Horton) is not so turned on to “all the hep stuff blasting out of Beale Street.” The future arrives out front of Sun in the form of Ike Turner (Kerry D. Holliday in his screen debut) and his band, causing a commotion with the racist proprietors of the car dealership across the street. On the one hand, I applaud the show for taking the controversial “racism is bad, OK?” stance, but the whole sequence where Sam and Dewey stand up to the bigots—as well as the characterization of Ike is pretty cringeworthy.

Not that Ike Turner was a good guy in real life. Far from it. When they can’t come up with the $3.98 it takes to record at Sun, they naturally head down to Beale Street, where Ike tries to pimp a waitress named Wanda into singing for his band at Sun and paying the bill all herself. When that’s unsuccessful, he just grabs the tip jar and runs out the door, leading the establishment’s proprietor to fire off a blast from a shotgun that damages a guitar amp.

The story of how the damaged guitar amp accidentally created fuzz guitar is the stuff of rock legend, and its treatment here is an example of how Sun Record’s flawed approach to history is counterproductive. As Ike Turner told it, the amp fell off the back of the car. There was no dramatic shotgun chase. Wouldn’t the simple fact that Ike and boys were flat broke, scrounged up just enough to cut the record, and then had to play with a damaged guitar amp that turned out to actually sound good be more relatable? Injecting unnecessary crime hijinx adds nothing. Furthermore, when they actually cut “Rocket 88”, Sam makes noise about being impressed with the novel guitar tone, but we never actually hear the guitar tone isolated so the lay audience can understand what he’s talking about. The good news is, the take of “Rocket 88” recorded for the show is pretty rocking, and Ike’s resentment at being told what to do by Sam, and his subsequent outmaneuvering of Sam is believable and in character.

Sam and Marion takes “Rocket 88” to a pool party where Leonard Chess of Chess Records fame is cavorting with teenage hotties. Marion record scratches the anemic swing on the turntable and busts out “Rocket 88”, sending the greasers and bobby soxers into a spasm of uncontrollable dancing. Mr. Chess is impressed, and soon Sam is hanging his first hit record on the wall—only to find out that Ike Turner has jumped ship, so he’s back to square one. Sam responds to the setback with a one-man, Marshall Avenue DUI party. Marion, meanwhile, gets a radio gig with Dewey to help support the company, setting her up for either an illicit love triangle with her boss or some Mad Men-style sexual harassment. Time will tell.

Down in Louisiana, Jerry Lee and Jimmy Swaggart are getting into more teenage hijinx, stealing porno mags and breaking into the church so Jerry Lee can chase skirts and play the upright piano. Jimmy makes some noise about how Jerry Lee’s sinful ways are going to send him to the pit of fire (“Spill not your seed on the ground! Stay away from loose women!”), but we all know how effective that’s going to turn out to be. Besides, Jimmy’s heart doesn’t seem to be in it. He’s clearly having too much fun tagging along with his cousin. In this comedic sub plot, playing fast and loose with history is yielding some fun comic dividends.

Unfortunately, it’s Elvis’ turn to spin his wheels. He sneaks into Trixie’s room at night and, trying to explain his ahistorical black church attendance, tunes her radio to Dewey’s R&B show. This attracts negative attention from her father, and as Elvis flees through the window, he yells at Trixie “This is the kind of music that makes good girls go bad!”

Dad’s got a point, Trixie. Dad’s got a point.

[Note: An earlier version of this story incorrectly identified the site of the beer hall shoot as Rhodes College’s cafeteria.]

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Film/TV Film/TV/Etc. Blog

Sun Records Episode 2: Sprawl

In week two of Sun Records, the sprawling scope of the story is starting to weigh the show down, and the limitations of the format are becoming obvious.

“Outta The Groove” opens with the final character introduction of the Million Dollar Quartet: a teenage Jerry Lee Lewis roaming the streets of Ferriday, Louisiana with his cousin Jimmy Swaggart. Jerry Lee and Swaggart are played by identical twins Christian and Jonah Lees. The jobs makeup and wardrobe have done in making them look like they’re related, but not twins, is an object lesson in the power of the two crafts. Later, when the two are banging on an upright piano in Jerry Lee’s home, Christian nails Jerry Lee’s bug-eyed mania. I’m interested in seeing more of the character, but Jerry Lee gets so little screen time in this episode I question the need to introduce him at all.

Back in the Sun lobby, Sam and Marion are getting themselves back together after a night of illicit carnal enjoyment. I’m increasingly impressed with the performance of Margaret Anne Florence, a veteran of both 30 Rock and Inside Amy Schumer. Even though her non-sexytime role in the studio storyline is to introduce inconvenient exposition, she shines in all of her scenes. Sam’s attempts to hide the affair are comically lame, and the climactic scene of the episode is a bait and switch where Becky Philips seems to be confronting Marion about the affair, but instead thanks her for her dedication to building Sam’s dream. Isolated in the Sun lobby, the two most prominent women on the show pull off the classic soap opera move with aplomb. But the scene also exposes something profound about Sun Records: It’s essentially Nashville dressed in 1950s Memphis drag.

On the one hand, it’s obvious why. Empire, the great late night soap opera of our time, continues to ride high in the ratings, and CMT wants a Knots Landing to go along with its Dynasty. But it’s also frustrating. Sun Records is, could, and should be about the humble genesis of the American pop cultural juggernaut. The meat of the story is how the mom and pop music business transitioned into the world-spanning sound of empire (or at least hegemony), and how a bunch of weirdos from the sticks’ schemes blew up beyond their wildest dreams. Those elements are there, to be sure, but at this point I’m skeptical that a history story filled with colorful characters and incredible music can make a good framework for melodrama.

Case in point is Elvis’ storyline. Sure,we need to boil down a lot of elements of Elvis’ not-so-eventful teenage life into a few scenes, but the “going to a black church” narrative—something which simply didn’t happen—doesn’t accomplish anything more than the actual truth would have. Elvis was exposed to black music in the record stores, on the radio, and on Beale Street. He wasn’t popular at school not because of any rubbed-off racism, but because he was a poor, shy mama’s boy. There’s plenty of fodder there for both teenage romance melodrama and Jim Crow South world building, so the writing choices here are baffling.

Sam Phillips story is better in this respect, and in episode two, we get to see director Roland Joffé’s version of the immortal beat making scene from Craig Brewer’s Hustle and Flow. Phillips gets B.B. King in the studio rearranges a song on the fly. Although abbreviated and simplified (hey, it’s TV), the scene gives a good sense of how Philips’ worked, pioneering the still unsung and misunderstood role of the music producer. B.B. is played by Castro Coleman, an International Blues Challenge winner from McComb Mississippi who doesn’t even have an IMDB page yet. Coleman looks the part and displays confidence as he shares the screen with the manic Chad Michael Murphy.

Sam’s skills and the intimate connection with his dark side is this episode’s most successful storyline. If I’m going to fault Sun Records for historical inaccuracy, I’ve got to give the show credit for its unflinching treatment of drugs. Rock and roll was always amphetamine music. During World War II, amphetamines, a relatively new chemical compound, were widely used by soldiers and airmen on all sides. Aircrews got hopped up on speed to fly long missions, and introduced their ground crews to the drug. When the mechanics who kept the planes flying during the war demobbed, they took the drug with them into civilian life. Benzadrine, the first and most common amphetamine, spread illicitly through truckers and biker gangs. Touring musicians took it up for the same reasons truckers did—it helped them drive all night from one gig to another. When bluesmen took speed, they played faster, a rock and roll was born. The motormouth Dewey Phillips is the show’s amphetamine avatar, and he’s a bad influence on Sam. The two of them cutting their bennies with whiskey outside the Bon Ton Cafe is probably the most historically accurate thing on the show so far. Speed plays a role in both Sam’s greatness—his uninhibited, early morning underwear dancing that embarrasses Becky in front of the neighbors—and his darkness—the 4 AM amphetamine psychosis that warrants a Becky intervention.

Johnny Cash’s time Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio is represented by a pair of sequences at Skateland, giving Kevin Fonteyne an opportunity to schtick it up on skates and meet cute with his to-be first wife Vivian Liberto (Nashvillian Anna Grace Stewart). The Skateland scenes, which feature some excellent cinematography courtesy of the rink’s disco ball, highlight once again the superb job the behind the camera crew is doing. Col. Tom Parker’s comic relief storyline with Eddy Arnold and the suits at RCA Records in Nashville give another opportunity for our criminally under-photographed city to shine. Monroe Avenue and the Exchange Building stand in for Nashville, and they look fantastic, and the Citizen Kane shot where Parker reveals his bluff to Arnold is the best looking image in the entire series so far.

On the acting front, Billy Gardell’s Tom Parker remains the most fully realized character, and once he and Drake Milligan’s Elvis get together, I expect some sparks to fly. But we’re not there yet, and in episode 2 Sun Records struggled to advance the sprawling storylines. This is a common problem on contemporary TV, exemplified by the one-too-many subplots plague that afflicted Game Of Thrones’s later seasons. GoT’s solution to the problem was simple: When someone’s story gets too boring, simply lop off their heads, or burn them at the stake, or flay them, or have them eaten by ice zombies or… well, you get the idea. Sun Records can’t avail itself of this remedy, and episode two, while it contains much promise, shows the strain.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Million Dollar Quartet

It’s beginning to look like I’m not going to get the call to appear in the new television series, Million Dollar Quartet, currently filming in Memphis. Actually, we did get a call from a set designer who had heard that we had some period furniture that might fit the production. Since half of my home is still furnished in Mid-Century Parents’ House Modern, I thought we might make the cut. But after my wife told him we’d be glad to rent him some stuff, but we weren’t going to give it away, he never called back.

Those Hollywood types.

In reality, these folks are Nashville showbiz types who are filming an eight-part mini-series based on the Tony-award-winning musical of the same name to air in November on the CMT Network. An open casting call was held in February for local talent to show their stuff. I was in the process of brushing my blue-suedes when I noticed that the only character over 35 was Colonel Tom Parker — an obese, avaricious poltroon — so it would demand method acting. My hopes for trying out for Uncle Vester were dashed when I heard most of the action takes place in the studio. Not the Sun Studio, mind you, but a look-alike soundstage similar to the one used in the Jerry Lee Lewis “mockumentary,” Great Balls of Fire. 

The CA‘s Bob Mehr reported that the film score and other recordings are to be done in Nashville with Nashville musicians. Not to denigrate the excellent musicians of Music City, but that plan seems a little counter-intuitive, considering that you’re documenting an event that never could have happened in regimented Nashville. Only in “real gone” Memphis could such a confluence of talent assemble in one place, a recording studio no less, to basically goof off.

We have world-class musicians and recording studios here, so why spend the extra gas? Back in 1966, the Lovin’ Spoonful sang “There’s thirteen-hundred and fifty-two guitar-pickers in Nashville.” I’ll bet there’s 100,000 by now. The executive producer of the series is Leslie Greif, who actually is a Hollywood type, whose credits include the vastly entertaining mini-series, Hatfields & McCoys, which won several Emmy awards, and Gene Simmons Family Jewels, because a brother’s got to make a buck. However, he also produced Meet Wally Sparks, with Rodney Dangerfield, which makes him a hero in my eyes.

I’m reasonably familiar with the tale of the Million Dollar Quartet. First, because I was a Sun artist only a decade removed and a mile east of the actual event, and secondly, I was employed as a tour guide at Sun Studio for a time until they fired me because my tours went too long. It was my fault. I was always thinking of one more tidbit to tell the tourists, and I was gumming up the works. The boss said I just wasn’t fitting in with their “formula.” But before I was relieved of my duties, the management treated the staff to a viewing of Million Dollar Quartet musical at the Orpheum, for which I am grateful.

The story is loosely based on a historic gathering at Sun Studio, December 4, 1956. Carl Perkins was recording his hit song “Matchbox” with new artist Jerry Lee Lewis on piano, when Elvis strolled in, flush with the first success of his meteoric rise to superstardom, and escorting a Las Vegas showgirl named Marilyn Evans. The accepted story has Johnny Cash arriving from an afternoon of Christmas shopping, although Cash denied it. “I was the first to arrive and the last to leave,” Cash wrote in his autobiography. “I was there to watch Carl record.” Whatever the sequence, when the group gathered around the piano, Sam Phillips immediately called a newspaper columnist and a photographer while his engineer, Jack “Cowboy” Clement, pushed “record.” The result was an indelible photograph and a spontaneous jam session that included snippets of nearly 50 songs and studio conversations that weren’t released in their entirety until 1990.
The TV series expands upon the musical, featuring the greatest hit songs you’d expect, plus Memphis characters like Dewey Phillips, B.B. King, and Ike Turner. But there is one more prominent character who should be in the film.

Before the historians and the discographers descended on Sam Phillips, he was an approachable man who loved sitting behind his big desk reflecting on his glorious career. I once asked him who was the most exciting artist he ever recorded, and without hesitation, he replied, “The Howlin’ Wolf.” He said that Jerry Lee and Charlie Rich may have had the most talent, but the Wolf had a presence in the studio that you could feel. Mr. Phillips said, “His band knew not to mess up, or the Wolf would give them a look that put the fear of God into them.”

I never knew any of those guys in that famous photo. I’m content in knowing I was a tiny part of it. That’s why I hope this series can capture the essence of these now legendary characters. In 2000, the A&E Network premiered their documentary, Sam Phillips: The Man Who Invented Rock ‘n’ Roll, at the Cannon Center. There was a meet-and-greet beforehand, and I waited my turn while former Sun luminaries surrounded the great man. Finally, I was able to say, “Congratulations, Mr. Phillips. This is really exciting.” He looked at me askance and asked, “Randy, how long have we been knowing each other?” I did some quick math and said, “I guess about 35 years.” He smiled and said, “Don’t you think you could call me Sam?” I instinctively replied, “Sure, Mr. Phillips.” I trust this mini-series will treat him with the same due respect.

Randy Haspel writes the “Recycled Hippies” blog.

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Film/TV Film/TV/Etc. Blog

Casting Call for Million Dollar Quartet

This Saturday, Febuary 13th, at 9 AM there will be an open casting call for Thinkfactory Media’s upcoming TV show Million Dollar Quartet. 

The series, with a reported budget somewhere north of $17 million, is still in search of its leads, who will include Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis at age 16, Johnny Cash at age 19, and Carl Perkins at age 20. Everyone who shows up at the audition will be considered for background extra work. The producers request that everyone show up in their best 1950’s period clothing. The auditions will be held at Humes Preparatory Academy Middle School at 649 N. Manassas St. 

More details can be found at the production’s website. (warning: autoplay audio)

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News News Blog

Million Dollar Quartet Television Series to Film in Memphis

A CMT television show inspired by the Tony Award-winning musical Million Dollar Quartet will be shot in Memphis.

The show will tell the story of Sun Studio alums Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Ike Turner and the man credited with making them famous, producer Sam Phillips.

The Tennessee General Assembly approved $4 million to incentivize Thinkfactory Media to produce <i>Million Dollar Quartet</i> in Memphis. That effort was led by Senate Majority Leader Mark Norris and backed by Senator Reggie Tate, Representative Steve McManus, and Representative Curry Todd.

“The work resulting from the alliance between the Tennessee Entertainment Commission and the Memphis and Shelby County Film and Television Commission convinced Thinkfactory Media Executive Producer Leslie Greif and Co-Executive Producer Barry Berg to shoot here,” said Memphis and Shelby County Film Commissioner Linn Sitler.

Filming will begin in late March. There will be a casting call on Saturday, February 13th at Humes Preparatory Academy Middle School (the alma mater of Elvis) at 659 North Manassas from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. They’re hoping to cast all the leads — Elvis, Trixie Dean (Elvis’ girlfriend), Jerry Lee, and Ike — as well as supporting roles and extras. Those who attend the casting call are asked to come in 1950s hair and wardrobe.