Tag: Phineas Newborn

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Seventh Heaven

CREDIT: Christian Patterson

Now that Beale Street has been renovated, and neon warms its coldest nights, it’s hard to conjure up the feeling that must have greeted 37-year-old Calvin Newborn when he returned there after making his name in the jazz world.

“I came back to Memphis in 1970,” he told author Robert Gordon. “Beale Street was being torn down. I couldn’t find no place to play. … [I was] playing with Hank Crawford every six months in California. And when I came back to Memphis, I would stay inebriated. It broke my heart, you know, to come on Beale Street and it wasn’t there. So I just went to the liquor store. When they finally tore it completely down, I thought that was the end of Beale Street, you know. But they started to rebuilding, you know, slowly.”

Christian Patterson

Calvin Newborn

Newborn had dealt with heartbreak before, over the years, in many forms. Happily, he did eventually resume his rightful place as one of Beale’s star attractions. Now the heartbreak’s all ours, since he passed away on December 1st in his adopted home of Jacksonville, Florida. And for lovers of music history, his death marks the loss of more than one man and musician, great enough in his own right. Calvin was the last of the epoch-defining Phineas Newborn Family Showband.

Photo Courtesy of Jadene King

Herman Green

Family Ties

“When I hear stories about Elvis going and hearing [Calvin’s] dad’s band in the Flamingo Room, and borrowing Calvin’s guitar and sitting in with their family band, I think that Elvis probably got a lot of his feel from their family band. I can see how that was an influence on Elvis,” reflects musician and producer Scott Bomar, who worked with Calvin. “It was quite a band. I think Calvin and his family are that missing link between Sun Records and Stax. They were playing on Sun sessions, and you look at all the people that came through that band. William Bell, George Coleman, Honeymoon Garner, Fred Ford, Charles Lloyd, Booker Little. That whole Newborn Family Band was a cornerstone of Memphis music. It’s a chapter that I don’t think has gotten its due.”

Saxophone legend Charles Lloyd recently tried to give the Newborns their credit, when asked to recall his formative years in Memphis. “I was also blessed that Phineas Newborn discovered me early and took me to the great Irvin Reason for alto lessons. Phineas put me in his father — Phineas Senior’s — band. Together with Junior and his brother, Calvin, we played at the Plantation Inn which was in West Memphis. Phineas became an important mentor and planted the piano seed in me. To this day he still informs me.”

Photo Courtesy of Jadene King

Calvin with brass note on Beale honoring the Newborn family.

Of course, Phineas Newborn Jr., or just “Junior,” was Calvin’s older sibling, who some would later call “the greatest living jazz pianist.” Their parents, Phineas Sr., or “Finas,” and Mama Rose Newborn, raised them to love and play music, always hoping to carry on as a family band (with Finas on drums). And, for a time, they did. But, ultimately, Junior was too much of a genius on the ivories to be contained by such ambitions. Indeed, Calvin grew up in the shadow of Junior’s gift, something he apparently did not mind one bit. Though the brothers won their first talent show early on as a piano duo, that moment also brought home Junior’s genius to Calvin, who soon after began guitar lessons on an instrument that B.B. King helped him pick out.

Beale Street held a fascination for the whole family, who would initially make the long trek on foot from Orange Mound just to be there, until they moved closer. Finas turned down opportunities to tour with Lionel Hampton and Jimmie Lunceford just to be near his family and the promise of playing music with them. At that time, a flair for music was often a strong familial force. Dr. Herman Green, master of the saxophone and flute, went to Booker T. Washington High School with Calvin. “We grew up together. We been knowing each other since we were babies,” Green says. “The Newborn family, and the Green family, and then the Steinberg family. We had a lot of families together at that time that were musicians, you know? So we came up together, ’cause we had to go to the same school.”

Steve Roberts

Calvin Newborn, Chuck Sullivan, Richard Cushing, Robert Barnett (back). Dr. Herman Green & Willie Waldman (front) in FreeWorld. ca. 1990.

Though both brothers were soon proficient enough to tour with established acts (as when Calvin hit the road with Roy Milton’s band), by 1948, their father landed the family group a residency at the Plantation Inn in West Memphis. Green, too, joined the band, as did a young trombonist named Wanda Jones. For a time, Finas’ dream flourished. “Oh, we all was good, man!” recalls Green. “We was playing with his daddy. We had some good singers, like Ma Rainey.” Before long, they moved to the Flamingo Room in Downtown Memphis, and then collectively hit the road with Jackie Brenson, who was touring behind his hit record, “Rocket 88,” recorded (with Ike Turner’s band) by Sam Phillips.

If the family band was tight, Calvin and Wanda were getting even tighter. As Green remembers it, “Wanda, yeah — I’m the one that put ’em together. She was the vocalist with Willie Mitchell. I heard her, and I told Finas Sr. about her. And then we ended up using her for quite a while there. Now, Calvin was my right-hand buddy, man. Junior was in and out of there, you know, but me and Calvin were very close. He told me he was getting ready to get married to Wanda. I said, ‘Well, congratulations.’ He said, ‘Well, you ain’t heard the rest.’ I said, ‘Well, what is it?’ He said, ‘I want you to be my best man.’ And then we lived together in my daddy’s house, when he got married.”

The Phineas Newborn Family Showband was the toast of Memphis, with a plethora of future jazz and soul greats rotating through. And Calvin was distinguishing himself with a talent that his gifted brother did not have: showmanship. As Calvin told author Stanley Booth, “You’d have guitar players to come in and battle me, like Pee Wee Crayton and Gatemouth Brown, and I was battlin’ out there, tearin’ they behind up, ’cause I was dancin’, playin’, puttin’ on a show, slide’ across the flo’.” And flying, as captured in an iconic photo of Calvin in mid-air, his eyes fixed with fierce determination on his fretboard, his legs angled high in a mighty leap.

The Elvis Connection

As their reputation grew, the family band began to notice a young white kid at their shows, watching Calvin’s moves like a hawk. As Calvin recalled to Gordon, “I would see him everywhere, he used to come over to the Plantation Inn Club when we was over there.” That kid was Elvis Presley.

“Elvis used to be there, show up every Wednesday and Friday night to see me do Calvin’s Boogie and Junior’s Jive. I’ll be flyin’ and slidin’ across the dance floor [laughs] and I think that’s when he … started to flyin’, too.” Almost as a footnote, Calvin adds, “but he went on and made all that money, made millions of dollars, and I went to the jazz mountaintop and almost starved to death.”

But through it all, Presley remained close to the Newborns. It went far beyond studying their moves and their sounds at the club, as Calvin’s daughter, Jadene King, tells it. In describing her father’s prolific writings, she notes that he penned an as-yet unpublished volume with “a lot of the history between him and Elvis in it.” Titled Rock ‘n Roll: Triumph Over Chaos, “there’s an enormous amount of unspoken-of history of my dad and Elvis’ relationship. Actually, Elvis’ relationship with my entire family,” King says. “A lot of people think he was a prejudiced kind of human being, and from a very bigoted family, but that’s not true. He spent a lot of his life with my father and my uncle, at my grandmother’s home. They were very close. He ate many meals with my dad and my uncle, and my dad was the one that was responsible for a lot of his moves and a lot of his musical talent, as far as teaching him a lot of what he knew. They were very close.”

The Jazz Mountaintop

Family and Elvis aside, Calvin was more concerned with climbing to the jazz mountaintop, especially once the extent of Junior’s deep genius on the piano became widely known. After brief stints in college and the army, Junior was back in Memphis when Count Basie and the great talent scout John Hammond happened to visit, and heard him play. In that moment, the ring of opportunity became the death knell for Finas’ dream of a family band. By 1956, Junior and Calvin had moved to New York, playing in a quartet with two legends-to-be, Oscar Pettiford and Kenny Clarke, and recording for Atlantic and RCA.

Before long, Junior would go his own way, and deal with his own demons, leaving Calvin to deal with his. At first, the jazz mountaintop offered an escape from the South’s rampant racism. “I think that’s the main reason why I left Memphis, you know,” he told Gordon, “to play jazz. Because jazz seemed to have put it on an even keel, because a lot of white people respected jazz. And that was the bebop era, you know, and I admired Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker and Billie Holiday and all the jazz artists, so I was, that’s one reason I was so glad to get away from Memphis.”

But he also fell into the traps of bebop life, as did Wanda. As Booth writes, “Calvin began working with Lionel Hampton, then joined Earl Hines. His wife, who had become a narcotics addict, had convulsions and died in her sleep, and Calvin began using heroin himself.” And yet, he managed his addictions well enough to keep playing, building his reputation every step of the way. As the 1960s wore on, Calvin ended up working with Jimmy Forrest, Wild Bill Davis, Al Grey, Freddie Roach, Booker Little, George Coleman, Ray Charles, Count Basie, Hank Crawford, and David “Fathead” Newman.

Meanwhile, Junior’s eccentricities were turning into full-blown mental anguish, and he spent time here and there in mental institutions, recovering from his alcoholism in hospitals, or simply convalescing in the family home. Still, he would perform and record.

In 1965, Finas, now suffering from heart problems in spite of his then-clean living, ignored his doctor’s warnings against performing and joined his eldest son onstage in Los Angeles. It was the closest he’d come to recapturing the Newborn family band’s glory days. And he died of a heart attack as soon as he walked off stage. Still, Mama Rose kept her home in Memphis, and Junior stayed there more and more.

Thus was the state of his life and his family when Calvin returned to see Beale Street in ruins. He was once again based in Memphis, but toured often. As his daughter recalls: “The first thing I remember as a little girl was him being in the Bubbling Brown Sugar tour. That had him over in Europe for several years, and he lived in Holland, London, Paris.”

King, whose mother was an Italian immigrant whom Calvin met at Coney Island, but who grew up in Jacksonville, goes on: “That’s my first memory of daddy being gone for a long period of time. That was in the mid-1970s. And he did that for a while. He was constantly gigging and touring during most of my childhood, but he would always come to Jacksonville to see me, or I would go to Memphis and spend time with him at my grandmother’s house. Mama Rose’s.”

Staying at the family home or on his own, Calvin would help with Junior’s care and began playing more with his old classmate, Herman Green. The quartet recordings they made as the Green Machine still stand as some of the finest jazz that Memphis has produced. As the 1980s went on, Calvin joined Alcoholics Anonymous, cleaned up his act, made the occasional solo album, and began working with younger musicians. When Green fell in with the funk/rock/improv group FreeWorld, Calvin was not far behind. “Calvin was a member of FreeWorld for about two years, and his guitar virtuosity brought us all up several levels, musically speaking,” says FreeWorld founder Richard Cushing. “Herman and Calvin would occasionally start playing off each other in the middle of a song, pushing each other, cutting heads as only two old-school masters can do.”

Mike Brown

Working in the studio.

New Born

Memphis musician and producer Scott Bomar also treasures his time with Calvin, first as pupil and then as the producer of his phenomenal album, New Born. “I had to put a band together to back Roscoe Gordon, and I asked Calvin to play guitar. That was the beginning of our friendship and the beginning of us doing gigs together. Some of the most amazing musical settings that I’ve had the good fortune to be part of were with Calvin. At one Ponderosa Stomp show, the Sun Ra Arkestra actually played with Calvin and me. That’s one of the most intense audience reactions I’ve ever seen at a concert. And every time I’d talk to Calvin, he would still talk about it. The last time I spoke to Calvin, he was still talking about that performance. It was a tune of his called ‘Seventh Heaven,’ and that was a very, very special performance.”

Even as the next century approached, Calvin had a flair for showmanship. Bomar goes on: “When he got on stage, he had this energy that not many people I’ve ever played with have. He was electric. He could hit his guitar in a way that got people’s attention. His tone — I love his rawness. Of course, he had this deep musical knowledge and was very melodic, but he also had this kind of raw, rock-and- roll edge to his tone and his playing. His tone was always on the edge of distortion.”

By 2003, there was less to keep Calvin here in Memphis. Junior and his mother, Mama Rose, had left this mortal coil behind. And so he settled in with his daughter, adapting to the Sunshine State and a more contemplative life. “My dad had various levels of spirituality, and he studied every religion known to man. He studied Islam, he studied Jehovah’s Witnesses, he studied Judaism, he studied Hinduism. My father was just a brilliant individual. He’s read the Koran three or four times. He’s read the Bible many times. He was just a very well-versed man, and I would say the last 10 years of his life he completely went over to Christianity.”

Calvin also continued to perform at the Jazzland Cafe and the World of Nations festival in Jacksonville, not to mention many area churches. And he remained as feverishly creative as ever. “He has several unpublished compositions that I have,” notes King. “I have several plays, several books, and tons of lyrics and scores for new music, new songs. He had just finished scoring a musical project that he wanted to take to New York and record.”

And then, in the spring of this year, romance came back into his life, in the form of one Marie Davis Brothers, who he had known for decades. “I’ve known her my whole life, for over 43 years,” says King. “Originally, they were together for 12 years, and they separated and were apart for 20 more years. In 2017, they started communicating again. They’d been talking over the phone for a little over a year, and then in April she moved here from Memphis. And in May they got married and they moved into their own apartment.”

Photo Courtesy of Jadene King

Calvin Newborn at the Memphis Music Hall of Fame induction of his brother Phineas.

The Final Chapter

No one expected Calvin Newborn to die this month. “He had chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) from the years and years and years of smoking and drinking and just the jazz life, but he’d been sober and clean for over 35 years, and he was doing very very well,” says King. “Just in the beginning of November, his oxygen levels weren’t what they needed to be, but he just went from not having oxygen to wearing a little Inogen [portable oxygen] machine. And then toward the end of the month, that stopped giving him the levels that were needed, and here we are.”

Just before the end, he was still giving his daughter new writings to type up. “In my father’s last couple of months, he wrote a poem called ‘Seventh Heaven.’ It was based on a dream where he saw his great-granddaughter, who he called Bliss, looking out into what he called seventh heaven, and everyone was at peace. There was no more hatred, there was no more racial divide. There was no more poverty. Everything had been leveled out. It was a beautiful world. I guess if my father had an epitaph, it would be ‘Seventh Heaven: There’s no race, just the human race.'”

In Calvin Newborn’s heaven, there’s room enough for everyone to fly.

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Cover Feature News

Party like it’s 1989

CREDIT: Arenaphotouk | Dreamstime.com

The year 1989 saw incredible change. Revolution swept the Eastern bloc nations culminating in the fall of the Berlin Wall, collapse of the Soviet Union, and end of the Cold War. In China, protests in Tiananmen Square ended in tragedy. On the technology front, personal computers were getting smaller and smarter, and the first internet service providers launched in Australia, setting the stage for the modern internet.

In the Bluff City things were changing, too. “The Big Dig” was the city’s defining public spectacle, in which a giant illuminated shovel was dropped from a helicopter, piercing the earth on the north side of downtown, where “The Great American Pyramid” would soon be erected, charged with all the occult power of Isaac Tigrett’s crystal skull, soon abandoned, and ultimately designated as the future site of the world’s pointiest sporting goods store. A massive  fireworks display was set to the music of Elvis Presley, Al Green, B.B. King, and Otis Redding, climaxing with David Porter’s 10-minute, synth-funk-meets-New-Age oddity, “Power of the Pyramid,” which you’ve never heard of — for a reason.

Meanwhile, on the south side of town (I’d say the other end of the trolley line, but there was no trolley line), MM Corporation, then the parent company of Memphis magazine, launched a cheeky urban tabloid called the Memphis Flyer, to considerably less fanfare.

What was Memphis like in 1989, as described in the pages of a young Memphis Flyer? It was a city filled with fear, corruption, pollution, urban blight, and plenty of school system controversies. It was also a city full of artists, entrepreneurs, oddballs, and all kinds of music. And best of all, according to advertisements featuring a rainbow-striped superhero, for only seven yankee dollars Memphis Cablevision would “fully cablize” your home, including your choice of “high tech home improvements” like HBO or the installation of cable converters for non-cable-ready TVs.

Hustle & Flow director Craig Brewer was 18 years old and living in California in 1989, but the foundation of Memphis’ modern film community was already being laid. A list of Memphians to watch, compiled for a pre-launch sample issue of the Flyer, encouraged readers to “thank Linn Sitler the next time you bump into Dennis Quaid at the Cupboard.” The actor was in town with Winona Ryder filming the Jerry Lee Lewis biopic, Great Balls of Fire. Sitler, who’d been tapped to head the Memphis Film and Tape (now Film and Television) Commission in 1987, had been instrumental in bringing Great Balls to town. She was also praised for her lesser-known work with a Japanese-produced independent film identified in the Flyer‘s preview issue as Tuesday Night in Memphis. It was a languid, lovingly-shot ghost story shot in Memphis’ empty and dilapidated South Main district. It was released to critical acclaim in the summer of ’89 under the new title, Mystery Train.  

The sample issue’s list of up-and-coming Memphians also included grammy-winning sax player Kirk Whalum who went on to become the President and CEO of the Soulsville Foundation in 2010, as well as Anfernee “Penny” Hardaway, a 6′ 6″ junior at Treadwell High School who was averaging 34.5 points a game.

Although the initial “who’s who” column may have missed a few of Memphis’ future notables, many could be found lurking elsewhere within the early Flyer‘s 20-odd pages, sometimes behind bylines. Robert Gordon, documentarian and author of It Came From Memphis, and Respect Yourself, the story of Stax Records, penned a misty cover-length goodbye to jazzman Phineas Newborn Jr. The paper’s first official issue also included a column by humorist Lydel Sims that was topped by a striking caricature of Memphis Mayor Dick Hackett depicted as a bespectacled,  Nixon-nosed Egyptian pharaoh. The artwork was created by Frayser-raised actor Chris Ellis, notable for appearing in films like My Cousin Vinnie, Apollo 13, and The Dark Knight Rises.

That was also the year Memphis City Councilman Rickey Peete went to jail for the first time, and the Flyer asked if it was really the councilman’s fault that “he was out of the room when all the other politicos were learning to play the game?”

Although its focus was Memphis, the Flyer also localized national issues and stories that would define the coming decades. The Christian Right and the hyper-conservative forces that would eventually become the Tea Party were in their ascendancy; ongoing national political dialogue was captured in a pull quote from Jackson Baker’s profile of Memphian Ed McAteer, who founded the Religious Roundtable, a conservative Christian group that did much to secure the Christian right’s influence on American politics. “Liberalism in a politician,” McAteer said, “must be the consequence of either ignorance or deceit.”

If Flyer readers weren’t surprised by 2008’s “too big to fail” economic meltdown, it may be because of reporters like the Flyer‘s Penni Crabtree, who penned this prescient line in 1989: “Banks aren’t going out of business because they give loans to low-income folks — it’s because they are doing speculative real estate deals with their buddies. … Now we as taxpayers will have to bail the bastards out to the tune of $100-billion.”

Future Flyer editor Dennis Freeland was primarily a sportswriter in 1989, but he was also concerned with urban decay. While other reporters focused on the new Pyramid and the proposed Peabody Place development, Freeland turned his attention to Sears Crosstown, a “monumental” building and neighborhood lynchpin that was listed for sale for a mere $10,000. A quarter-century later, Sears Crosstown is being redeveloped, as if in accordance with Freeland’s vision.

The Dixon Gallery & Gardens opened an eye-popping exhibit featuring the lithography of French innovator Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec in 1989, but the more interesting homegrown action was happening in the weedy, rusty ruins of South Main, where the Center for Contemporary Art (now defunct), and the original TheatreWorks, an experimental venue for performing artists (now in Overton Square), were establishing the area as a viable arts district. The trolley line wasn’t proposed until 1990, and the fate of the area’s “Lorraine Civil Rights Museum,” was still in question. But something was clearly happening in the crumbling, artist-friendly ruins around the corner from the Flyer‘s Tennessee Street offices.

The Flyer‘s first food writers raved about the smoked salmon pizza with dill and razorback caviar being served at Hemming’s in Saddle Creek Mall and saw a lot of potential in Harry’s on Teur, a tiny Midtown dive with big flavor. They were less impressed by the Russian-inspired finger food at the Handy-Stop Deli and the side dishes at the Western Steakhouse, which was decorated with murals by Memphis wrestler Jerry Lawler.

 In music, Tav Falco’s Panther Burns were still bringing the psychobilly punks out to the Antenna Club, the famed alt-rock bar that, at the dawn of the 1990’s, seemed to present as many Widespread Panic-like jam bands as it did hardcore acts. Falco’s outspoken drummer Ross Johnson underscored the city’s musical diversity by writing an early Flyer feature titled “Saturday Night in Frayser,” about the Lucy Opry, a long-running country and bluegrass venue.

What did Memphis sound like at the dawn of the “Alternative” era? The college rock influence of bands like REM and Echo & the Bunnymen were carried on locally by the ubiquitous 5 That Killed Elvis. Dave Shouse of The Grifters, Easley/McCain studio engineer Davis McCain, and NTJ/Afghan Whigs drummer Paul Buchignani were playing Midtown clubs in a transitional art-pop band called Think as Incas. Shangri-La, the record store/indie label that employed Goner Records founder Eric “Oblivian” Friedl, while releasing singles and CDs by local artists like The Grifters and Man With Gun Lives Here, was one year old.

The biggest Memphis Flyer story of 1989 had to have been Leonard Gill’s “Read ‘Em and Wipe,” a cover story that collected Memphis’ best bathroom stall graffiti, including this probing question from the men’s room of the P&H Cafe: “A generation stoned. Who will do the cooking?” I am happy to report that 25 years later, the author of this brilliant line was a newly-minted Rhodes College graduate named Chris Davis who, having majored in theater and media arts, was stoned, hungry, and wondering what on earth he might do with such a silly degree.

It would be eight more years before I’d get an official Flyer byline, reviewing the Broadway production Phantom of the Opera, prior to the tour’s first visit to the Orpheum in Memphis.

You’ve got to start somewhere, am I right?

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Music Music Features

Hall of Famers

The Memphis Music Hall of Fame will induct its latest class at a ceremony Thursday, November 7th, at the Gibson Showcase Lounge.

This year’s nominees include some glaring omissions from last year’s inaugural class: Johnny Cash and Carla Thomas. There are some well-reasoned picks who were recently lost to us: Roland Janes and Sid Selvidge. There’s a nod to the depth of the Stax roster with the Bar-Kays, David Porter, and Albert King. There’s a nod to Sun with Knox Phillips and to Elvis Presley’s gospel roots with the Blackwood Brothers. But there are four lesser-known inductees we will consider here. While they may not be as well known as the others, they left their mark on the sound of this city.

Kay Starr

Kay Starr may not ring the memory bell like this year’s other nominees, but Starr glowed brightly over the middle 20th century. Her work spanned several decades and included hits both on her own and with established greats.

The native Oklahoman was gigging before age 10, which helped her family during the Depression. Her dad was relocated to Memphis, where she took her talent to local radio station WMPS. The staffers at the station noticed her name was misspelled in her fan mail and added the second “R.” So, while she’s not a native Memphian, our civic-wide inability to spell “star” left a permanent mark on her nascent career. At 15, she took up with bandleader Joe Venuti and landed a job singing at the Peabody. She did a brief stint with Glenn Miller in 1939. Later, she joined a female-heavy roster at Capitol and got lost in the mix.

In 1950, Starr heard a version of Pee Wee King’s fiddle tune Bonaparte’s Retreat. She was so taken with it that she took it straight to Roy Acuff in Nashville. Acuff, the multigenerational master of the music-publishing game in Nashville, wrote lyrics for the song, which sold close to a million copies. Starr’s run through the 1950s netted more than 10 songs in the top 10 of Billboard‘s Hot 100 chart with “Wheel of Fortune” and “Rock and Roll Waltz” hitting #1.

The rise of rock-and-roll music eclipsed her notoriety in the public’s mind. But Billie Holiday’s biographer quotes the jazz great saying that Kay Starr was the “only white woman who could sing the blues.”

Rev. Herbert Brewster

For the 57 years leading up to 1987, Rev. W. Herbert Brewster was the pastor of East Trigg Avenue Baptist Church. But through his compositions and his radio broadcasts, he reached a wide audience. Brewster was the first artist to sell a million copies of a gospel record with both “Surely God Is Able” and with “Move On Up a Little Higher,” Mahalia Jackson’s first hit. His works are staples of the gospel choir repertoire and were recorded by such masters as the Soul Stirrers, Queen C. Anderson, and Marion Williams.

Brewster is also known for his musical dramas. He wrote more than 15 plays and was noted by the Smithsonian Institution, which produced his Sowing in Tears, Reaping in Joy in 1982.

There’s lots of ink on Sam Phillips and Jim Stewart and their intrepid journey into African-American culture and the revolutions in popular music that followed. But it has to be said that Brewster, perhaps more than anyone, paved the way for that cross-pollination of American music. Sam Phillips was a regular listener to Brewster’s broadcasts. Elvis Presley was so enamored of the sermons and sounds he heard on his radio that he attended services at Trigg.

Phineas Newborn Jr.

The Newborn name is synonymous with jazz in Memphis. Phineas Sr. was a musician and his sons Phineas Jr. and Calvin would cement the surname into the annals of Memphis music greatness.

Two generations of Newborns were members of what may be the most important band in Memphis music history. Before the MGs or the Tennessee Two, there was the band at the Plantation Inn in West Memphis. Ask any Stax luminary where it all started. The answer is over the river. The house band included Phineas Sr. on drums, saxophonist Ben Branch, Tuff Green on bass, and a trumpeter named Willie Mitchell.

Jim Dickinson and anyone else alive at the time not only heaps praise on the band that was out of Boss Crump’s reach, they go so far as to credit this band with the Memphis sound: the smaller horn section, the stompy, surly grooves, and the shout all come from West Memphis. At a time when the culture of Memphis was supposedly not ready for Elvis, plenty of Memphians crossed the bridge to have a drink and dance their crew cuts off.

Phineas Jr.’s influence stretched farther than East Parkway, though. He played with Charles Mingus and Lionel Hampton. He was on B.B. King’s first-ever recording and his first recording on Sun.

Newborn struggled with health problems and died in 1989. His financial difficulties spurred the creation of the Jazz Foundation of America, which still provides musicians with career support as well as emergency funds.

The Memphis Jug Band

The Memphis Jug Band should be honored for lots of small reasons: for adding the kazoo to the jug-band sound or for having a song called “Insane Crazy Blues.” But the big deal is their influence on this community’s musical culture.

The band started in 1926 under the leadership of Will Shade, a romantic rival to Furry Lewis. They were the subject of the first commercial recordings to be produced in Memphis, eventually cutting for Victor, Champion-Gennet, and Okeh labels. The band was rooted in the past and also more forward-looking than you might think. Musicologists have described the instrumentation of jugs, banjo, and fiddle as closely tuned to the African string traditions. The band’s repertoire reflected the onset of jazz as the musical language of the 20th century.

They were a favorite of Boss Crump and appeared with him in a photo in Life magazine in 1941. In the 1950s, they were documented as part of the field-recording movement that was the vanguard of the nascent folk explosion.

Memphis Music Hall of Fame 2013 Induction Ceremony, Thursday, November 7th, at the Gibson Showcase Lounge. Valet parking will be available. Reserved seating is $50 per person; tickets for premium seating and limited reserved table seating are $100 per person. Tickets are available by calling 205-2536 or by emailing pam@memphisrocknsoul.org.