We don’t often review singles in these pages, but we’ll make an exception given that this is a remake of one of, if not the, premier song of Memphis for over half a century — by its chief composer, no less.
“Green Onions” is a masterpiece one never tires of hearing, and the man who wrote its key riff and progression has always been a good sport about taking it out for a spin when he’s in town. That would be Booker T. Jones, of course, though it’s actually credited to band mates Steve Cropper, Al Jackson, Jr., and Lewie Steinberg as well, in the egalitarian spirit of both Stax Records and the 1960s.
Last year, while appearing at the Stax Museum of American Soul Music, Jones treated the audience to a beautiful rendition of the tune, accompanied by three Stax Music Academy alumni, the Franklin Triplets (Sam Franklin IV, Christopher Franklin, and Jamaal Franklin). And while we often hear the tune performed in countless bombastic ways here in the Bluff City, this was clearly “Green Onions” done right: bare bones, tight, and funky. Furthermore, while speaking after the performance, Jones announced that he would soon have a new recording out to celebrate the song’s 60th Anniversary.
Jump forward to 2023, and that new track has indeed been released, though seemingly without fanfare. No press from Fantasy Records accompanied the drop, nor were there any reviews. And yet its appearance last November was perhaps one of the most significant events of 2022, in terms of its relevance to Memphis music history.
Jones himself noted the release on his Instagram page: “On this 60th Anniversary of the beloved song ‘Green Onions,’ it seems magical that my love for Latin music would be intertwined with my first musical hit. Listen to the new ‘Cebollas Verdes Cut’ out now!”
The single’s full title, “Green Onions (Cebollas Verdes Cut),” should tip off listeners that this is not your grandma’s “Green Onions,” for Jones, not one to rest on his laurels, has re-imagined the tune in a Latin boogaloo style.
And while this transforms the song’s feel considerably, the core riff and harmonies remain the same, making for a highly satisfying recasting of the song for the new century. With Melvin Brannon II on bass, Lenny Castro on percussion, Ty Dennis on drums, Jones himself on the Hammond B3, and his son, Ted, on guitar, the song retains some of the original’s glorious lack of clutter and overproduction, even as it propels itself forward on a new groove.
Careful listeners will immediately recognize that Jones has incorporated nearly all of his original solo into the new arrangement, and of course the instantly recognizable organ riff is preserved. From there, Jones takes the tune into new sonic territory, with classic Latin start-stop breakdowns and some innovative harmonies and soloing.
At the root of the tune is a bass line more in the vein of what some call the New Orleans “Spanish tinge.” One might almost mistake it for a remake of “Black Magic Woman” for a minute, until Jones enters with that inimitable solo. From there, Ted Jones brings a decidedly more progressive quality to the guitar solo, also echoing Santana.
If you don’t care for the sound of that, skip the radio-friendly A side and go straight to the deep cut, a much longer edit that plays more fully on the possibilities of mixing the boogaloo beat with the organ. Indeed, there is no guitar solo here, only the extended riffing and soloing of Jones, a master of the Hammond B3.
In all, this is a satisfying gem of a single, and, given the city’s influx of Latin American emigres since the original single dropped, a welcome update to fit current demographics. One can only hope that it becomes the standard of this century, carrying on that slinky, earthy groove well into the next.
Pat Mitchell Worley, the new president and CEO of the Soulsville Foundation, sounded a tad nervous on September 14th, standing in Studio A of the Stax Museum of American Soul Music and telling a select audience gathered there, “As you walk through our lobby and gift shop today, take your final look. Because in just a few months, all of that will be torn down.” A few of us gasped, momentarily reliving the trauma of seeing the original Stax building demolished in 1989, but then Worley added: “And we will have a brand-new look.”
While the museum structure, built in 2003 with the original blueprints for the Stax Records building, will be unchanged, the interior will get a major overhaul as new exhibits highlighting heretofore mothballed artifacts are installed. As a teaser, Worley pointed out two such artifacts being unveiled that night, including Rufus Thomas’ outfit from the 1972 Wattstax concert. “You cannot miss that hot pink — hot pink! — that only Rufus Thomas could get away with wearing,” said Worley. “You’ll also see some overalls worn by Otis Redding in the ‘Tramp’ video he did with Carla Thomas.”
Yet overhauling the museum’s exhibits is just a small part of what’s cooking at the Stax Museum. The museum will launch a cornucopia of programs and series to celebrate its 20th anniversary next year. And by next year, they mean all of next year, and some of this year to boot. Indeed, some special events start next week.
On October 6th, the museum will turn the spotlight on a gem in the Stax catalog by the little-known group 24-Carat Black. As museum executive director Jeff Kollath explains, “The album Ghetto: Misfortune’s Wealth is probably the most influential recording that Stax released after Isaac Hayes’ Black Moses (and Big Star’s #1 Record). Of course, it fell through the cracks and never got the credit it deserved until it got sampled to the nines in the ’90s. We are hosting a discussion between original members Princess Hearn and Jerome Derrickson; Niambi Steele, who joined the road show after a random gig in Indianapolis; and Zach Schoenfeld, who wrote the 33 1/3 series book about the album.”
At sunset on the next day, October 7th, another milestone will be celebrated: the recent 50th anniversary of the Wattstax festival. In keeping with the museum’s aim of being what Worley calls “the past, present, and future of Memphis music,” the 1973 film of the concert will be screened where the Black arts movement is blossoming today, the Orange Mound Tower at 2205 Lamar Avenue, representing a fresh collaboration between the museum and Memphis Record Pressing, Indie Memphis, TONE, and community radio station WYXR.
Then Kollath drew attention to perhaps the most significant milestone of all, this year’s 60th anniversary of the recording and release of “Green Onions.” As Kollath noted, “The song literally changed the face of music. And to help play it, we have three of our incredible Stax Music Academy alumni. Your eyes do not deceive you, they are in fact related: On the drum kit, Mr. Sam Franklin IV; on the bass, Mr. Christopher Franklin; and on the guitar, Mr. Jamaal Franklin.” After they assembled onstage, the composer of “Green Onions” himself, Booker T. Jones, strolled up to the organ, and the quartet proceeded to knock “Hip Hug-Her,” “Green Onions,” “Soul Limbo,” and “Time Is Tight” (complete with its triumphant coda) out of the park.
Having Jones himself perform these classics with a tight combo of young Memphians, all of whom nailed their parts admirably — in the very (rebuilt) room where it was originally done, no less — caused emotions to run high, not the least in Jones himself. Playing in Studio A again, he said, brought back a flood of memories from when “Green Onions” was cut. “When the moment came for me to play the solo,” he recalled, “I remember trying to think of talking through the keys, like a sentence or something coming out of me. And I think it was the culmination of so much of the training I had at Booker T. Washington High School. Every person that I came close to taught me how to do something for free.”
Visit staxmuseum.com for details on the Stax Museum’s upcoming anniversary celebrations.
Booker T. Jones is such an iconic Memphian that he’s still identified with his hometown a half century after moving to California. And, that relocation notwithstanding, he’s an enthusiastic advocate of all things Memphis, including the Memphis of his youth, and the supportive community he continues to find here today.
So, it’s wholly appropriate that Jones will be inducted into the Memphis Music Hall of Fame (MMHOF) on Thursday, September 15th. While Booker T. & the MG’s were inducted as a group in 2012, this year’s honor will serve as a recognition of Jones’ accomplishments as an individual, outside of that seminal band, including the many songs he’s penned, recorded, arranged or produced since leaving Stax Records. As such, it’s as much a recognition of the California Jones as the Memphis Jones.
Jones will be performing at Thursday night’s ceremony. In addition to Jones, the 2022 inductees include the late blues and jazz saxophonist, composer, arranger, and educator Fred Ford, Grammy-winning producer and engineer Jim Gaines, American Sound Studios keyboardist, singer, and Grammy winner Ronnie Milsap, former chair of Elvis Presley Enterprises Priscilla Presley, Sun Records artist, songwriter, and producer Billy Lee Riley, Stax artist and Grammy-winning soul giant Mavis Staples, and the iconic drummer for Jerry Lee Lewis and other Sun artists (as well as singer and producer) J.M. Van Eaton. Gaines, Jones, Milsap, Presley, and Van Eaton are all scheduled to attend, while local favorites Reba Russell and John Paul Keith will also perform.
All in all, very good company for Booker T. Jones. Anticipating his imminent homecoming, Jones recently spoke at length with the Memphis Flyer from his home in northern California. Only one day after a mass shooter terrorized the city, our hearts were heavy, yet Jones helped put the day’s events in perspective.
Memphis Flyer:How strange that Memphis is in the headlines for its crime, just when you’ll be coming here to celebrate its positive, musical side.
Booker T. Jones: My condolences to the families. And I hope everybody does something positive in the wake of that. Do something nice for somebody, or for yourself. Try to do something that’s the opposite of that negative energy. Something positive. It’s a huge tragedy.
I was just thinking how appropriate your song, “Representing Memphis,” featuring Sharon Jones and Matt Berninger, is at this moment. It really celebrates the neighborhoods, sights, and sounds of the city.
Well, it’s good to mention Sharon’s name. She was one of the most positive people I’ve known. It was wonderful meeting Sharon. She’s from Brooklyn, I think. She was a very neighborhood-friendly type of person.
“Representing Memphis” also featured Matt Berninger on vocals.
Yeah, he’s another good friend of mine. He’s in a band called The National.
Since you moved to California 50 years ago, it seems you’ve done one collaboration after another.
Yeah. Of course, I miss Memphis. I wouldn’t have been able to go to California if Memphis hadn’t been so good to me. I have a lot of friends there. I’m coming there in a few days, and it’s going to be great to see my family. My family’s from Red Banks, Mississippi and Holly Springs, Mississippi, and they’re all coming. So, it’s going to be great.
How does it feel to return to the Stax building?
I tell you what, Alex: That is hallowed ground. It just is. I remember when I went back a few years after they had torn down the building, and I picked up some bricks and brought them back to California. Because when you walk in the area of 926 East McLemore Avenue, it’s just great. That’s an indication of the spirit of Memphis. It’s all over that town.
It seems you’ve become more appreciative of Memphis in recent years, more so than in the ’70s and ’80s.
That’s true. I have embraced it more, emotionally. Intellectually, I’m maturing. I’m 77 years old. Hopefully I’m maturing somewhat. And just realizing and recognizing who I am and where I come from.
You even named your new record label after the street you grew up on… Edith Street.
Yeah, that’s where it started. That’s another place that’s emotional for me to go back to.
Being inducted into MMHOF apart from the MG’s must be very meaningful to you, after your struggle to get more recognition as an individual before you left Stax.
It is, it’s a really big deal to me. I owe so much to so many people in Memphis who gave me so much at such a young age. And I had so many mentors. And there was such a spirit of giving in my community. In the music community at school, at church, in the neighborhood. So I’m a result of that giving. And it’s a lesson to me. I’m just very fortunate.
It’s ironic, maybe that spirit of giving and support also gave you the strength to break away from Stax.
Yeah, it definitely was a positive/negative, yin/yang type of thing, and of course as soon as I got to California, I had other mentors. Namely Quincy Jones, who was right there, introducing me to this kind of music, that kind of music. And I was immediately surrounded by other mentors. Herb Alpert and so many others. But a lot of kids don’t get a chance to do that. They don’t have a recording studio around the corner from their house. They have to go to Nashville or New York or Los Angeles if they want to be in music. So, I was fortunate that I was born right there in Memphis with a studio three blocks away.
Booker T. Jones (Credit: Piper Ferguson)
It’s interesting that you mention Quincy Jones. I saw a documentary where you spoke about one particular moment, hearing Ray Charles’ “One Mint Julep” on the radio, which led you to pursue the Hammond organ.
That was the moment. I was on McLemore Avenue, listening to the radio, and I was thinking ‘Oh, what great horns!’ And then I heard the organ and thought, ‘Wow, that’s such a cool sound!’ It wasn’t a sound you heard very much. And I thought if I could just do that, I’d be happy. And I am happy. And it was Quincy’s band on that record. Quincy wrote the arrangements, and Ray was actually a saxophone and organ player in Quincy’s band. Quincy was the man who put all that together.
It was kind of coming full circle, when you connected with him personally later in life. That must have meant a lot.
Yeah. He was a mentor. And he was one of those guys like Willie Mitchell. Willie would take young guys like me and put them up on stage and just try them out. That’s what he did with Mabon ‘Teenie’ Hodges, who was a good friend of mine. Willie did that with me, on the bass. Willie is a really good example of that Memphis spirit I’m talking about. And of the mentors I had there.
People often think of Stax Recrods and Hi Records as competitors, but there was a whole local scene that transcended the labels.
Oh yeah, directly. Well, Willie let me play baritone sax in his band, and baritone sax is the instrument that got me into Stax. David Porter took me into Stax to play baritone sax on “Cause I Love You.”
One thing you mention in your autobiography was a friend from Egypt, Mina E. Mina, and the female singer whose work he introduced you to.
Uma Kalthoum. My Egyptian friend in Malibu was a disciple of hers, and we would sit and just be moved by her voice.
California was really a world destination, wasn’t it? So many of these cultures were converging and influencing pop music.
Exactly.
Are there recordings of yours that show more of a world music influence?
Definitely so. So many different kinds of influences were right there, close together. Bill Withers came to California, Leon Russell, and the Brothers Johnson. Quincy was crazy about them. He had a special spot in Hollywood — a room at 1416 North La Brea, right at the corner of La Brea and Sunset Boulevard. And that was sort of a nexus. It was A&M studios, where his office was. So, if you were an arranger — and that’s what I was, an arranger/producer; I played a lot of sessions — his place became a go-to place for a lot of people.
Are you at work on a new album now?
Yeah. It’s the 60th Anniversary of “Green Onions,” and that was the song — I wouldn’t be talking to you if I hadn’t stumbled onto recording that song. That was 60 years ago, so I’m going to do a tribute to that. It was June, 1962 when we recorded it, and I was supposed to be in church. It was a Sunday, I remember. Memphis changes on Sunday morning. Or, at least it did back then. Everyone was in church by [10 a.m. or 11 a.m.]. If you weren’t there, you were doing something kind of strange. I think we were supposed to play on a session. Steve remembers more about it. It was a session that got called off or finished early, and then we had free studio time.
And “Green Onions” was kind of an afterthought, the B side?
Exactly. And “Behave Yourself” was me trying to imitate Ray Charles. I had a little band at a club on South Parkway, and Errol Thomas was playing bass, and Devon Miller on drums. And I would always start with that, because of Quincy and Ray and that B3 sound; and I was trying to imitate Ray, so I came up with that blues, “Behave Yourself.” Why would they just have an M1 organ sitting there that day? It was my dream. It was amazing! I had actually used it once before, because I played on William Bell’s “You Don’t Miss Your Water,” and also I had played for Prince Conley in that room when I was a young kid. Charlie Musselwhite reminded me of that. He was a friend of mine from Mississippi.
Was it the track, “Going Home”?
That was it! I remember that day because I played on that song, but the room was so big, I never did get to meet Prince Conley the whole time.
You write about Maurice White, founder of Earth, Winde & Fire, in your book. Did you guys ever connect in later years? Did you play together once you were established artists?
Oh yeah! He loved to play tennis and when I moved out to the San Fernando Valley, he would come out there and play tennis with me, and ridicule me [laughs]. We were good friends in high school. I think I met him in 8th grade at Porter [Junior] High. And I was the only student with a key to the band room at Porter. So, he walked in and said, ‘Hi, I’m Maurice White.’ His destination after school was my house. And we would play tunes by the Jazz Messengers, or whatever, because I had a record player.
Maurice didn’t really have a family. His grandmother was all he had. And I never did even see his mother until he graduated from high school. That was a good, tight friendship between me, and David Porter, and Maurice. That’s how it all started. Maurice on drums and Richard Shann, who played piano, and I had a bass.
Did you dabble on saxophone in that trio?
I probably did, because I always tried to play reeds: oboe, clarinet. I played clarinet in the band, and the school had a baritone sax.
It sounds like Richard Shann was a great jazz player.
Oh, yeah. He was the true musician of the three of us, the most dedicated. He lived way out in South Memphis, and he would walk to my house to jam with us.
Whatever became of him?
He passed years ago.
It makes me wonder if you and Maurice had ever played music together after you left Memphis. But it sounds like you mainly played tennis?
You know, he was like a brother to me. My dad brought his drums home from AMRO Music, his first drum set. But Maurice was missing his family so, as soon as he graduated from high school, he moved to Chicago. And then Ramsey Lewis heard him play somewhere, and Maurice was gone, basically. He was unavailable. Of course, you know I wanted him to be a drummer in my band, and that would never happen. He started Earth, Wind & Fire and they were instant stars, and he got such a good position in Chicago, and I don’t remember him ever coming back to Memphis.
A lot of people don’t realize he was from Memphis.
That’s amazing, because he was. LeMoyne Gardens. I doubt if I would have been able to make it to Stax if I hadn’t known Maurice. My dad used to drive me, Maurice, and Shann to the middle of Arkansas, nowhere, til 10:00 at night, to play a little gig, playing for four/five people, then drive us back at 2 in the morning. That’s what we did. The bass, the drums, the whole thing in the car, it was a sight! In my dad’s ’49 Ford.
Your dad sounds like a prince of a man.
Yeah, he was the sponsor. He was the reason it all happened. He drove my friends around. He was the guy. I was lucky there. Maurice didn’t have any of that, no mother or father. So, he came to my house.
He’s already been inducted into the MMHOF, so you guys will be side by side now.
That’s good to hear!
The 2022 Memphis Music Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony takes place Thursday, September 15, 7 p.m., at the Cannon Center for the Performing Arts. Tickets are on sale now for only $30, and are available at www.ticketmaster.com or the Cannon Center box office.
This week’s cover story, The Vinyl Countdown, came out just as the city was reeling from the news of John King’s death at the age of 78. Sherman Willmott, who knew King well and helped create the Memphis Listening Lab last year on the strength of King’s thousands of records, CDs, and music-themed books, wrote on Facebook at the time:
Not going to lie. This one hurts. I’ve met so many great people in the music biz, but John King is Tops of the Pops. Huge loss for Memphis and a big loss personally. One of a kind person, always funny and so anti-cool, he’s too cool. Truly the Spirit of Memphis like Bowlegs Miller or Jim Spake — guys who get stuff done behind the scenes in a quality way and aren’t superstars but make things shake, rattle, & roll … defining exactly what people actually love about Memphis. Godspeed to the King of Memphis!
Indeed, King was a pivotal player in the city during its musical zenith, as a promoter, program director, and studio owner, having initially co-founded Ardent Studios with fellow teens John Fry and Fred Smith in 1959. I reached out to Willmott to hear more of his thoughts on the King of Memphis, the man who collected it all, John King.
John Fry and John King, experimenting with studio design as teens (Photo courtesy Memphis Listening Lab).
Memphis Flyer:John’s career was multi-faceted. He saw the Memphis music business from a lot of sides, wouldn’t you say?
Sherman Willmott: Oh definitely. From the little stories he would tell, his whole life was fascinating from the beginning, when they were kids, getting into rock and roll just as it was starting. He grew up with rock and roll, chasing the records. Whether it was him taking the bus downtown to Home of the Blues record shop on Beale, or later with Terry Manning and their buddies getting on the phone to call in mail orders of Beatles records from England. He was very aggressive and determined to get whatever it was he was searching for. And that paid off with his incredible collection.
His work as a record promoter also fed into that.
To me, some of the most interesting tales he would tell were from when he went on the road with the Stax PR people, or the radio people, and they’d go into mostly African American stations. John of course was the token white guy, pushing the rock and roll stuff, but he loved all the music. He particularly loved the hustle and working with the DJs and A&R guys and promo men. That to me is fascinating. It’s like that book, Hit Men. About how you actually got records played. John lived that life. And he lived a life of no regrets.
And one reason he did it was that [Stax president] Al Bell really took him under his wing. So he had an entrée into that world, because of Stax and their muscle. The Stax promotional team was great, with Deanie Parker and those folks. John may have not had an office at Stax, but he certainly knew everyone there. They were friends. There was a lot of overlap between John, Stax, and Ardent.
And he was like a kid in a candy shop. They had worked in radio as teenagers, but to visit stations in a city like Philadelphia was a whole other level. He was pushing records, but I’m sure it wasn’t “pushing” to him; he was just talking passionately about some record they were promoting. Of course, he also would have a tip sheet, and that was another way he had a reciprocal relationship. He would promote other people’s records, and that was a way for him to stay on top of things and get more records for himself, which was a perk.
His collecting covered a lot of genres, didn’t it?
He liked everything, and he had really good taste. So he was getting other people’s new releases, at a time when there was so much great music coming out in every genre. His timing in life couldn’t have been better, I think.
What had he been doing in more recent years?
He always had his hand in the music business. But once the Ardent label went on the shelf for a while (because it never really shut down completely), and Stax went out of business, people in the music business here either went to L.A. or Nashville, generally. Or they fought over the scraps that were left, in the “Disco Duck” era, when studios weren’t as busy. From 1967 to the early ’70s, when American and Stax were going, and Elvis was recording in town, and everyone from Paul Revere and the Raiders to Ronny Milsap to Dan Penn was here, Memphis was on top of its game. If you were there for that, and the rug got pulled out from under you around 1975, it’s like being at the club at three in the morning when the lights come on. It’s time to go somewhere else. I think there was a lot of that in general. And I think John moved around a bit, but he never completely got out of music promoting. It was his passion. He never stopped collecting.
In his collection, there’s a lot of stuff from the ’80s on 12″, when hip hop and dance music was starting to take off. And you wouldn’t think he’d be a big dance music guy, so that was a weird part of the collection. But I think he took whatever was happening in the music business.
I think the big turn for him was in 2000, or the late ’90s, when he started getting into internet radio. I think at that point he was formulating a game plan for what to do with his collection, and that was to make programs for this station, Tiger Radio. And he collected all these yearbooks and phone books and old radio clips and ads. What he wanted to do was make each internet radio show focus on a specific date. Like, April, 1967. And he wanted to pick out people in the yearbooks and talk about them going to a specific dance to see a band. That’s how into it he was. He would play the ads from that year along with the songs. When I met John, that’s what he was into. He basically had his own massive radio station and library, and all the things you needed to do an old school radio show.
So he’d sit there with selections from his collection and digitally record internet radio shows?
Yep, he was one of the first into broadcasting music online. And he had all formats: records, CDs, cassettes, everything. But when I walked into his office the first time, it was like walking into a 1960s radio station. He had shelves and shelves of ’45s that are now in the listening lab.
Are those shows still archived online?
I don’t think they are. It was tigerradio.net. Obviously named after the University of Memphis. He was a big fan.
How did John end up giving his entire collection to the fledgling Memphis Listening Lab?
We’ll call it the collection, but I call it his life’s work. But it wasn’t about him, it was about placing that collection into the best situation possible. He was searching for the proper place for it to end up, where it would get the most public use. He wanted it to be used in the best possible way. And he and I would talk about various opportunities out there, and how much they were or were not what he was looking for. Inevitably each one was a disappointment.
And that’s why the Crosstown opportunity was so appealing to him. Before that, he had resigned himself to the fact that his collection was going to live somewhere outside of Memphis. And that would have been bad for Memphis, a missed opportunity, but also, he was concerned it would be put in the back of some university collection somewhere. One archive I visited had some amazing records, all stuck behind a cage. There was no interaction with the collection by the public. Everything was done by appointment. It was more like the records were in archival prison. At universities who take in collections, there’s usually a hierarchy. Your stuff gets put in the back because some other dude’s collection comes in. Things get lost in the university shuffle. At least in the Memphis Listening Lab, you can come in and see everything that’s available. Those records and CDs are there to be used.
You can have a ton of stuff, it doesn’t matter what stuff you have, but if no one gets to see it and the passion you put into it, what’s the point? John’s collection is really well curated stuff. It’s in great shape, and it’s also really eclectic. There was a method to his madness, and only people who go really deep into it will see that.
When we opened the MLL, he was very pleased. He took great satisfaction in seeing how it finally got built, how much care was put into the design of the space, just like he put into the design of the collection. One thing he said was, “They’re thanking me — but I’m thanking them!” Seeing him in there and enjoying the space was very positive. The last time I saw him was at the listening lab. We had a ball, sitting around listening to music, and he was at peace. The best thing was, he and his friend Tim Riley, who’d worked in promotions at Stax, went over there about a month ago. Attendance has been picking up more and more since Covid subsided. Saturdays can get pretty busy over there. So John and Tim got to see the full-on appreciation and usage of the collection. That’s the ultimate, from my point of view. That’s what really made him happy. He wanted the collection to be enjoyed by the public, with the radio station nearby and the space and the programming. It’s fulfilling the mission he desired, and he got to see it in action. That’s the payoff.
Anyone who dives into Stax Records’ 1960s catalog is sure to revel in the silky sounds of the Mad Lads. Though not household names on the level of Otis Redding or Carla Thomas, they were no less at the heart and soul of Stax. Indeed, they broadened the label’s appeal, carrying the torch for a mellower vocal group sound.
Backed by friends and classmates Julius E. Green, Robert Phillips and William C. Brown III, the lead singer of the Mad Lads was John Gary Williams. And their first singles showed great promise, with the track above even breaking into the R&B charts’ top 20 of 1966.
That same year, the Vietnam War and the draft pulled both Brown and Williams out of circulation. But years later, upon Williams’ return to the group, The Mad Lads had one last chart hit with their cover of “By the Time I Get to Phoenix” in 1969.
By 1973, both John Gary Williams and Stax were considerably more politicized than the time of their first hits. In 1972, the label staged the Black Liberation-themed WattStax concert in Los Angeles, and Williams released his self-titled debut LP the next year, a changed man. His songs were about more than shopping for girlfriends. As he sang on the album’s closing track:
I believe that the whole damn world is going crazy Look at the world, there’s not a sign of peace nowhere (I believe that the whole damn world is going crazy) And does anybody care? Yes, love folks do (I believe that the whole damn world is going crazy) All the hate, all the discrimination (I believe that the whole damn world is going crazy) In the Holy, Holy, Holy Land, oh, there’s a man with a gun in his hand (I believe that the whole damn world is going crazy) It’s something I can’t understand, love should be in demand (I believe that the whole damn world is going crazy)
Though Stax folded in 1976, Williams continued performing through at least early 2018. But throat cancer claimed his voice soon thereafter, and, in 2019, his life.
And yet his 1973 masterpiece lives on, and only gains in reputation. Without a doubt, it’s a prime slice of the late-period Stax sound and its more ambitious string and funk arrangements — on par with works by Curtis Mayfield and Marvin Gaye from the same period.
That album, and Williams’ remarkable life immersed in early soul music, civil rights, and the war, will be the topic of the night this Wednesday, July 13, 6-8 p.m. at the Memphis Listening Lab. The space at the Crosstown Concourse has been ramping up their listening events, often featuring in-depth discussions of how historic albums were made, and this WYXR Stereo Session is no different.
The album’s producer, Willie Hall, who drummed on many Stax albums between 1968-1977, will lead the listening session and discussion, so there are sure to be many first hand accounts of what was going down on and off tape. While the event is free, the Memphis Listening Lab requests that attendees RSVP for the event.
Chicago nightclub life in the '70s (Credit: Michael Abramson)
Under the leadership of Al Bell, after the Stax label broke with Atlantic Records and began broadening its horizons dramatically, the Memphis label’s ties to Chicago grew exponentially. This was a carefully planned strategy on the part of Bell and others, and included a new promotional initiative aimed directly at the Windy City: The Stax Sound in Chi-Town.
The exchange worked both ways: Stax began courting and signing many more Chicago acts, culminating in the label’s deal with the Staple Singers, but also including acts on Stax’s gospel subsidiary, The Gospel Truth label, and spoken word albums by the likes of Rev. Jesse Jackson and comedian Richard Pryor. The sinews tying Memphis to Chicago ran deep.
The free event promises to be a time portal into the funky universe of another era, with decor recreating the ambiance of classic Chi-Town venues like Pepper’s Hideout, the High Chaparral, the Patio Lounge, Showcase Lounge, and Perv’s House, owned by Pervis Staples after his retirement from the Staple Singers. Chicago-based author and DJ Ayana Contreras will preside over the event, along with Memphis’ own DJ Bizzle Bluebland. Food, beer, and dancing will further conjure up the Chicago nightclub vibes.
Chicago nightclub life in the ’70s (Credit: Michael Abramson)
Later that evening, Contreras will spin Chicago and Memphis soul classics at Eight and Sand, located in the lobby of Central Station Hotel.
This isn’t the Stax Museum’s first shout-out to Chicago. Last year, they acquired a stunning collection of Chicago soul, including 35,000 singles and LPs, originally curated by the late Bob Abrahamian, who worked for many years as a volunteer DJ at the University of Chicago. Now being cataloged by archivist Leila Hamdan, the collection promises to offer delights and surprises for years to come.
Howard Grimes (Photo courtesy of Nick Loss-Eaton Media)
With the death of drummer Howard Grimes at age 80 on Saturday, Memphis and the world lost much more than a rock-solid master of the groove. Dubbed “Bulldog” by the producer Willie Mitchell, he was indeed a master of the driving beat, with not only perfect metronomic time, but an artful sense of space in his rhythms. But he was also a bridge between many worlds and eras in Memphis music, lending his feel to records and bands over six decades.
Last year, the Flyer devoted a feature to the autobiography he wrote with Preston Lauterbach, Timekeeper: My Life in Rhythm (Devault Graves). But in the interview conducted for that article, Grimes revealed much more about his life than space would permit at the time. Here then are further musings from the man himself, as he sat in Scott Bomar’s Electraphonic Recording studio, where Grimes had done so much to revive his musical life in recent years. Indeed, his work with the Bo-Keys, backing the likes of Percy Wiggins and Don Bryant, not to mention sessions with the Hi Rhythm Section at Royal Studios, added up to a full fledged Renaissance for Grimes over the past twenty years. As Bomar notes in TheCommercial Appeal‘s obituary, “Anyone who played with Howard knew that he was a very special drummer and special person.”
Howard Grimes in the 1970s (Photo courtesy of Nick Loss-Eaton Media)
Memphis Flyer:In your book, you describe how you heard the Rhythm Bombers, the Manassas High School band, and how thrilled you were to finally attend there and study under band director Emerson Able.
Howard Grimes: Yes, I went to Klondike Elementary first, through the eighth grade. But then I went to Manassas. Some of the greatest musicians came out of there, like Hank Crawford, who I knew well. And James Harper, a trombone player I knew well, who knew my family and parents. Both of them went to play with Ray Charles later. When they used to come home, they would sit and talk to me and tell me about my work: “Hey, they know you out there, man. Just keep up the good work.” So that was a great inspiration, that they were keeping the big boys informed about me.
What other memories do you have of your early days of discovering music?
The first Caucasian people I saw on Beale Street were Sputnik Monroe and Billy Wicks. They were wrestlers. And Dewey Phillips. He was working on Main Street, spinning records. I’d be on Main Street shopping or something, and I’d go down there and see his little gadget where he was playing music. The first record I heard there was Carl Perkins, “Blue Suede Shoes.” That’s the way it started. That’s when the men were drinking Gold Crest 51, Falstaff and Stagg beer. That’s what they were drinking, listening to that Carl Perkins.
Did you play in church?
I played in church for a while, but they pulled me out. Because I had that beat! They snatched me out so fast! But the basis of this city at the time was all Christian. I was listening to Sam Cooke and the Swan Silvertones, the Caravan Singers out of Chicago, the Clark Sisters. All of those were my favorite groups. Then when I started playing with Ben Branch, WDIA used to have what they called the Starlight Revue. It was downtown at Ellis Auditorium, originally. You see how far back I’m talking. That’s where all the stars were congregating together. It was such a joyful time. And they had the blues too. So the people who didn’t want to stay for the blues, they would leave before we started the blues show. It was great. I got a chance to play both sides. The Starlight Revue and the Goodwill Revue. The environment was just beautiful.
Were there many white people attending?
Integration hadn’t really set in. When I started at Satellite Records [in 1960], Chips Moman had already organized Caucasians and African Americans in the band, but nobody knew it. Steve Cropper and them were already there, but when he pulled in Floyd Newman and Gilbert Cable, and then Marvell Thomas and me, he made a combination, and everything gelled.
When we were at Satellite, I didn’t understand how we could all work together inside, but when the session was over, we couldn’t all come out the same way. So Steve would stay in, and we’d come out, just us. And one day I said, “Why can’t we all walk out together?” Floyd said, “Howard, it hasn’t been integrated yet.” But it was integrated inside. And it was better because that was so much fun. There was so much we learned from each other. We were brothers. We’d take money at lunch time, and Chips would say, “Okay, we’ve got a lunch break for an hour.” Everybody would piece together the little change they had, and we’d buy baloney and a long loaf of bread and mustard and stuff, and we’d come back and all sit down and make sandwiches. And when the time was up, we’d go back to the session, the next song.
You played on a lot of tracks by the Mar-Keys at Satellite, didn’t you?
I didn’t cut “Last Night.” A drummer named Curtis Green cut that single, but I cut two albums, the Do thePopeye album and the Last Night album. Floyd Newman had also gone to Manassas and put a band together, and I started working at Plantation Inn with him and Isaac Hayes. Floyd showed me so much. He was like Willie, before I met Willie. Floyd’s ears were always open. He studied you and listened. I never knew what I had until I played a certain beat one night. Floyd said, “Man, can you remember the beat you just played? We’re gonna go to the studio tomorrow and lay that track down.” And that turned into “Frog Stomp” [by the Mar-Keys]. And that was my signature. So that’s how I found myself. That was the beginning.
There are some great deep cuts on those Mar-Keys albums. Like “Sailor Man Waltz.”
That was my favorite. When I got with the Mar-Keys, there used to be a Ray Charles record called “Blues Waltz.” My mother loved that record and used to play it all the time. But it was out of sync. The drummer was playing one pattern, and she was popping her fingers to another. And then Ray Charles was playing another on piano. So you had these three different patterns going. And I’m listening, but I’m listening hardest to my mother. So what happened was, Mr. Stewart had bought a new organ, because the organ he had in there at first was a little one. It was good, and Booker T. Jones was getting good stuff out of it, but when he bought that Hammond B-3, Booker T. was learning, pulling all the stops, and I was hearing the sounds.
We were about to do a session, and I was listening to what he was doing, as he was feeling his way through this organ. And Marvell was a jazz pianist, listening to Ray Charles all the time. So Booker T. started playing this 3/4, 6/8 time rhythm, and I heard Marvell playing the line bom bomp a dee daa…da dee daaah. So I couldn’t think of anything but “Blues Waltz.” Ray Charles. I knew, with them being jazz musicians, that they were into all that. They could play pretty much anything. So they came up with that idea, and I heard the pattern. So I took the beat off “Blues Waltz” and it fit what they were doing. It was one of my favorites. It was a great record, but we only played it once, while we were recording it.
You were eventually hired by Willie Mitchell, of course, and became part of the Hi Rhythm Section, with the Hodges brothers. It seems that you were very tuned into the production process while working at Royal Studios.
When I did a session, I never left the studio. Most of the guys would be anxious after we finished, and want to leave and go other places. They wanted to hang out with the girls. I wanted to learn all I could learn, because I knew that would one day benefit me. And Willie was always telling me if I was going to be good, I needed to know it all. Learn it all! he said. Because you’ve been in it too long. So he was teaching me, and everything he showed me. I come from him and all the rest of the people who taught me.
The [Hodges] cats were so soulful, all I had to do was listen. I could tell where a groove was just by them playing. And once I sat down and played, it all locked in. So Willie noticed that about us, and when he accepted a track, he’d play it back and check everybody and see if they were in the right place, in time, and every note. And I used to sit there and watch him, to see what he was going to say. And then during playback, all of a sudden it would hit him, Bam! And he’d say, “Hey Dog! There it is! There it is!” He called me the Bulldog.
So we’d know it was there. “Dog! Hey Dog! I hear ya!” That’s the way he’d do me, so he always was a big inspiration to me. And I learned so much by following his footsteps and listening.
Willie told me before he died, “Howard, one day you’re gonna be doing what I’m doing.” He said, “Don’t laugh. My boys go a long ways. You can produce, you know a hit when you hear it. You can write. But I want you to pay attention to the lyrics.” I never used to listen to lyrics. I was just trained in the music, because Memphis is about instrumental music. But artists are storytellers. I started listening to what they were saying, and everything made so much sense. And now, I listen to the lyrics and I know what to do.
The time after Hi Records folded was a dark period for you, wasn’t it?
The company took a turn in ’77. And my wife divorced me. I lost my home because I ran out of money. I was ashamed, because people had looked at me from another side, growing up playing, and everybody was with me, and then all of the sudden, this generated all this failure. I didn’t know what to do! I was ashamed to ask people for help. I was slowly dying and didn’t know it. I was dying from hunger and starvation. My utilities were turned off. I was in the house, I wouldn’t come out, nobody was seeing me, because I was ashamed. When I was accepted, everybody knew me. I could walk in a club, “Howard!” I could sit in, play with the band, and it was great! But something happened and my life took a turn.
So I had an out of body experience. I died in the house. I didn’t know what had happened until I went to a pastor afterwards. I was on my couch and I drifted off, and I was in this dark tunnel and I saw a light, and I heard this voice say, “Walk to the light.” I started walking. When I got up, the light was so bright, it started to beaming where I could see, and when it got all the way down to where I could actually see, I saw this figure, a man in a white robe, arms out like that. I couldn’t see his face, like I’m looking at you. But the head set over the body was the sun. I walked up in his arms. And I heard a voice say, “You have obeyed me well. I’m gonna send you back.” I was saying, “I don’t want to go back!”
He said, “No, you must go back. I command you. Don’t go down there running your mouth, or they’re gonna call you crazy.” I’ve never forgotten it. And when I heard that, I woke up. It was kind of strange to me, because I didn’t understand. I looked at myself, I touched my face, I touched my hand, looked at my head. I went in the restroom, I looked in the mirror, and I saw the thorns on my head, my face. The first time I saw it, I shook my head and walked away. Then I came back and looked again, and it flashed a second time. I walked away and came back. When I saw it the third time, I knew. I said, God is in me. So I had his spirit.
My best friend came around, and when I opened the door, he said, “Boy! Howard, you’re glowing!” I couldn’t see anything. But he was so happy, and said, “You’re glowing so much I can’t even look at you! Howard, God got you!”
That was in ’83. Later, I got the idea to write a song, and Scott engineered it. God gave me a song called “Sin.” He said, “If you’re living in sin/You’re not going to win/You’ve got to ask God for forgiveness/If you wanna make it in.” When we wrote the song, then I let a pastor hear it, and he told me, “I’d like to have a copy of that song to play when people are coming to church.” It touched him.
So we recorded it here at Electraphonic, and the back side is “My Friend Jesus.” Where would I be without my friend Jesus?
Carla Thomas in the 1960s (Photo courtesy of the Stax Museum of American Soul Music)
Tonight will represent an apotheosis of sorts for one of the most original voices to emerge from Memphis, via that crucible of unique voices, Stax Records. Carla Thomas helped create one of the very first hits for the precursor to that label, Satellite Records, with “Cause I Love You,” which she sang with her father Rufus Thomas in 1960. Now, over 60 years later, she’ll be honored with an Inspiration Award at the 20th Annual Americana Honors & Awards show in Nashville, during a ceremony at the Ryman Auditorium. It’s the hallmark event of the association’s annual Americanafest, taking place Sept. 22-25.
It’s fitting that she’s being recognized as an Americana artist. After Valerie June released her recent track “Call Me A Fool,” she told NPR that her collaborator on the vocal duet, Thomas, “remains a queen and total superstar, Aretha-equivalent.” And for June, that had a very personal dimension. As she told the Memphis Flyer this past spring, “I needed her, because the record is a bunch of songs to inspire dreamers. I think the world needs more dreamers now, and as we look around at all the things that need to change, it’s like a dream journey. You always have to have what I call a fairy godmother, that wise voice. And Carla was the fairy godmother of this record. She might be the Queen of Memphis Soul, but for me, she’s my fairy godmother. She’s the wise voice.”
Of course, “Cause I Love You” was just the beginning of Carla Thomas’s run of recordings for Stax and Atlantic Records through the 1960s, which made her the “Queen of Memphis Soul.” With an effervescent and romantic voice that laid bare her teen and 20-something emotions, Thomas bridged soul, country, and gospel as one of the key artists of a great musical and social movement.
She practically grew up at the Palace Theater on Beale Street where Rufus was an emcee. Inspired by singers Jackie Wilson and Brenda Lee, Thomas was singing early, joining WDIA’s Teen Town Singers at age 10. After recording “Cause I Love You” with her father, she hit early as a solo artist with the pop and R&B charter “Gee Whiz (Look At His Eyes).” She’d be popular on the label for more than a decade, appearing on American Bandstand and cutting a full album of duets with Otis Redding months before his death in 1967. She was also a top performer at the influential Wattstax concert of 1972.
In later years, Thomas turned more of her energy to Artists In The Schools, a youth-focused non-profit. The Rhythm & Blues Foundation honored her in 1993 with its exclusive Pioneer Award. The Inspiration Award has been granted only once before, to Thomas’s Stax/Atlantic colleague Mavis Staples.
Otis Redding (Photo courtesy The Otis Redding Foundation)
Otis Redding of Macon, Georgia, who came to define the sound of Stax Records after he traveled to Memphis, would have turned 80 years old this Thursday, September 9, and a series of events will be taking place across many platforms to mark the singer’s birthday.
For starters, the State of Georgia will be declaring the day “Otis Redding Day” at an event tomorrow at The Otis Redding Museum. The museum will also unveil a new collection of memorabilia chronicling Redding’s life, legacy, and influences on the world with handwritten notes, unseen photos, and more. More information can be found at The Otis Redding Foundation website.
Rhino Records is also introducing several releases of the music that made Redding a legend in the 1960s and beyond. To date, his songs have garnered more than 3 billion (and counting) streams worldwide. Though no one in their right mind would complain about the original tracks, progress marches on, and perhaps new details in the recordings can be heard when Rhino introduces new immersive Dolby Atmos mixes for seven of his tracks, including “These Arms of Mine,” “Pain In My Heart,” “Love Man,” “That’s How Strong My Love Is” and “I’ve Got Dreams To Remember,” not to mention his two holiday hits “Merry Christmas Baby” and “White Christmas.” All seven tracks will be available this Thursday, September 9 on all streaming platforms that feature immersive audio.
Fans of the original mixes may be familiar with Rhino’s 7-LP Otis Redding: The Definitive Studio Album Collection. This vinyl boxed set, originally released four years ago, features all seven of the original Atco, Volt and Stax studio albums in replica sleeves that recreate the original packaging. The collection sold out quickly and is now out of print, but that will change on December 10 when Rhino re-releases the set, with pre-orders available now.
One way to order it will be via the mobile shopping app NTWRK, which will feature a special program hosted by Redding’s family, during which fans can pre-order The Definitive Studio Album Collection with an exclusive poster, as well as limited-edition merchandise. This will be the first in a two-part series that will also raise awareness and funds for The Otis Redding Foundation.
Though those original recordings hold up, the possibilities of tinkering with classics are hard to resist, so this fall will see other artists roll out new remixes of some of his classic tracks. The series kicks off this Thursday with a remix of “Tramp,” Redding’s classic 1967 duet with Carla Thomas, by the Australian electronic duo Korky Buchek.
Tomorrow will also witness a tribute to Redding by Memphis’ own DJ D-Nice, who will host a “Club Quarantine” virtual party on his Instagram page to celebrate The King of Soul, beginning at 7 p.m. For his continued role in supporting Redding’s legacy, D-Nice will also receive the Award of Respect from The Otis Redding Foundation, a philanthropic organization that was established in 2007 by the singer’s widow, Zelma Redding.
Redding’s hometown of Macon has also recently launched a new art exhibition “Inspired by Otis” in partnership with Macon Arts Alliance, showcasing local artists’ works of art inspired by Redding and his legacy. The exhibition opened last week and runs through Friday September 24, 2021. Click here for more information.
Redding and the Stax house band — keyboardist Booker T. Jones, guitarist Steve Cropper, bassist Donald “Duck” Dunn, and drummer Al Jackson Jr. — recorded a string of Top Ten R&B hits between 1962 and 1967 that included “Chained And Bound,” “Mr. Pitiful,” and “Try A Little Tenderness.” He also wrote “Respect,” a song that reached #4 on the R&B chart in 1965. Two years later, Aretha Franklin covered the song and took it to #1 on the pop and R&B charts, making it her signature tune.
Today, Redding and his music continue to gain recognition, as so many Memphians know. He’s been inducted into the halls of fame for Rock and Roll, Rhythm and Blues, Songwriters and Georgia Music. In addition to a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award (1999), three of Redding’s songs have been inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame: “Respect” (1998), “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long,” (2011), and “Try A Little Tenderness” (2015).
Vintage William Bell (Photo courtesy Stax Museum of American Soul Music)
The Halloran Centre at the Orpheum Theatre has made a name for itself as a songwriters’ showcase, partly due to its ongoing Memphis Songwriters Series, hosted by Memphis songwriter Mark Edgar Stuart. But one event that should have all fans of classic songwriting rushing the stage is happening tonight with little of the standard “songwriter” hype. That’s simply because tonight’s performer, in addition to helping pen some of the most memorable songs in American culture, is also a stellar performer.
That would be William Bell, the Memphis native, now living in Atlanta, who helped put Stax Records on the map, and then helped it stay there. He wrote and sang “You Don’t Miss Your Water,” one of the first Stax singles to hit the charts, and, like “Green Onions,” another surprise hit for a B-side. He wrote “Born Under a Bad Sign” with Booker T. Jones, a tune first recorded by Albert King and made legend by Eric Clapton and Cream, that has since become a pillar of American popular music.
And that’s just for starters. Anyone who loves the sound of Stax soul should be flocking to this show. More recently, Bell’s won considerable acclaim for his Grammy-winning album, This is Where I Live, and for his featured role in the Memphis music documentary Take Me To The River, where he and Snoop Dogg performed another one of Bell’s compositions, “I Forgot to be Your Lover.”
Reflecting on a career spanning several decades, Bell recently told the Memphis Flyer, “In my concerts I’ve got three generations of people now. I’ve got the grandparents, the parents and the kids, and when you can hear them grooving and dancing and singing along, it’s a wonderful feeling to know that. Yeah, this is the same music, this is the same story, and you can feel what we’re doing. It’s great.”
So get your family’s generations together, and go hear one of the last of the original soul singers still standing. He’s a true pillar of Memphis music, still out there doing his thing.
