Tag: Those Darlins

Categories
Music Music Blog

Jessi Zazu: In Memoriam

CREDIT: Linwood Regensburg

Linwood Regensburg

Jessi Zazu

Last week, Jessi Zazu Darlin passed away after battling cancer. Jessi had what you call true grit. She talked and walked the way she wanted to. She was a true outsider, in a family of outsiders, which made her part of a wild tribe. When you met Jessi, you felt that you had been ordained an honorary member.

Jessi packed a big, adventurous life into a short amount of time. In fact, she’s the only person that I know of that has been on the cover of the Nashville Scene three different times – once in a story about the Southern Girls Rock & Roll Camp, again with Those Darlins, and then a profile of her unique life when she announced her illness. We used to jokingly sing “On the Cover of the Rolling Stone” and replace it with “Nashville Scene,” always being careful not to take things too seriously, while also trying not to take them for granted. Jessi was not only a talented and creative musician, but also a very accomplished visual artist. She saw things other people didn’t see and expressed her vision and interpretation of the world through her art.

We played music together for six years, during which time we played countless shows while doing laps around the country, recorded in NYC and Atlanta, released two records on our own record label (with bandmates Linwood Regensburg and Nikki Kvarnes , and manager John Turner), landed songs in hit TV series and a national KIA campaign, licensed records in Australia and Japan, and toured in Australia.

I met Jessi when she was twelve at the Southern Girls Rock & Roll Camp, but I didn’t really get to know her until she moved to Murfreesboro. She felt isolated in the small town where she lived in Kentucky, got her GED and moved to Tennessee, where she began doing design and screen printing work. She and Nikki lived together in what can only be described as a shack with a tin roof where we formed a tongue-in-cheek social club called H.A.R.L.O.T.S. (Highland Avenue Regal Ladies of Traditional Secrets) with our friend Mandy, whose kitchen we cooked in while practicing clogging. I was working a lot – full time for a live sound company that provided sound systems for large commercial country acts and as the director of the girls rock camps, helping empower others to play music, but I was not actually playing any music myself. When Jessi and Nikki invited me over to play music, I felt like I had finally found my people. I felt free and understood.

We were a ragtag trio looking to get out of Murfreesboro and see the big world and have some even bigger times. We first began touring in a Buick, and would often bring my dog Chewy. We booked our shows through MySpace and printed Mapquest directions. Before there were smartphones, we would settle arguments on the road by phoning our moms. Then we would argue over who’s mom was right. We bought a van for $300 and toured it up and down the East Coast, until it almost left us stranded on the Pennsylvania turnpike. It was baby blue Aerostar from 1989 – the same year that Jessi was born.

Jessi loved Memphis. Those Darlins played Memphis a lot – we loved it here and Memphis loved us. People understood us here. They got it that we were a punk band – that being a punk is an identity and not a sound – while many others thought we were trying to be a glossy country band and simply failing at it. We got a last minute offer to play a weeknight show at the Hi-Tone and of course we took it cause we pretty much just wanted to play any chance we could. We used to line up in a row straight across the stage and I remember asking Jessi, who always stood in the middle, what song we were doing next. For some reason, Nikki thought I said, “tell Nikki I said to go fuck herself.” She got upset with me, threw down a washboard and stomped on it. There were only a few people at the show, but the next time we played Memphis, we played to a packed house. Apparently word spread that we had gotten into a fight onstage and smashed things, and this was a welcome thing in Memphis.

Jessi was only 5’1” – the same height as Prince. When we first started performing, she played a big black acoustic electric guitar that looked even bigger when strapped to her tiny body. She made up for it with big eyes that stared people down when singing “16 Tons” or “King of the Road.” We bonded over a shared love of old country music and the silliness of songs by Roger Miller and Shel Silverstein. Her humor and wit was on par with Dolly Parton or Loretta Lynn and she and Nikki played into one another’s comedic timing.

Jessi was such a huge part of making rock camp work, by volunteering every year, teaching screen printing and guitar, and doing countless hours of design work to help promote the program. Besides all of the work she put into sustaining the program, she was a mentor and inspiration to so many of the girls who attended the camp. She was a success story and embodiment of what was possible if you just kept at it.

She was part of the original crew of volunteers who helped establish a girls rock camp program in Memphis, which continues at Hutchinson School today. The first year we ran the camp here, we rented some rooms and hosted the out of town volunteers at the French Quarter Inn in midtown. I remember Jessi seeing the place for the first time and going, “wow, this place is fancy!” with complete sincerity in response to the brassy gold wall sconces. If you ever saw the French Quarter Inn, you know that it was not exactly what most people would call “fancy.”

Jessi had both wisdom and innocence. She was always forward-looking and didn’t spend time on regrets. She had too much to look forward to and too much work to do to be bothered with the past or who did or didn’t like her. She approached life with a kind of play and inspired others to do the same.

My heart split when the band and I went separate ways in 2012. It broke again when I found out the band was calling it quits in 2016. I thought they’d keep going forever, rotating out members like Fleetwood Mac, and that some years down the road, I might even share a stage with them again one day. I followed their activities on the road, read every interview, and lived vicariously through their adventures. I still believed in Those Darlins.

My heart broke again when I heard about Jessi’s illness. I felt that I had somehow failed to help keep someone I cared about safe. During the years we were touring, we did not go to the doctor for preventative check ups. Trips to a doctor were reserved only for extreme things like broken arms or strange rashes. Many people don’t realize what a hard lifestyle touring can be and the toll it can take on one’s health.

As an undergrad, I worked with a feminist organization to raise awareness around women’s health and campaigned on campus, encouraging women I didn’t even know to get their annual exam. But I did not do this for myself and I did not encourage the women who were closest to me to get tested. What I try to carry away from all of this, rather than regret (which Jessi wouldn’t have liked anyway), is that you need to take care of yourself and take care of your friends. Listen to yourself and check in with your friends to maintain the health of your friendships.

Access to healthcare for lower income people and funding for women’s health centers are very personal issues for me. I believe that Jessi’s story is a narrative that could have been avoided, and if even one person reading this is encouraged to make sure they get an annual exam, then maybe Jessi will have helped save someone’s life.

Her impact on so many people’s lives was huge, both in breadth and depth, and she will be greatly missed and greatly remembered.

Categories
Cover Feature News

Memphis Musicians’ Worst Gigs Ever II

On any given day, dozens of Memphis musicians are crisscrossing the country, bringing the diverse sounds of our city to audiences large and small. It’s a fun life, but things don’t always go as planned. It’s a tradition for musicians to swap stories of disaster, humiliation, and stiffed payments. Here are some prime cuts from Memphis musicians who were willing to go on the record about their worst gig experiences.

Dead Soldiers

Krista Wroten Combest — Dead Soldiers

We were on our way from Asbury Park to Brooklyn, and then to Staten Island. The guy at the toll booth told us the wheel on our trailer was smoking. This wasn’t surprising to us, because on our last tour, the wheel had fallen off as we were attempting to leave Sister Bay, Wisconsin.

That’s why we weren’t surprised when it happened again in New York. We pulled over and called a bunch of auto places, but no one was open, so we decided to take it easy and just get to the show. We limped into New York and somehow made it through the Staten Island tunnel, which is more than a little terrifying when you’re hauling a broken trailer behind a conversion van.

We finally made it to the venue and had a great time and got to party with a bunch of our Memphis transplant friends. Loading out after the show, Clay [Qualls] accidentally broke the key off in the lock on our trailer. It ended up being easier to just tear the trailer door off rather than deal with the locks and load all our stuff into the U-Haul we rented for the rest of the tour. All the while we were being harassed by a junkie who looked like an extra from The Nightmare Before Christmas. We had to make the tough choice to abandon our trailer there in the Big Apple. Another victim of the road. R.I.P. trailer, I hope you’ve finally found peace in some scenic New York junkyard — or as a Brooklyn hipster’s apartment.  

Joey Killingsworth — Joecephus and the George Jonestown Massacre

I got so many bad stories…

We drive to the middle of Georgia to play a car show. And to get there, you had to get walkie-talkied in. One car at a time on this little gravel road in the middle of nowhere. Once you got down to it, there was a field with all of these cars and stage in front of a dirt track. We start talking to people, and these rednecks are scary even for white folks. Dave said, “You took me to a Klan rally where they don’t bother to wear hoods.” These motherfuckers were crazy. These guys were showing us their gun wounds, their knife wounds. I was like, this is a little too much for us.

There was a guy in a blue gorilla suit playing upright bass, doing ‘White Wedding”, and some ‘80s songs. He was cool. But then we got on stage, and the wind started blowing towards the stage. Whenever the cars would drive behind us, the dirt would blow up on us. It was covering my pedals, my guitar, everything.

As soon as we got done, we were like, we gotta get paid and get the hell outta here. But they were like, hang on, we have an emergency. Somebody broke their foot. We’re waiting on a helicopter. We were like, why don’t you just get the ambulance? No, he was some drunk redneck on a quad runner, and his foot actually broke off, like, it came off. So they had to airlift him out. And that was Dave Wade’s first show with us. He said, ‘That was the day I said, ‘I’m never going to do this again.’ That was six years ago.

My personal worst was the Hogrock festival in Illinois. It’s in the middle of a field that they used to use for the Gathering of the Juggalos. There are three big stages. You gotta follow trails in the middle of nowhere to get to them.

At first it was awesome, but it turned out that was the night the cicadas came out. Like, they were literally emerging from the ground. We were in an open area in the middle of the woods. Me and Brian [Costner] were not wearing shirts, and Daryl [Stephens] from Another Society was playing drums. The cicadas were swarming all over us. They stayed on us the whole time. They were swinging on the bill of my cap, hanging off of my guitar. It was like somebody throwing softballs at you. I would kick a bunch of ’em out of the way to get to a pedal. Daryl said he was just playing and cringing, watching these cicadas climb on our backs. We did an hour and a half set. It was like that the whole time.

Marco Pavé

Marco Pavé

I was 15 years old and auditioning for a talent show in the Frayser High Gymnasium. I had downloaded the beats from a site called Soundclick, and at the beginning of the beat, there was an audio tag that said I didn’t purchase the beat. I downloaded it from the internet so I could perform! I was 15 years old! I didn’t know!

So I came, I had my songs ready, I performed them, I rocked the songs. Then the guy was like, “Yeah, man, you had the tag on your beat. That means you’re not serious. We would have picked you if you had used a professional beat or a beat that you owned.” Basically, they took my $50 submission fee as a 15-year-old and told me to go home.

Booker T. Jones

Booker T. Jones

I drove from Memphis to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, not long after we had recorded “Green Onions.” I think they told the people that I needed an organ, so they went to the church and got a pipe organ. They didn’t tell them it needed to be a Hammond B3 Organ. It was a simulated pipe organ with stops — a spinet. It was like a church organ — the notes didn’t make a sound right away. It wouldn’t work. I ended up trying to play “Green Onions” on a pipe organ in this club in Baton Rouge. That’s got to be the weirdest sound I’ve ever heard.

Richard Dumas

Lorette Velvette

Lorette Velvette — Tav Falco’s Panther Burns

It was 1986. We’d been up in NYC. “The Starvation Tour.” Bob [Fordyce] would just write “FOOOOOD” in his sketch book. So we were crowded in the car, and we had no money. George [Reinecke] was sent into a country store somewhere along the way, and he bought white bread and some head cheese nobody else would touch. So all I was eating was white bread.

We went down to the Metroplex in Atlanta. We started our show, and I was on stage playing tambourine. During “Tina the Go Go Queen,” two policemen came up and told me to come off stage. And I said, “No! Wait till the end of the song!”

Then I went off stage into this other room with them. The Panther Burns kept playing. And so the policeman wrote me up and said, “I’m giving you this ticket for playing tambourine without a permit.”

I was so mad I snatched the ticket from his hand, but he didn’t let go. He held onto the ticket. I just turned away from him, just looking at the heavens, going, “God, this is bullshit!” Then he grabbed me from behind in a big bear hug and ran me out the door, several yards, onto the sidewalk.

By then, the Panther Burns had gotten out there. Tav was begging him to not arrest me, but they said I had “resisted arrest.” This was the police officer who had bear-hugged me and his senior sergeant. The two of them conferred: “Well, should I take her in?” And the sergeant said, “Well, you’ve already laid your hands on her.”

Immediately, the paddy wagon was there. Back doors open, I get shoved in. And Tav was begging him, he was like, “Please, please, don’t arrest her!” And before the doors shut he said, “She’s been eating white bread for a week!”

They took me to the downtown jail, and I had to stand in line. I was dressed in my pink vinyl miniskirt, with a black half top and go-go boots. They all thought I was a prostitute, so they put me in the cell with a bunch of other ladies. When I walked in, they all wanted my cigarettes, so I gave out my cigarettes to make friends. There was a telephone in the room, and they’d get on the telephone and call their husbands and tell them not to press charges. Like, these women had beaten up their husbands. Several of them.

My bail was $1,500. Around daybreak, the Panther Burns came and I was like, “How did you make bail?” It turned out, the people in the club had chipped in, the club had chipped in, and the pizza place at Little Five Points had chipped in a bunch, and they got the money together and got me out. I had to go to court literally the next day. A lot of people came from the club, saying, “They’ve been trying to shut us down for a long time.”

There was a lawyer assigned to me who said, “Let’s try to settle this out of court.” He made a deal, that they would drop the charge of resisting arrest — and I probably weighed 105 pounds — if I agreed not to sue them. Of course, I couldn’t, because we didn’t have any money. And I didn’t want to ever go back to Atlanta again.

Marcia Clifton — The Klitz

The worst one, probably, was the one that should have been the best, when we went to New York to open for the Mondo Video film. Remember Mr. Bill? And Michael O’Donoghue. He was a writer for Saturday Night Live. We opened for his movie, Mr. Mike’s Mondo Video. Sept. 23, 1979 at the Times Square Tango Palace. Elizabeth Johnson was a girl from Memphis who went to Harvard, and she got in, like, a cool crowd and suggested us to play for this. And of course they heard the name and they were like, “Oh yeah, the Klitz!” It was perfect.

And so we were just kinda like…we weren’t really tight, because we were nervous, and I think we had had too much to drink. Rolling Stone was there, and we got a review in Rolling Stone and it said, “The only thing worse than the Mondo Punch was the entertainment.” That was a quote from the actress Sylvia Miles, who appeared in Andy Warhol’s Heat. They flew us up there, put us in a hotel, we went to all the parties, and then, when it was time for the gig, we just kinda fell apart. It was kinda sad.

Stephen Sweet

The Grifters

Tripp Lamkins — The Grifters

I think it was 1992. We were on a month-long tour with Flaming Lips and Codeine. We were in Atlanta at a club called The Masquerade, which was split into three levels. You entered mid-level into Purgatory. The bands played upstairs in Heaven. The sub-level was a red-lit, S&M-themed bar called Hell. Of course, we went down to Hell.

The bar was just opening, and the only other person in there besides the bartender is a guy playing pinball. Shirtless, muscular, black leather pants, black boots, black policeman’s hat, handcuffs. We ask if he’s a regular. Bartender says, “No, that’s Frank, the bouncer.”

Later, we play our set. Good show — hard not to have a good show on that tour. It was the biggest crowds we’d played to up till then. We’re sitting backstage having after-show beers. There’s a knock on the door.

This guy peeks his head in and asks, “Grifters?” We’re like, “Yeah.”

He creeps in with two friends in tow. He tells us how glad they are we came back to Atlanta and that we killed it out there. Of course, we’re grateful and invite them to hang.

They sit down, and dude continues to blow smoke up our asses. “You guys are blowing up! Every song was killer! I bet you’re blowing Flaming Lips off the stage every night! Mind if we grab a beer?”

Dude grabs three beers, hands two off to his friends, and continues to ramble. “This new record man. It’s friggin killer!” Kills his beer. Grabs another one. “Man, you guys are gonna be fighting off the majors!” Kills that beer, grabs another.

Then I see him give a sideways glance to his friends and he asks, “Man, what’s the third song off of side two on the new record?” I say, “Encrusted?” He says “YEAH MAN! ‘ENCRUSTED’! The guitar solo on that song is friggin’ DOPE!”

I say, “Okay, this has been fun. Time for you guys to go,” and they leave. I turn around and Scott and Stan are like, “What’d you do that for?” and I’m like “There isn’t a guitar solo on ‘Encrusted’! We don’t have guitar solos on any of our songs!” And it sinks in. We’d been grifted for backstage beer.

Stan says, “We’re not gonna let him get away with this are we?” I say, “Hell no!”

The club was packed, and the Lips were raging loud. We didn’t know what we would do. After casing the place, we decided to wait by the men’s room. It worked. Almost immediately, dude walked right by us, swigging beer and laughing and — I’m not kidding — he actually says, “I stole this beer from the Grifters! Haw Haw Haw!”

So we’re thinking, “This guy’s going down!” But we only have moments to formulate a plan. We decide we would appear to be fighting each other when dude comes out of the bathroom, and then Stan would hurl me at him and I would either knock him down or knock the beer out of his hand.

Stan and I start shoving each other around and cussing at each other for what seemed like five minutes when finally the guy comes out of the men’s room. Stan grabs me by the lapels and throws me at the guy—who casually sidesteps me! As I’m falling backwards, I reach out and just knock his beer to the ground. It shatters on the floor, and he flies into a rage.

He screams, “That was MY beer!” Stan jumps to my side and points in his face and says, “A beer you STOLE from the Grifters!” He looks all kinds of confused and then goes into a Three Stooges, Curly kind of wind-up. Stan and I plant ourselves, then suddenly Frank the S&M bouncer comes from behind us and hurls the guy into the wall and says, “GOD-DAMN-IT, BILLY! HOW MANY TIMES WE GOTTA DO THIS?”

Frank shoves the guy’s arm into his back and gets him in a headlock and then drags him backwards down the stairs literally kicking and screaming. We looked down over the banister and Stan yells, “This is what happens when you fuck with the Grifters!”

Herman Green — B.B. King

I played with B.B. King a couple years. He saved my life, man, ’cause he didn’t have a car, and I had a car. And so we’re coming back from Blytheville. They had those narrow bridges in Arkansas, and we was following this truck with a trailer. And he signaled, another one coming toward us, some kinda way they had a signal, and told them to come on, don’t stop. And it had been raining. I wasn’t driving, the piano player was. And he hit the brakes … no brakes. We hit that bridge and knocked up three concrete posts, and as fast as we were going, we couldn’t stop.

I felt something go across my chest, like someone was fighting me. It was B.B. and the way he did it, he took his left arm and went that way, and he balanced himself on the bench. So he wasn’t going no where. ‘Cause they didn’t have seat belts back then. That was back in the late ’40s, early ’50s. And he saved my life, because I’d a went through the windshield.

And then, you’ve heard of Ford Nelson at WDIA, haven’t you? He’s a disc jockey. He was with us. He weighed about 240 pounds, and after we hit those concrete posts, the car was laying right on the edge of the bank, teetering. Ford got out one way and the car went the other way. And we slid down and the hood got right in the mud down there. And I told Ford, I said, “Man, don’t you ever move! I don’t care where we at, just sit still!”

Kelley Anderson — Those Darlins

Those Darlins played the 2009 Americana Music Festival in Nashville and were scheduled to play before John Fogerty. Creedence Clearwater Revival was one of Jessi [Zazu]’s favorite bands, and she was excited to get to see him.

At the last minute, Fogerty decided he wanted to play earlier. The festival organizers accommodated his request (because he’s John freakin’ Fogerty) and shifted our scheduled time to be after his. All performers were supposed to play around 45 minutes, and he rocked for almost two hours. At one point, there were three guitars on stage — there were so many guitars.

After he completely rocked everyone’s faces off, we set up our ragtag equipment in front of theirs on the stage they just destroyed and basically played outro music for the waves of people filing out of the Mercy Lounge.

Their drums were still set up on a giant riser, so Linwood [Regensburg] set up his kit in front of theirs, and the rest of us kind of filled out to the side, with me playing behind a large column. With no soundcheck and a “Here goes nothing!” sigh, we took it in stride and played a good show for the 20 or 30 diehard Darlins fans who remained up front. So maybe it wasn’t the worst gig ever, but it was a little embarrassing to be playing to such a large room of people leaving. But hey, not everyone can say that John Fogerty opened up for their band!

The Reigning Sound

Jeremy Scott — Reigning Sound

The day after opening for the White Stripes at the White Blood Cells album release in Detroit, the Reigning Sound rolled into Columbus, Ohio, for a gig that night.  It was at Bernie’s Distillery, a long-running local institution. We were under the impression, probably from the guy who booked the tour, that Bernie’s had a kitchen. The key word here is “had.” In fact, the whole place looked like it had been closed for at least three years. (Bernie’s soldiered on until the end of 2015, incredibly.) When we asked to see a menu, the dude behind the bar said, “Um, our kitchen closed a few weeks ago, but hang on a sec,” and headed where we couldn’t see him.  When he returned, he informed us, “Well, there’s a whole ham back there. The top part is green, but I could shave off the bottom for you and make sandwiches.” We all looked at each other and said “Nah, we’re good.” Add in the thoroughly disgusting bathroom which gave ’70s-era CBGB a run for its money, and a bunch of out-of-place Ohio State grads, and you have a fairly disorienting experience. That’s life, though. One day you’re playing with the White Stripes, the next day a random bartender is trying to kill you.

The Masqueraders

Harold Thomas — The Masqueraders

[In 1968, the Masqueraders hit the road to support their hit “I Ain’t Gotta Love Nobody Else.”]

Our first engagement on that tour was at the Apollo Theater. This was the craziest experience we ever had in our life. We got up there, we were just ol’ country boys. We didn’t know. We really came from a capella, to the studio, and now we gotta have music. We didn’t know we needed charts!

We get to the Apollo Theater, and the bandleader goes, “All right, Masqueraders, let me have your charts.”

We go, “Charts? You know, we always just go, ‘Well, the music goes like this, dowmp dowmp dowmp!'”

They go, “Oh no, man … we need some charts.” Okay.

So one of those guys says, “Hey, I tell you what, I know the song. You all give me $50, and I’ll write the charts for ya. Tonight, when y’all come back, I’ll have ’em ready.”

That night, they call us, “Masqueraders, Masqueraders, you’re up next!”

We run out on the stage, waiting for them to play our song. They didn’t play nothing like it. It wasn’t nothing like it! We was looking at each other going, “What the … hell?”

And the people in the audience, they were starting to mumble, getting ready to throw tomatoes and eggs. You know how they did back in the day.

So one of our guys said, “Hold it, hold it, man, we don’t need no music! We don’t need no MUSIC. Stop right now!”

And then he headed out on that melody [a capella], “Up in the morning …” and we were like “Wooo-ooh.” “Out on the job … ”

When we got through singing that song, they were standing up, you hear me?

Categories
Cover Feature News

The Bird’s the Word

Over the weekend, a man was arrested for stabbing a gas station worker over “bad chicken.” Now we’re not ones to condone violence —no stabbing! — but people around these parts have certain expectations that their chicken is going to be good.

This issue is all about good chicken. Plenty of words have been written about Gus’s and Uncle Lou’s, so we decided to explore Memphis’ other chicken avenues. We guarantee that you’ll be hungry after reading this.

The Smoked Chicken Debris PoBoy
@ The Dirty Crow Inn

If heaven ain’t a lot like The Dirty Crow Inn, I don’t want to go. (I checked, and it’s fine to rip off Bocephus when you’re talking chicken. “He wouldn’t mind,” is what the rule book says.)

I’d heard tell of a chicken Philly sandwich at the Inn. It’s a special sometimes, the bar man told me, but not part of the regular menu. At that low moment, a ray of hope cut those rainy clouds — the word “debris.”

The Inn keepers have called it the “Chicken Debris PoBoy” online, but the Dirty Crow menu said, “smoked chicken debris” sandwich. To me, debris is debris any way you cut it (or don’t, I guess). And I’ve seen it swimming in the serving pan at Mother’s, the famed New Orleans restaurant that invented debris (the term anyway).

My sandwich at the Dirty Crow was every bit a po’boy, beautifully smoked chicken bathed in an earthy brown gravy riding two light (and lightly toasted) pieces of French bread from Gambino’s, that fine and famed New Orleans bakery.

Sometimes “smoked” menu items, even in Memphis, don’t taste that way. The Crow’s chicken debris sandwich does not leave you guessing. Its smoke flavor is present but delicate, the way it ought to be. It blends seamlessly with that gravy and a nice dose of melted cheese that pulls away in a pizza-commercial string as you pull the sandwich from your mouth.

The place is heaven for dive-bar aficionados (like me). The food makes it a before-you-die destination for all Memphians. — Toby Sells

Dirty Crow Inn, 855 Kentucky, 207-5111, facebook.com/thedirtycrowinn

Fried Chicken @ Cash Saver

Sometimes, you just gotta have fried chicken. Last week, I was so desperate I went to the KFC drive-thru and ordered a box. “Thlbetwtyminawtfcxx” came back over the microphone.

“What?”

“Thlbetwtyminawtfcxx”

“What?”

After several attempts, the fellow managed to get the message to me: “There will be a 20-minute wait for chicken.” Right. At a chicken restaurant. So …

I’ve been hearing about Cash Saver’s fried chicken for more than a year now. Midtowners who I know and trust have said to me, “That fried chicken is the real deal. And cheap!” Some said it was the best in town. I don’t know about that, but I’m here to tell you, they were right about it being very good. And very cheap.

Fried Chicken at Cash Saver

I ordered two breasts and two thighs. Total cost? $5.19.

The pieces were very large, crispy on the outside and perfectly moist on the inside. The flavor of the skin was savory, lightly seasoned but with a little bite. In short, great fried chicken — the real deal. Highly recommended. I’ll be back for more. — Bruce VanWyngarden

Cash Saver, 1620 Madison, 272-0171, memphiscashsaver.com

Romaine Salad with Chicken Skins @ Hog & Hominy

Anytime I see someone slip off and discard the skin from an otherwise perfect piece of fried or baked chicken (but especially fried), I inwardly pray for their poor soul and wonder who it was that set you down a path of self-deprivation.

It’s not only that they are missing out on some heart-healthy unsaturated fats, it’s that they might still fall victim to this woefully false myth that this is something you have to do to make your chicken healthy enough to consume (spoiler, it’s not).

Well, someone at Hog & Hominy decided, “Screw that, we’re devoting a dish solely to chicken skins.” And just to round it out, lest the consumer grew up under the anti-skin mythology, that someone decided to build their chicken dermis homage on a bed of Romaine lettuce.

The result is an unexpectedly cohesive salad, misleadingly and simply titled, “Romaine.” The chicken skins used are more akin to a pork rind rather than the double-breaded crunchiness of most fried chicken pieces. These puffy morsels are strewn atop a decent portion of lettuce, which is in turn covered in snowy Parmesan and drizzled with pecorino vinaigrette.

Justin Fox Burks

Romaine Salad with Chicken Skins at Hog & Hominy

The skins are lightly seasoned so the vinaigrette can come in and work its magic by introducing a low level of spice and tang, two flavors that pair surprisingly well with the fried fat essence of the skins. The Romaine lettuce does what Romaine was put on this earth to do, namely, trick us into thinking we’re consuming something mega-healthy when we are not. And, of course, it’s the perfect semi-crunchy vehicle that supports the crispiness of the skins.

Be warned, though, this is not the type of salad loaded down with auxiliary vegetables and croutons. It’s not going to fill you up. But it will deliver piquancy worthy of what I have determined to be the greatest part of the chicken.

— Micaela Watts

Hog & Hominy, 707 W. Brookhaven,
207-7396, hogandhominy.com

Chicken Tamales from Tacqueria La Guadalupana food truck

Tamales were among the earliest food imports from south of the border to make it onto Norde Americano menus, and they remain a staple, whether in supermarket cans or on restaurant tables. Something of a debate rages as to whether the meat base in those wraparound masa cylinders should be beef or pork, but there is a third possibility — chicken — and a good place to sample it is from the Tacqueria La Guadalupana food truck that sets up daily on the north side of the shopping-center lot where Cordova Road intersects with Germantown Parkway — in an area that is more multi-ethnic than you might imagine. (The internationally focused Cordova Farmers Market is the big-box anchor on the lot.)

The La Guadalupana truck offers numerous cooked-while-you-wait specialties, several involving chicken. Order tamales, and what you get, for a mere $7.99, is three YUGE tamales, each with a generous and succulently breaded tortilla coating, within which is packed none of that minced mystery-meat filling you get at so many places, but steamed and tender morsels of freshly carved, fresh-off-the-bone-looking chicken meat. Two sauces are available as condiments, the green one appears to mix guacamole with chili; the red one (maybe laced with habanero) is scalding hot.

— Jackson Baker

Taqueria La Guadalupana at the corner of Cordova Road and Germantown Parkway

Wood Roasted Half Chicken @
The Kitchen Bistro

Served in a round ceramic casserole the color of red clay, the Kitchen’s wood-roasted chicken earns it $29 price tag with looks, smarts, and personality. First, cornbread panzanella sets the dish with a seasonal cacophony of tomatoes, onions, and olives. Next comes the chicken, brined, flattened, and wood-roasted to a deep and rustic char. And what swirls on top with magical brushstrokes of taste and color? The dressing, a pesto of sorts made with garlic, olive oil, lemon, and anchovies. “You don’t want to eat the chicken and think the chicken tastes like fish,” explains head Chef Dennis Phelps. “You want to eat the chicken and think the chicken tastes delicious.” — Pamela Denney

Justin Fox Burks

Wood Roasted Half Chicken at the Kitchen Bistro

The Kitchen Bistro, 415 Great View Drive East, 729-9009, thekitchen.com

General Tso’s Chicken @ Mulan

It’s a conundrum every office has had to face as they order takeout lunch: What’s the deal with General Tso’s Chicken? Who was the eponymous military man? What’s his connection with poultry? How do you even pronounce it?

If these questions have ever prompted debate at your workplace, take heart. The answers are out there, in the form of Ian Cheney and Jennifer Lee’s 2014 documentary The Search for General Tso. It’s a fascinating look into the ways immigrant communities adapt to American life that also tells you everything you need to know about the sweet and spicy Hunan-style dish which, it turns out, is virtually unknown in China.

The first two things I noticed about the General Tso’s Chicken at Mulan is that the garnish contained a glowing LED and a dearth of broccoli on the plate. Many Chinese restaurants include plentiful broccoli with the stir-fried dark meat, and the florets come in handy for sopping up the sauce that gives the dish its deep red color. But once I bit into the succulent chunks of chicken, I realized the vegetable would have been a distraction from the main show. Each morsel was just a little crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. It was outstanding. I got the standard spice level for scientific purposes, so the sweetness and heat were finely balanced. But if you like it spicy, they’ll be more than happy to oblige.

Chris McCoy

Mulan General Tso’s Chicken

For the record, the Chinese character transliterated as “Tso” or “Zho” means “left.” It’s a syllable that English does not contain, but it is roughly pronounced as “jowh.” However, to avoid confusion with your server, you should probably just go with “so.” — Chris McCoy

Mulan, 2149 Young, 347-3965 mulanmidtown.net

Chicken and waffles @
The HM Dessert Lounge

I’m aware of no other restaurant in Memphis where one can dine surrounded by paintings of the late, great Prince hung on purple walls. I discovered the promised land, and it’s named HM Dessert Lounge. The restaurant’s focus is in its name, with one exception: chicken and waffles.

The chicken is dipped in double honey hot sauce, Jamaican jerk sauce, or spicy peach glaze. It’s then paired with a regular, cornbread, honey butter biscuit, blueberry, sweet potato, or a maple bacon waffle. Options, indeed.

Justin Fox Burks

Chicken and waffles at The HM Dessert Lounge

I settled on four chicken breasts bathed in double hot honey sauce and coupled with a maple bacon encrusted waffle — $12 well spent. Sticky as it is, the hot honey sauce slides from the chicken and blends with the maple syrup, creating a sweet and spicy combination that brings magic to a dish which otherwise would have been too obvious. The chicken isn’t flaky but smooth, and each piece shines beneath the sauce. Slice the waffle, cut the chicken, and fork ’em together. Sauce and syrup united, the waffle coats the chicken, and bacon bits provide a necessary crunch.— Joshua Cannon

The HM Dessert Lounge,

1586 Madison, 290-2099,

facebook.com/fashionablysweetlounge

Smoke Chicken @ Picosos

There are fewer words in the English language sadder than, “Sorry, not today.” Especially if those words are spoken with genuine disappointment in a Mexican accent at Picosos, a terrific little south-of-the-border diner on Summer Avenue. The restaurant’s “Smoke Chicken” is an old-Memphis-meets-old-Mexico delicacy that sells fast, is only available on the weekends, and so succulent and good it’s worth heading out early to get your order in before the Saturday lunch crowd arrives. Served with rice and refried beans and topped with a handful of french fries, the meal is exactly what it sounds like — a quarter, half, or whole chicken covered with a heady-not-hot spice rub that’s a little on the salty side and slow-smoked to barbecue-lover’s perfection. It’s tempting to just wolf the whole thing down, but advisable to savor every spicy, smoky, chickeny bite. — Chris Davis

Smoke Chicken at Picosos

Picosos, 3937 Summer, 323-7003

The Family Chicken Dinner @ SuperLo

It was a snobby Midtowner’s dilemma.

Our Target basket was full. The kids were getting pissy. We were all hungry, but the grown-ups didn’t want to make lunch.

“But there’s nothing to eat in East Memphis,” we whined without saying a word.

Wheeling through the parking lot, my wife caught a scent on the wind. “Oh my god, somebody’s fried chicken smells GOOD!” she said. We both whirled, like castaways searching the skies for a rescue plane.

The only thing that made sense was the deli counter of the Target-adjacent SuperLo. We’d been there infrequently, but I thought I remembered a big deli case. I remembered correctly.

The star of the SuperLo show was a fried chicken dinner, perfect for a Sunday lunch. Plenty of dark-brown-fried breasts and thighs lined a warming tray. But we wanted the eight-piece meal and the case offerings would not do for our wonderful deli helper.

“Nuh-uh. Give me two minutes, baby,” the woman said to my wife. “I’m going to make you up some fresh.”

Two minutes later, she filled a white, cardboard service box with two breasts, two thighs, two drummies, and two wings, like a Memphis-style Noah’s Ark. That Ark came with big-ole sides of green beans, mashed potatoes, and four King’s Hawaiian rolls. (They even added two cookies for my son. No charge.)

The chicken was crunchy-crispy on the outside, fork-tender and moist on the inside, warmly spiced, but not too spicy. It was that eye-rolling, soul-feeding, conversation-stopping, back-home-style kind of good. And all of it for about $14.

Who says there’s nothing to eat in East Memphis? — Toby Sells

SuperLo, 4744 Spottswood, 683-6861, superlofoods.com

Fried Buffalo Chicken Slider (add peanut butter) @ The Slider Inn

The first thing you need to know about Slider Inn’s Buffalo Chicken Slider is that you should order it fried. They’ll serve it grilled, but that’s your loss. As is, the sandwich comes with a palm-sized chicken breast drenched in buffalo wing sauce and topped with American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and ranch.

Here’s the second thing you need to know — hidden off the menu, secret but paramount. Ask for peanut butter, and the sandwich will come with a layer of crunchy goodness spread across the bottom bun. The ranch, buffalo sauce, and peanut butter assemble in your mouth upon first bite. It’s manna on the tongue.

For all its glory, there’s no way around it, you’ll smack your way through this mess of a meal. The peanut butter serves as a medium between the milky ranch and hot and tangy buffalo sauce, softening the spice to let the flavors shine.

— Joshua Cannon

The Slider Inn, 2117 Peabody, 725-1155, facebook.com/sliderinn

…

Chefs Speak Out

It’s not easy to eat your way through Memphis, one piece of chicken at a time, especially if you’re trying to go veg (I’m at about a week this go around). That’s why I asked some of my favorite chefs in town to serve as my chicken-chowing proxy and name the chicken dishes they go for when they get a break from the grind.

Chef Kelly English, who can do things with chicken that grant him James Beard Semifinalist awards and spots on television and in Bon Appetit, can’t say enough nice things about the magic that happens in the kitchens of Memphis visionary chef Karen Carrier. “I just had my favorite chicken dish ever at the Beauty Shop — Karen’s smoked chicken dish,” English says. He’s referring to the Hickory Grilled Chicken, which comes in a Thai green curry broth with candied garlic chips, pickled red onion, watermelon, Thai basil, mint, cilantro, and corn fritter. “It was fan-frickin’-tastic. It is my favorite chicken dish I’ve ever had at a restaurant.” He may or may not have posted on Facebook that “Karen Carrier is the coolest kid in school.”

Justin Fox Burks

Gary Williams

Chef Gary Williams, of DeJaVu legendari-ness, has done his share of traveling and sharing his New Orleans recipes with A-listers, and points to several restaurants who serve up chicken goodness in Memphis, including Cozy Corner’s Cornish Hen, Uncle Lou’s honey chicken, and HM Dessert Lounge’s ability to take chicken and waffles to the nth degree. “I’m a chicken connoisseur,” he says. But there’s one spot in particular that has his heart. “There’s this little spot called Pho Binh on Madison, and they do this chicken dish that has pineapple and is a little spicy, served over rice. That is one of my favorite places. It’s a gem,” Williams says. — Lesley Young

…

Being Pirtle

So what’s it like being a Pirtle? It’s good, say Cordell and Tawanda Pirtle. And as they go over the past, present, and future of Pirtle’s Fried Chicken, a couple approaches and asks for a picture. As they move on, the woman exclaims in a whisper, “Oh my goodness!” “Happens all the time,” Tawanda says.

Cordell is the only child of Jack Pirtle, the founder, with his wife Orva, and the force behind Jack Pirtle’s. Cordell describes his father as an outgoing man, a doer and a creator. Jack opened his first restaurant near the Firestone plant in the 1940s and then hooked up with Colonel Harland Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Jack sold Kentucky Fried Chicken using Sanders’ special seasoning, alongside Pirtle’s burgers and hotdogs.

Cordell says the first contract with Sanders was a single page, double-spaced. Later, when KFC sought a more formalized agreement, Jack decided to move on, eventually phasing out the KFC part of the business.

Justin Fox Burks

Cordell and Tawanda Pirtle

“He couldn’t use the same cooking equipment because it was part of the process for KFC. He built his own cooking equipment, pressurized cookers, and then my mother had a degree from the University of Tennessee in home economics, so she and he together tried different formulas. They went through a lot of different formulas and came up with this and varied it some for the first year as they saw how it did. That started in 1964,” says Cordell.

Pirtle’s seasoning was originally mixed in a device Jack built that looked like a concrete mixer. The recipe is top secret. “That’s what Pirtle’s is known for, that taste that we have,” Tawanda says. “It’s the same seasoning that the gravy is made out of. It’s a huge deal for us. And the spices have to be mixed up for a period of time for all of them to combine correctly.”

Cordell, who started working at Pirtle’s at 13, took over the business in 1979. “It was doing well. We had six stores at the time. When I took it over, I had been a store manager for 17 years. So I had pretty much been there/done that on almost everything,” Cordell says. “When I took it over it was almost more of an organizational change.”

“Your daddy thought you were going to go broke,” Tawanda interjects.

“Precisely,” Cordell agrees, noting his father’s concern over the purchase of expensive cash registers and a centralized warehouse.

Pirtle’s didn’t go broke. There are now eight stores. They get approached a lot about franchising — about three times a week, says Tawanda.

They’ve resisted franchising, as they want to work out the best deal for them and the franchisee. While none of their kids (he’s got three, she’s got two) have shown any interest in the business, they’re hoping that one of their grandkids or great-grandchildren will sign on and take on franchising.

As for the future, they’re considering more stores. They’ve thought about opening a Jack Pirtle’s Cafe.

Cordell is 72 and retired. Sort of.

“I tell everybody they’ve got the tired part right,” he says, laughing. “But, no, as far as being totally retired, when you’re involved in a business your entire life and you’ve grown up in it and you know all the people, you really can’t just simply say, I’m done. It’s always there. It’s always on your mind.” — Susan Ellis

…

Chicken

Playlist

Oblivians — “Call the Police”

We’ll kick this thing off with an instant classic from the Oblivians. This track was on the band’s last album Desperation. Listen close for the chicken reference.

The Meters — “Chicken Strut”

One of the best Meters songs happens to have some squawking in it, but I would include this in any playlist because the Meters rule, plain and simple.

Those Darlins — “The Whole Damn Thing”

Before Those Darlins went all Fleetwood Mac on us, this was arguably their most popular song. This simple tune about eating a whole chicken was catchy enough to get the band some notoriety and is worth revisiting while raiding the fridge.

Hasil Adkins —
“Chicken Walk”

If you haven’t heard Hasil Adkins before, do yourself a HUGE favor and track down the album Out to Hunch.

Charles Mingus —
“Eat That Chicken”

A classic from jazz legend Charles Mingus.

Project Pat — “Chicken Head”

Hell yeah I included this song in this playlist. Project Pat for life.

Billy Swan — “I Can Help”

By now you’re going to need some help getting out of that chicken coma. Let this classic from Billy Swan get you moving again.

Rufus Thomas —
“Do the Funky Chicken”

A classic from Rufus Thomas. The live footage on YouTube of his performing this song is amazing and should be played on a big screen at every chicken restaurant from now on.

Patrick Hernandez —
“Born to Be Alive”

We’ll close this thing out with a toast to any vegetarians or vegans who picked up the Chicken Issue. If you believe that all animals are born to be alive, dance around with your fake chicken nuggets to this obscure ’70s classic.

— Chris Shaw

Categories
Music Music Features

Those Darlins at the Hi-Tone

Nashville country group Those Darlins return to Memphis and the Hi-Tone this Saturday night. While some of the bigger exports of the young Nashville music scene have had mixed results winning Memphis over, Those Darlins have drawn a steady crowd each time they venture west down I-40.

For the unfamiliar, Nashville’s Those Darlins play country music heavily influenced by late-’70s rock-and-roll, and the title of their latest full-length, Blur the Line, suggests the band is fully aware they owe as much to June Carter Cash as Joan Jett. If Those Darlins did ever decide to trade Music City for the Bluff City, they would serve as an interesting bridge between groups like Lucero and Jack Oblivian.

With their third album, critics from NME to Spin magazine believe the Darlins are growing up. While singles from previous albums dealt with teenage angst, drug use, and pesky love interests, the single “Oh God” features a weary and haunting recollection of life on the road, as lead singer Jessie Zazu sings about “another ashtray of a night.” The change in sound could be due to the addition of Adrian Barrera on bass, who joined the band after founding member Kelly Anderson left in early 2012. Barrera was previously a member of the Atlanta power-pop group Gentleman Jesse and His Men.

— Chris Shaw

Those Darlins play the Hi-Tone Saturday, December 7th, with Music Band and Girls of the Gravitron. Admission is $10, and the show starts at 10 p.m.