Wired For Sound

Goldband Records: The Early Years (UPDATE)

2011-11-24T16:56:00.068-06:00

Eddie Shuler outside of Goldband Studio, 2001.

Note: This is a revised, expanded, and corrected version of the original article (date of update: Nov. 29, 2011).

For most people, the history of Goldband either begins with Iry LeJeune's arrival around 1948, or Al Ferrier's seven years later. The murky early days of the label have always been the least documented. Goldband initially served mostly as a vanity label for Eddie Shuler and his western band, the Reveliers -- an excellent group that went toe-to-toe with Cliff Bruner, Leo Soileau, Harry Choates, the Hackberry Ramblers, and the other top Gulf Coast swing bands of the time. Many of Eddie's singles are solid western swing, Cajun, and country efforts comparable to anything else coming out in those genres at the time. A comprehensive reissue CD is overdue.

There has been a great deal of confusion about when Shuler started Goldband. The earliest print reference to the label was in Billboard in January, 1948; the first Goldband single to be reviewed there was "I Never Want a Sweetheart" in November, 1950 (his 11th release). Clearly Billboard is of no help to us. But even an expert like John Broven has been confused about this, stating in his book South to Louisiana that Eddie brought out the Folk-Star label first, in 1949, and Goldband a little later. This is certainly incorrect, but Shuler himself probably led Broven to believe this, since most of his early releases were poor sellers that no one noticed at the time, and later collectors never asked about. Alain "Ding Dong" Pourquier wrote matter of factly in the notes to the Charly Goldband reissues of the late 1980s that Shuler first recorded in December, 1944 and that the record was issued in January of the new year. This is closer to the actual date, but still contentious. Shuler states in the interview below that he was still playing with the Hackberry Ramblers at the close of World War II, not starting his own band and recording until late 1945. This seems more probable, though definitive proof from a contemporary source continues to elude us. Regardless, it was probably the first independent label to open shop in Louisiana. Folk-Star came along later, about 1948-49.

Most of the early sessions were recorded at either KPLC or KAOK radio stations in Lake Charles. Eddie also intimates that he cut some sessions at his first music store at 830 Broad Street ("I cut a lot of records in the back of that building"), though it isn't clear if these were demos or final masters. He moved into an abandoned church at 313 Church Street sometime around 1952 and it was at this location where most of the Goldband sessions remembered today were cut.

Eddie Shuler was a friendly, approachable man who always had time to talk to enthusiasts about the old days. Though occasionally prone to exaggeration, his memory remained sharp right up to the end. My goal with this interview was to focus as much as possible on the 1945-1955 period, and try to draw out more details on his band leading days, who played in his bands, etc. I only half-succeeded in this, because I had a highly incomplete discography to go by, and virtually none of the original music to play for him. Now, thanks to Al Turner and Dave Sax, I have both of those things, but Eddie is no longer around to ask, having died in 2005. Such is life.

This interview was recorded on April 10, 2001.

Eddie, you were born in Wrightsboro, Texas...where is that?

It’s about 70 miles east of San Antonio...kind of southeast of San Antonio. I lived there ‘til I was 7 years old, then we moved, and then we just constantly moved from there on out until we wound up in Luling.I spent most of my teen years there. And from there we moved to Dallas. And that’s...’course, all my life, I’ve written songs. But in Dallas, I got involved in the construction business -- dragline operator. I saw them things, and I thought, well, that’s the only thing I want to do. Run one of them things, y’know. I did that until I got old enough to chase the girls. And then I found out there was something better than dragline: girls. (Laughs)

Now, I didn’t get your date of birth.

March 27, 1913.

So you were in Dallas from, say, the early thirties until the early forties, or --

I was there ‘til 1941.

You mentioned that you started writing songs while in Dallas. Did you have any interest in bands during that period...

No, I never did want to be a musician. My brother played in a band. They made three dollars a night, and I said, My god, to work all that time, just to stand up there to play an instrument and sing, that’s crazy, I ain’t about to do nothing like that.

Did he play in a string band, or --

Yeah, he played in a string band.

Did you see any of the big groups in that area play, like the Light Crust Doughboys?

No. Well, I saw ‘em, but it was always at a distance. Milton Brown and the Musical Brownies, that was one of my idols there.

Did you see them play?

Yeah. That was really a treat. That was somewhere south of Fort Worth, I don’t know just exactly where. It was in that region, anyway. The music was terrific, y’know. Now, I really liked that stuff. (Laughs) I thought that was the stuff, y’know?

And then, of course, I like orchestras too, liked a lot of orchestra music. But the kind of songs I liked...there was a thing called “Intermezzo,” and ‘course “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” and all that kind of stuff –

Pop music.

Pop music...I was in love with that stuff too. I just liked everything. There was nothing I don’t think I didn’t like, as long as it was musical. Like I said, I wrote songs, and always dreamed of someday getting my songs recorded by somebody.

Now, while you were in Dallas, did you try promoting your songs, or pitching them to any bands or musicians?

No, because I couldn’t play no kind of instrument, and I thought that was kind of stupid, to get up there and sing when you don’t play no kind of an instrument...I had enough sense to understand that part of it.

So you hadn’t even started playing guitar at this point?

No. I never started playing guitar ‘til I moved to Louisiana from Fort Worth.

So, you moved from Dallas to Fort Worth, and then Louisiana. What prompted the move to Lake Charles?

Defense work. I got into the union business. I was a dragline and crane operator, so that gave me special status. I came into Lake Charles because they was building all these plants here.

Now, was this 1941 or ‘42? Because John Broven’s book (South to Louisiana) cites the year as ‘42.

That was ‘41. I started in the music business in 1944. At that point in time, that was after my stint with the Hackberry Ramblers, I decided that I’d make a record. So I went to New Orleans, found a studio down there. The guy (was) upstairs on Canal Street there, the place is still there but it’s changed names about 50 times I guess. But I went up there, cut my record in that place.

Eddie inside the Goldband control room, holding a copy of Guitar Junior's "Family Rules." Note the Ampex 350 in the foreground.

That wasn’t Cosimo’s Studio, was it?

Oh, that was way before Cosimo.

Actually, I think he started in about ‘46.

He did, huh?

Yeah. But it was prior to him?

Oh, yeah. (Note: This may have been the National Radio Recording Studio, in the Godchaux Building on Canal Street.)

So that’s where you made Broken Love/Is There Room In Your Heart For Me Darlin’?

Yes.

Do you recall who was playing on that? Who was in the original Reveliers?

Had a guy named Johnny Babb...Johnny Porter...and a fellow named Johnny Reems, I believe was his name. He was the saxophone player. Johnny Porter was a fiddle player, but he was one of those super violin players. I mean, that cat could play some violin. But them people, they sort of turned me off a little bit, because after you got through playing the job, they’d all go out, booze it up and jam ‘til 8 or 9 o’clock in the morning. Then they’d go sleep a couple of hours, and then start all over again. I said, well, hell, that’s not to my interest at all...

You still had your day job as a dragline operator...you couldn’t keep those kind of hours.

No.

Now, before we continue with that, let’s talk a little about the Hackberry Ramblers. How did you become involved with them?

Well, they decided...I was working in this music store to help pay off my guitar. I made $3.37 an hour for the dragline operating, which was quite a bit of money, because laborers made 50 cents an hour. They had a record cutting machine (at this store) so they could cut an acetate. I learned how to run it.

So, the Hackberry Ramblers...I rode to work with ‘em. That was the ironic part. You’d only get so much gas a week, so we’d have to change cars every other day, get in somebody else’s car...so that’s how I wound up riding with them one of the days.

The Hackberry Ramblers with Eddie, c. 1944.

So you knew them from your day job?

Yeah. So they started talking about re-grouping, and going back and making some more music.

They had broken up prior to that.

Oh, yeah. They’d been out of business, oh, I’d say about four years. And so, I said, "Well, I’d like to cut a disc on y’all." And they said, well, we’ve been wanting to do that. I said, well, I can do that. So after we got involved with that, I said "I write songs," and of course I’m taking guitar lessons at that point in time...I’m not good at it, I’m taking lessons, though. I’d go to a music teacher, and she sits there and clinks, clinks, clinks all day long, and I still don’t know more when I left than I did when I started.

But I told them, I’d like for you to learn a couple of my songs, and then we can cut them on a disc. They said, why sure...while we’re practicing, we’ll learn yours, and then you can make a record for us, and not charge us as much for cuttin’ our acetate. I said, that’s right.

So, that’s what was going on. That worked for three weeks, but he (the Hackberry Ramblers’ singer) never did know any of the songs. Well, since this was a music store I was working in -- it was the only one in town -- they had all the records. So, I had learned all those songs, ‘cause I was just one of those kind of people...

You worked at this music store part time?

Yeah. After hours.

What was the name?

Johnson’s Music Store. 1400 block of Ryan.

I read in one of your interviews that you opened your own music store with a $250 loan from your mother.

Yes. Well, see, this fella Johnson got drafted. He turned his business over to me. But unknown to me, his wife was an alcoholic. After he left, all of this started coming to the surface. She started taking all the money out of the bank, I couldn’t get none of the stuff I was buying to put back on the shelf...I said, man, this ain’t gonna work. So I got in touch with him in the service, and I told him, "You’re gonna have to do something, because I can’t help you with this place, with your woman taking all of the money, I can’t run it." He said, well, I’m gonna go to my lawyer, and we’re gonna fix it up so you’ll be running it, and you can dole out the money to her. Man, did she ever hate my guts. (Laughter) She finally disappeared into the woodwork with somebody.

So you more or less just took over managing the store?

Oh, yeah. The funny part about it, they’d come in there and ask for things, and I’d tell ‘em we’d sold out. And then I’d run grab the catalogue after they left, and look it up to see what it was.

One guy come in one day and said, "I want a trumpet mute." I said, "We don’t have any more, but we got some on order." He said, "You’re standing right over a whole showcase full of them things." I said, "Oh, that’s what that thing is." (Laughter) I learned what a mute was.

(Note: The 1945 Lake Charles City Directory lists Johnson's Music Store with "E.W. Shuler, Mgr.")

So the store sold instruments as well as records?

Yeah. Pianos...he (the owner) showed me how to sell a piano before he left. And I got so good at the piano business I’d bring ‘em in here in carloads -- used pianos. I’d go up in Minnesota and find those things out there in the woods...I had a buyer that’d buy ‘em for me. I’d put ‘em on a freight car and haul ‘em to Lake Charles, unload ‘em, sell them things...I made him a lot of money selling those pianos. That’s how I salvaged his business and brought it back to snuff.

Getting back to the Hackberry Ramblers...you recorded a disc with them.

Yeah. But the way that happened is, that singer, before he got to where...they found out that I knew all the songs and their singer didn’t know any. He said, well you sing the song and we’ll learn ‘em, then when he learns ‘em we’ll just transfer ‘em into his key. I said Okay, but I’m not a singer. They said, ‘That’s okay, just so you can sing the song...we’ve heard you, we know you can sing alright.’ So, they had me singing. Then this other guy got mad and quit, ‘cause I don’t think he wanted to sing anyway.

Who was that?

A guy named Al Peshaff. He was a good musician and a good guy, he just didn’t want to sing.

So this was recorded on a disc machine at Johnson’s Music?

Yeah. I don’t remember the names (titles). They’re still in my collection, but I never did make a record out of any of ‘em. They didn’t suit me after I learned a little more about it. I said, that’s a little bit too amateurish for me, I’ve gotta do these other things. I had all kinds of ideas, you know.

So the Hackberry Ramblers re-formed around that time.

Yeah, they re-formed, so after this guy left, they decided they was ready to go out and play, so they went and booked a job out there in Creole. And back at that time, they didn’t have no fans, and all they had over the windows was mesh wire. And the mosquitos just loved me. Fresh blood, I guess. I had all kind of trouble with them mosquitos. But we went out there to play the first job, and they had a whole bunch of gals out there. That’s when I found out there was something besides that dragline.

You were still single at this point?

Yeah. So, we went out there and played that thing, and then about three weeks later, we went back. And that time, the girls carried my guitar in there and almost carried me in there, and I said, "Wait a minute, I like this stuff." So that’s how it all started.

So, the Hackberry Ramblers at this point was Luderin Darbone, Lennis Sonnier, Edwin Duhon...

Yeah, and a guy named Boggs or something like that. He played the trumpet.

Lefty Boggs?

Yeah.

How long, approximately, would you say you worked with them? A year? Two years?

About two years, or something like that.

And this was during the war?

It was at the end of the war. It was still goin’ on, but it was winding down.

So it would’ve been 1944, ‘45...

About ‘44.

Now, did you form the All Star Reveliers during the time you played with the Hackberry Ramblers?

No. I decided I wanted to make some records, and I found out this guy out of Houston was a representative of Strauss-Frank, which sold records. RCA records, Bluebird records.

Strauss-Frank?

Yeah. That was a wholesale outfit out of Houston. And so I told him -- without telling the Hackberry Ramblers -- "We’d like to make some records. We’ve made a bunch of records for Bluebird." They’d made 47 records for Bluebird. So, he said, "Let me check it out and see if they want to record some more." ‘Cause they wasn’t recording at that time. So, he come back about two or three weeks later and said, "They really want to cut some records on y’all." I said, "I better go talk to Darbone and tell him about this," but I wanted to make some English records. Of course, all these records they’d made were French. So when I told Darbone about it, he said, "Well, the only records we’ll ever make is French." I said, "Oh?" Well, that’s a slap in the face -- he’s got me up there singing English, and he ain’t gonna make no English records, I don’t belong in this outfit.

Of course, I didn’t know the whole story. See, he’d recorded this song “Wondering” with this guy (Joe Werner), which was a monster record at that time. But this guy, well, right when it started getting real popular he quit him and formed his own band. And Darbone was turned off with English singers.

Ad for Eddie's Music House from the 1946 Lake Charles City Directory.

So, at live shows with the Hackberry Ramblers, you’d sing all the English songs and Darbone would sing the French?

No, Sonnier and Duhon would sing the French stuff.

Luderin would just play the fiddle?

That’s all he ever did.

So, you approached him about recording with Bluebird, and he said, no, I’m not going to do any English songs...

Well, ‘course, he knew what I was wanting to do, make some English records. That’s what I sang. I didn’t sing French. Now, when the French singer didn’t show up for some reason, I’d get up there and sing them French songs. I didn’t know what I was saying. Them Frenchmen would come up there and try to talk French to me...I’d just look at ‘em and grin, y’know. Man, they got mad at me ‘cause they thought I was stuck up ‘cause I didn’t want to talk to ‘em. And there wasn’t no way Darbone could tell ‘em that I couldn’t talk French and didn’t even understand it when I was singing the songs. They couldn’t believe that was anything anybody could do. But I listened to the words, and I could say ‘em just like the other guy had.

So the disagreement over recording English songs -- that’s why you left the Hackberry Ramblers?

Oh, yeah. That’s why I got away from ‘em, because he didn’t want to make no English records. I wanted to make English records -- I’d done got ambitious by that time.

So the deal with Bluebird just fell through?

Yeah. He wanted to make some French records...they probably would have done some English records, but Darbone didn’t want to do that. Anyway, we didn’t do it, and I left...give ‘em my notice and quit, went out and formed my own band, and the rest is history, y’know.

Now, were you still playing with them at the end of the war -- summer of 1945?

Yeah.

Okay. So you didn’t make your first record any earlier than the summer of 1945.

No. I made the record in the latter part of ‘45.

How did find out there was a recording studio in New Orleans?

Down at this music store, they carried The Billboard. I picked up the Billboard and looked all that stuff up. And there was one in New York, and one in New Orleans, so...we went to New Orleans.

Now, your original All-Star Reveliers was more or less a western swing type band...

Yeah. We was into the Bob Wills sound. Oh, we played French music ‘cause I had a French singer. I wasn’t crazy; I wanted that money too.

Who was the singer?

I had a couple of ‘em, but the one who stayed the longest was Norris Savoie. He sang high, higher than a woman, and he played the fiddle.

Did he record with you?

Oh yeah. He recorded “La Valse de Meche.”

So the original band included him, Johnny Porter on fiddle, Johnny Reems on sax...wasn’t Johnny Porter from Texas?

Longview, Texas. The guy was a fantastic musician. And then also in that latter part there, like into the fifties, a steel guitar came along...I had a steel guitar player but he wasn’t all that great. This guy was out of Alabama. Come to find out, he had just left Hank Williams over there...

Oh, Jimmie Webster.

Jimmie Webster, and then he came over here to play with me. I kept him until he decided to go to California. The guy was a fantastic singer -- along with being a good steel guitar player. But he got killed in a car wreck out there.

Is Webster playing on any of your recordings?

I don’t believe so.

Who did he replace, Pee Wee Lyons?

No, he replaced another guy, but I can’t remember his name.

So, the All-Star Reveliers started up in late 1945.

Yeah.

The first Goldband release, probably from 1945.

Why did you begin your numbering system at 1011?

I don’t know. That’s just a number I decided was a good one.

How did you come up with the name Goldband?

Well, I wanted a record that would attract attention. Goldband, that’s like the ring on your finger, and they can relate to that. That’s who we’re gonna be...we’re gonna have music on these records that’s gonna be gold. You know, I’m really ambitious. (Laughter) I’m thinking from a commercial standpoint, too, but I didn’t know at that time anything about no commercial stuff -- I’m just thinking how the public would view it, y’know.

Do you recall where that record was pressed?

Yeah, I pressed it in New York. The worst part about it, the guy that cut the record (master) up there in New York, he cut the tail end of the record off. You know the ‘stop’ part of it, where the music would go to the ending?

Oh, the trail-off groove.

The trail-off. Well see, back in those days, you didn’t have a record that didn’t have an ending. Here I had one that didn’t have no ending. He’s playing along there, and all of a sudden the music just stops.

There wasn’t no radio stations, so I got it on all the jukeboxes. The jukebox operators...well, all them people would go out there wanting to hear the ending, and ‘course there is no ending. And so they’re raising hell ‘cause their jukebox didn’t play the record to the ending...so, they had all kind of trouble. My record was the #1 record on the box, but they was always getting calls. Service calls. So, they had to take my record off of the boxes on account of that no ending business. (Laughs)

So, there was no playing of your records over the air at that time, I take it.

Oh, no. They didn’t play those kinds of records anyway. There was one station here in Lake Charles, there was another station in Baton Rouge, and there was another one in New Orleans. Now, there may have been one in Lafayette, but, to my knowledge, I didn’t know about it. I used to listen to Cliff Bruner coming out of Port Arthur.

Well, it must not have been very long after that that you got a live radio show.

Wasn’t too long, no.

That was probably about ‘47?

Somewhere along in there...the manager of the station (KPLC), I went and asked him to let us play, so he put us on for three days a week. And that’s where I met Iry LeJeune.

See, in the Hackberry Ramblers, they wouldn’t let nobody else get up and sing (i.e., sit in with the band). And I didn’t think that was good, because I wanted to see what everybody else could do. And if they could do something I couldn’t, I wanted to know what it was so I could learn to do it too. So, I wasn’t too happy, because Luderin wouldn’t let nobody get up on the bandstand. So when I got my band, I said that’s the first thing I’m going to do, is let anybody get up there and sing that wants to. So, I got on this radio station, and I had all kinds of people coming up wanting to sing on my show, so I let ‘em sing, y’know? Of course, I did everything fine until Iry LeJeune come along.

How did he approach you?

Well, I looked up one day, saw a guy coming down the street with an old floppy hat on, and a flour sack under his arms...I looked at him and said, My God, what is that? I said, I don’t know what it is, but if you can name it, you can have it.

He was walking toward the radio station, or the record store?

He was walking down there where we was waiting for the time to go on the radio station...on the sidewalk. There was a bar across the street from the radio station. We was waiting outside of the bar, ‘cause I wasn’t a bar patron at all. But some of the rest of ‘em were, y’know.

So when he came up there, he told me who he was, shook hands with me, and (said that he) would like to perform on my radio show. I said, well, okay, what do you play? Well, he pulled his accordion out of the flour sack -- I had never seen one of them, because all of this Cajun music had been with a string band.

So, I said, “What is that?” He said, “That’s a French Accordion.” I said, “Well, okay.” So I put him on the station...Iry got up and sang his three songs. When the show was over, I was walking out the front door...Iry had already gone a while before then. But he had told me before he left (that) he wanted to talk to me about makin’ records, because, see, at that time I had records out. I said, “Come back and catch me some time, and we’ll see about it.” You know, I wasn’t too enthusiastic about making (records of) the kind of music he was making, ‘cause I had never even heard that kind of music.

So you’d heard Cajun songs played on the fiddle for years, but...

Yeah, but not no accordion. Because the accordion was an extinct animal at that point in time. So, that’s why I was kind of reluctant to do it.

But then, when we were leaving the building, the station manager come out of his room in the back -- he had just bought the station -- well, he was a little short fella, about five feet tall, weighed 200 pounds. He was just like a butterball. But he had a voice like a bull. And he said, “Eddie Shuler, you SOB, what in the hell was that you had on our station?” I said, “Mr. Wilson, that man said that was Cajun music. You’ll have to take his word for it, ‘cause I’ve never heard none of that kind of music before.” He said, “Well, if you ever do that again, I’m gonna kick your so-and-so out the front door.” I said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Wilson,” ‘cause I was getting good bookings as a result of my show on the radio. I didn’t want to lose that. So I was very congenial about it. I said, “Oh yes, we’re not going to do that no more.”

And you probably figured that’d be the last time you’d see Iry LeJeune.

Oh yeah. But I told him to come back in about three weeks, and I’d have him an answer -- when he talked about making records. So he came back in three weeks, and said, “What have you thought about it?” I forgot all about it...I looked at him and said, “What are you talking about?” He said, “Making my records.”

I said (to myself), I remember now, I told that guy to come back and I’d tell him whether I’d make some records or not. Well, by that time, I realized that the guy couldn’t see. I kind of felt sorry for him. I said, “Let me tell you what --” On the spur of the moment I decided this. I said, “I’ll make you a record, and if it sells any, you’re in business; if it don’t, you’ll have to find somebody else to make your next records, ‘cause I won’t be around.” He said, “Fair enough. Will you shake on it?” I said sure. So man, he grabbed my arm and we pumped, y’know, and then I went back out to the job, working with the dragline business, and I told these guys, “I told this guy I’d make some records on him, and he insisted I shake hands with him.” They said, “Well, you didn’t shake hands with him?” I said, “Yes I did, what’s wrong with that?” They said, “With a Cajun, that’s a contract.” I said, “Oh my God...I got stuck with this guy. Supposing his record don’t sell?” (Laughter) And I started worrying about that.

How well did Iry speak English?

He could talk English fairly good...but let me tell you what, them Cajuns loved that man. They just worshipped him. He was idolized by Cajun people.

I played on a lot of his records, because he really liked my guitar playing, but the problem I had, I didn’t know when he was changing chords and when he wasn’t changing chords, ‘cause I didn’t understand that stuff that good. But I’d change when I thought it was the right time...

You played live shows with him sometimes...what was that like?

He always had a packed house. I only played with him at a couple of clubs, really, around Lake Charles. But he loved that guitar, because I had a different style...

Did you do all of his recordings at KPLC?

I did it all over the place. His first recording was at KAOK. I’d give the engineer ten dollars to cut me a disc, and then I’d send the disc off to the pressing plant in New York, or...by that time I’d found the Bihari Brothers out there in California.

Oh, they were pressing for you.

They would press some for me.

Now, there was a second Goldband release numbered 1011, and that was Way Down Under Blues b/w I’m Mighty Afraid You’re Wrong. Was that the second release?

I don’t think so. I think there was one called “I Never Want a Sweetheart” before that.

Where you recording these, say from 1946 through 1949? At KPLC, or...

Be honest with you, I don’t remember.

Did you go back to New Orleans?

No, I never went back to New Orleans no more.

So, they were local productions, right?

I bought a disc cutter. Had an engineer here in town named Sylvian Phenic (sp)...he built me a disc recorder. And I’d set that thing out there in the middle of the floor to make my records. Make my discs.

So you were still running Johnson’s Music?

No, no, that was on down past Johnson...well, I might’ve did something while I was there, too. But it was Eddie’s Music House when I was doing that stuff.

(Note: Eddie's Music House may have opened as early as 1945. It is listed in the 1946 Lake Charles City Directory.)

Eddie Shuler's Reveliers at the Sears in Lake Charles, c. 1946. Pee Wee Lyons on steel, Johnny Porter (?) on fiddle. "But them people, they sort of turned me off a little bit, because after you got through playing the job, they’d all go out, booze it up and jam ‘til 8 or 9 o’clock in the morning. Then they’d go sleep a couple of hours, and then start all over again."

Now, when did you open Eddie’s Music House?

I would say in about late ‘45 or ‘46, somewhere along in there. That was on Broad Street.

And was that like Johnson’s, where you sold instruments and records...

Yeah, I had the instruments and records, but I had bought a little shotgun house, and I was fixing radios by that time. I had the radio business wrapped up. ‘Cause I was doing, I called it "Quick Service," and I’d give ‘em quick service. Whereas the other shops would take your radio in, set ‘em on a shelf, and keep ‘em for two or three weeks, and charge ‘em a lot of money. And I said, “Well, hell, I can charge ‘em the same money, and they’ll pay it, and they’ll get their radios right away, ‘cause that’s what they want.” So, that’s what I did.

Were you still working in construction at this point?

Not at that point, no. I was playing music and running the business.

So when you opened the shop on Broad Street is when you started working full time in radio and music...

Yeah. That was about ‘46, ‘47, somewhere along in there.

So, that’s where you would do most of your recording from that period?

Yes. The man who owned this property, he was gonna build me a building there, but he had to move his planes out of here to Baton Rouge or someplace, and the weather got him...it killed him. They found his plane out there between here and Baton Rouge. The heirs sold the property, so then I had to wind up (move) to the end of Broad Street there...I cut a lot of records in the back of that building.

There’s a picture of the Reveliers I’ve seen, it looks like you’re playing at a clothing store or something...

Yeah, that’s Sears. The manager at KPLC took over the management of my band, and he booked me in all those places. He’d sell commercials for the radio station, then book my band in there to perform. And got me other jobs, too.

Did you ever meet Harry Choates, or have any memories of him?

Harry Choates was one of them overnight sensations. He went and cut that “Jole Blon” thing...

I bet you must have sold a lot of those at the store.

Oh yeah, we did. But they were hard to get. They just couldn’t get ‘em in here, they didn’t have nobody that knew how how to distribute them, you know.

I thought Choates was a real good fiddle player. He had a charisma about him that was outstanding.

Now, you recorded a guy named Jimmy Choates...

Yeah, that was later. That was Harry Choates’s cousin. He was also an excellent violin player.

How did you rate Pee Wee Lyons as a musician?

Excellent. He was a real good musician. He’d let his fingernails grow, and they was just like the steel picks you used to pick the strings with on the steel guitar.

It seems like that would make your fingers bleed.

Well, it didn’t seem to bother him.

He worked with your band off and on for quite awhile, I take it.

Off and on for quite awhile, yes.

Eddie Shuler's Reveliers at KPLC in Lake Charles, early 1950s, with Charlie Broussard on fiddle (far right).

Now, when you recorded Iry, you created the Folk-Star label. Was that originally intended to be just a Cajun label?

I intended that to be a “folk” type of music (label), because that’s what I termed Cajun music as: folk music. I decided that I’d have those kind of songs on my folk label. On top of that, if I had them all on Goldband, when I’d go out to the jukebox operators, they could only buy so many copies of one label. So I started this other label, so then I’d have two labels to get on the jukeboxes. That’s how I wound up with all those other labels. And, in later years, I found out that it worked the same way with radio stations. They could only play so many of one company’s records. So, I said, "Well, I’ll give them other labels, and they won’t know they’re mine." So that’s what I did.

There was a time there, in the early fifties, where it seemed like just about everything you were releasing was on Folk-Star. It seems like you almost discontinued Goldband for awhile.

I was so busy with that stuff, I didn’t have time for Goldband anymore. But then, later on, it switched back around.

So, you were taken completely by suprise with the success and popularity of Iry LeJeune...

Oh, yeah. Well, the guy could go out, and I’ve seen him do this, he’d go out there, get drunk, and start cussin’ all the people out in the club -- and of course it would be late at night and they’re all half-looped anyway -- so they’d all get mad, go home, (and threaten that) they’re never gonna come to his dances again, and blah, blah, blah. The next time he came to play, two weeks later, there they all were, right back in there. I didn’t understand that at all; it didn’t make any sense to me. But that’s the kind of following he had. And he was even bigger after that than he was before.

You mentioned recording him at KAOK...what were some of the other places you recorded him at?

At his house. By that time, I had found one of the little tape recorders that they’d come out with. It cost $247. And I said, "Well, I’ll just make my records on that thing." So, I went to Iry’s house, and did some recording in his house. And, of course, they had built his house out of green lumber. Well, when it all dried, they had cracks in the walls. There wasn’t no insulation.

We had this song, I forget the name now ("Durald Waltz"). It was a fiddle song, so Iry didn’t play on it. The fiddle player (Wilson Granger) played it. (During the recording), the dogs outside cried during the middle, but you couldn’t hear it because of the ambience of the record. In later years, people asked, "How did you get that dog in your record?" I said, "I don’t have no dog in my record." They started cleaning ‘em up (the tapes), and I got to listening to the thing and said, "Oh, yeah. There is a dog in there." (Laughs) That’s when I realized the dogs were outside moaning and groaning while they were playing music. “Durald Waltz,” that’s it. That’s the one.

After he got killed, I threw all his records back in the corner and forgot about it, ‘cause I heard when one of them died, you couldn’t give his records away. Well, a couple of years later, maybe not that long, they come around here and want to hear Iry’s records. Some of ‘em were six foot two, weighed 280 pounds...I’d get one of the records out and play it, and stand up there and cry like a baby. I started reissuing his records then.

His first recording had a fiddle, a guitar, and a steel guitar. Them were all his wife’s brothers. That was “Lacassine Special” and “Calcasieu Waltz,” that was his first recording (on Folk-Star).

Eddie peddling Goldband 45s out of the trunk of his Cadillac.

You recorded Joe Manuel...do you remember anything about him?

Oh yes, he was a real good French singer and fiddle player. The way I found him, I was coming back one night from somewhere way up in North Louisiana, coming down old highway 165, and I seen this club out there about 12 o’clock in the morning, 3 o’clock in the morning -- I don’t know what time it was, but it was late. And they had a bunch of cars. I said, "Let me stop and check this out." There was Abe and Joe Manuel in there playing, and they had a pretty good crowd.

Now, you also had Gene Rodrigue...

Gene was from South Louisiana, down around Golden Meadow, somewhere down there. He had a good band. “La Ville” was one of my favorite songs that I liked. That was the reason I recorded him.

You just had one release on him?

Yeah.

The first record I have on Cleveland Crochet is his version of “Keep A-Knockin’,” which came out on Folk-Star. Do you remember that?

Vaguely. Back in those days, I’d record just about anybody that came along, you know. Because I was the only game in town. Of course, I wanted to do it...I said, "Why not?"

You pretty much had an open door policy...

Oh yeah, I was very receptive. I sometimes think I would’ve been a whole lot better off if I’d been a little more selective, but then, I wound up with some great records, so I don’t know. Some of the things I did, I didn’t think were worth anything, but they always outsold the ones that I liked so good. That kind of aggravated me to a degree, ‘cause I couldn’t understand why that happened. But I finally realized that the public has their own taste, and just because I’m a musician, it doesn’t make me Jesus Christ, ‘cause they’re the ones that plunk the money down on the counter.

So, you more or less decided that you’d record anything that sounded good, and let the public decide whether...

That’s the way I viewed it. I didn’t care too much about my own decisions, because, like I said, the things I liked wasn’t what they liked. So, we might as well go along with what they like. And they generally always liked the things that I let (the band) go in there and do whatever they did.

Now, your biggest hit I guess was “Ace of Love”?

Yes, that was a big one. I was playing in a club between here and (East) Orange, on this side of the river, called the Rainbow Club. I played out there three nights a week for seven years. It was at that time I cut “Ace of Love.” The thing come out, and it was a smash hit. My popularity went up -- I could get $300 a night, and man, that was a lot of money back in those days. So, that was the beginning of me realizing that there was more to this stuff than I’d even dreamed there was.

Eddie in 1971.

Now, a lot of your records up this point had no publishing credit at all.

No. Well, I had a publishing deal with a fellow in Houston, Pappy Daily. It didn’t work too good. Daily had a jukebox distributing business, so I gave him the publishing on my songs, thinking that would help me get my records on his jukeboxes. Well, guess what? That didn’t help a bit. He was my publisher, but he wouldn’t put none of my records on the jukebox. That kind of ticked me off, so I said, "I’ve got to start my own publishing company, because I’m spending my money, giving this guy this benefit, and he’s not doing nothing for me." So that’s how I wound up getting serious about the publishing business.

And, at that point in time, I’d met Don Pierce in Nashville, him and Daily had formed Starday and moved it to Nashville. Don Pierce had come off the West Coast. Don was helping me out, supplying me with a little extra finances, so with him I formed this publishing company. Pappy Daily got real PO’d about it, so him and Don had a falling out. They parted company as a result of me. We had some pretty good things with Don, that he put on his Hollywood label.

You said Don was helping you out financially. How did...

Well, if I needed to put out a record, and I didn’t have enough money, he’d loan me the money to put out the record.

And you were satisfied with him as a promoter and publisher?

Oh yeah. He was an honest guy; a first-class businessperson. Somewhere along the way, later on after all of this stuff was over with, he sent me a check for $875. I said, "I wonder what this is for?" Well, I called him up, and he said, "Well, I owed you that, I just never had paid you."

Billboard, May 19, 1951. Confusing note about a then-five-year-old label starting up anew, with Steve Fruge, not Shuler listed as owner. Fruge may have been a temporary business partner.

Where did you do most of your pressing in the fifties?

Plastic Products in Memphis. Buster Williams.

We’ve talked before about TNT Records, and I wanted to go over that again, because I’m intrigued by your connection to TNT.

Well, I went to San Antonio because Bob Tanner had a pressing plant. So, I drove over there, and took a couple of my acetates with me. And I told him I’d like to make a deal for him to press my records. So, he decided he’d press ‘em himself and put ‘em on his label. And I said, "Well, okay, let’s try that." I hadn’t tried that.

Yeah, he put out four records from your masters as far as I know, the first one being your version of “Grand Mamou.”

I had a bunch of top notch musicians there. Hector Stutes was the fiddle player. I can’t remember the others’ names. I think he also put out “Way Down Under Blues.” At least he had it. Maybe he never did put it out.

So, he just put out these records, and you sold them at your shop, and...

That was about the size of it. I’d sell ‘em out of the back of my car. See, what I’d do, I’d take my records and put ‘em in the back of my car and go call on all the jukebox operators. And they didn’t know who I was, ‘cause I’d just tell ‘em “Goldband.” I didn’t want ‘em to know that I was the artist, ‘cause the jukebox operator’s not gonna buy a record from the artist, ‘cause they never are any good, according to them.

There was a jukbox operator down in New Iberia called Teche Novelty. They had jukeboxes in Louisiana and Mississippi. They bought all my records. Soon as I put one out, I’d put ‘em in the back of my car and go down to New Iberia, and unload down there. And they’d put ‘em on their jukeboxes.

So that was your main distributor, I guess?

Oh, yeah. For two or three years, something like that.

Eddie in the Goldband control room, 1970. Changing times meant nothing to Eddie, who still continued to use the early '50s Ampex 350 on new recordings.

I wanted to ask you about Virgel Bozman.

He came along later on, he sold cowhorns...and he also got involved with George Khoury here. They went down to KPLC and did the same thing that I did: cut a disc.

Now, did Khoury open his record shop there on Railroad Avenue before you moved into Church Street?

Yeah, that was before I moved into the old church house.

And the church had been abandoned, or...

Yeah, they had built another church, because the town at that time was moving south. And they had went down south of town, built a church out there. They had abandoned this building and left it to the lumber company. And then the lumber company rented it to me.

And you didn’t see any problem opening a record shop in the same block as Khoury’s?

No, because I had a TV and radio business, a good radio business. The records were just a side deal by that time.

Eddie, George Khoury, and Phil Phillips at Goldband, 1959.

Did Khoury do most of his recording at your studio?

Yes. A couple of his big records he did over in Beaumont.

We cut “Sea of Love.” George brought Phil Phillips in, and wanted me to record him. And I said, "Well, I don’t want to spend no money on this guy." They didn’t have any money. I wanted to help ‘em out, and I had just started my publishing company with Don Pierce (Kamar Music BMI). So we got in here, I cut the record for ‘em, and handed ‘em the master. That was a mistake. I didn’t realize the thing was gonna be anything like it was.

But you did retain the publising?

Yeah. When I got my royalty check, I thought they’d made a mistake. It was almost $200,000. And that record is still out there, 40 years later. (Note: This is a rare exaggeration from Eddie. The quarterly song publishing royalty for a record that spent two weeks in the Pop Top 10 would have been more like $20,000, not $200,000.)

You didn’t record that much blues music, but what you did record was significant. I guess two of the guys everybody remembers are Hop Wilson and Juke Boy Bonner.

Yeah, Hop Wilson and Juke Boy Bonner were two of my aces. And also Clarence Garlow. I had some great stuff on him. He was out of Beaumont. He brought me a lot of those people.

Did he bring you Hop Wilson?

No. I think some guy that played with Garlow came along and told me about Hop Wilson playing steel guitar in a blues band. I said, “Man, I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life. I’ve got to hear this.” That’s how I wound up with Hop Wilson. He was a good musician.

You put out two records by him, but you’ve said before that he became disgruntled.

Well, see, after we put out these two records, he thought he was going to go right to the top of the totem pole. And, of course, on an independent label, it doesn’t work like that. And there wasn’t no way for me to explain that to him. I just told him, “Well, you ought to keep on trying, because you never know what you’re going to do.” But he wouldn’t do it, because he wasn’t getting no money. He was expecting all kinds of big things to happen as a result of those two records.

They didn’t sell very well, I guess.

They sold fairly well, but the blues wasn’t the main forte of the music business at that time. It was kind of a step-child. I liked the stuff, but there just wasn’t a market out there for it.

Legend has it that Juke-Boy Bonner saw a Goldband record in California and decided that he was going to record for your label, just based on the name.

That’s a true story. First of all, the record he saw was one of my biggest records: Jimmy Wilson’s “Please accept My Love.” Clarence Garlow brought Jimmy Wilson to me. He (Garlow) wrote that song. Well, Jimmy Wilson was a fantastic singer. I mean, he was one of the greatest. But he was also an alcoholic … which I didn’t know at the time. So, I recorded him, and that record just went through the roof. At that time I was still affiliated with Don Pierce. We had eight labels wanting to lease the master from us. And I said, “Don, I don’t know enough about them people to determine which (label).” So, he checked it all out, and we wound up with that one down there in Atlanta (NRC). So, they was pressing the records, but we wasn’t getting no money. So I shut ‘em down.

It wound up on a jukebox in San Francisco. That’s where Juke Boy Bonner heard it, and decided that he was going to record for my company.

Tell me about Bee Arnold (Arnold Broussard).

He was the son of Charles Broussard, who was a fiddle player in my band. But he played rock and roll. He made a couple of records for me, and they were good records, ‘cause the guy was a good piano player. He was a young kid. I recorded him here (at Church Street). At the time he was killed (April, 1956), he had a deal with Mercury.

How did you find Boozoo Chavis?

He was brought to me by Sidney Brown. Sidney made accordions. I guess that’s the way he found Boozoo. And he told me, “I got a boy there that plays blues music. He’s got a good song, I think you ought to listen to it.” I said, “Well, bring him in.” So he brought Boozoo in. I told Sidney I liked the song (“Paper In My Shoe”). I said, “Are you going to play with him?” He said, “Oh, no, I can’t play that kind of music, Eddie.” I didn’t realize there was that much difference between blues-Cajun and Cajun, you know. Even as much as I’d experienced, I hadn’t experienced that.

Zydeco music.

It was a rare form on zydeco. So I said, “What am I going to do?” Sidney said, “Find some kind of band that can play it.” So, I went out and found a black band that played rock and roll. Classie Ballou. I told Classie, “I got $250, can you play this blues type of music of music with the accordion?” He said, “Oh, yeah.” Well, they got into the studio here on Church Street. And Classie didn’t know what Boozoo was doing, and Boozoo didn’t know what nobody was doing … ‘cause Boozoo does everything (his own way). He changes (chords) when he’s ready, and that’s it. (Note: It is extremely unlikely Eddie paid a local band $250 in 1954 money for a session. The actual payment was probably more like $25.)

That must have been a frustrating session.

It was frustrating. The bottle got passed around. We worked on it three days, trying to get that thing. ‘Course, we had a deal: Classie had to cut my record before he could get paid.

Three days?

Three days and three nights. On the third day, I decided to go buy a little half-pint of Seagrams 7. I gave Boozoo a couple of drinks out of that thing … well, I didn’t have no glass in my door (of the studio). I had the wires running underneath the door. I’d close the door (during the recording), so I could hear ‘em, but I couldn’t see ‘em. So … they were recording, and this thing was coming down real good, and all of a sudden I heard the biggest crash I’d ever heard in my life. But the music never stopped.

So you didn’t know what the crash was?

No, because the music kept going. So I went down to the end of the record, then opened the door, and there lay Boozoo on the floor still playing his accordion. (Laughs) I gave up on it at that time, and paid Classie and sent him home.

That was all the money I had. I was working for an insurance company part-time, selling insurance on the side. So, I went out there fussing to myself, spending all of this money when I didn’t get nothing I could use. I finally went back into the studio and listened to it again, and that’s when I said, “Well, if I cut it off (fade) just before he falls off of the stool, I got a good record.” Well, guess what? I turned out to be a hit record.

I’ve heard you say that was the biggest hit you had up to that point.

Oh, yeah. That’s what it was. I faded it out just before the crash come in. It’s a quick fade-out.

So, up to that time, you’d never heard zydeco music? In fact, you didn’t even use the word zydeco …

No, no. Back at that time, you just called it black Cajun music (probably “Negro Cajun”). There wasn’t no such thing as zydeco.

How did that record get on Post, the Imperial subsidiary?

Don Pierce and I were working together, so there’s no telling what Don did.

Boozoo only made one more record with you (“Forty-One Days”). What happened?

The guy at Imperial (Lew Chudd) asked me, “Can you get him in the studio and cut something else on him?” I said, “I don’t think so. I’ll have to find out.” So I called Boozoo up, and he came in. I told him that the man wants another record. He said, “Well, I’m not making any more records. My brother told me not to. He trains horses.” I said, “What does that have to do with the music business?” But he wouldn’t cut any more records. So, I called up Imperial and told ‘em. I didn’t want to tell him what happened, because I figured Boozoo might change his mind. So that’s what happened.

You moved into the Church Street location in 1955?

Yeah. (Note: The Lake Charles City Directory lists Eddie's Music House at 313 Church starting in 1952.)

Shuler letter to Huey P. Meaux, October 10, 1961. Cleveland Crochet's "Sugar Bee" is "selling up a storm in all markets, including the colored."

And that’s when you bought the Ampex recorder?

Yeah. But I bought the little table-top thing first. The little portable thing. But then I decided to buy the floor model. The 350. And that thing was a workhorse. Without a doubt, one of the best ever made.

You didn’t charge musicians by the hour.

No, I paid by the song. There was no studio clock running. It was just: when you get my song cut the way you want it, that’s when you get paid, and we move on to the next one.

What was your typical pressing back then? About 500 copies?

About 500 to a thousand copies, depending on which issue it was, and what its potential was. Finally, I found out that you paid as much for a thousand as you did for 500, so I started to press a thousand.

Were you still distributing records out of the back of your car by this time (late ‘50s)?

No, I had distributors...I had a distributor in New Orleans. He had Mercury records, about eight or ten other labels, and he had a salesman that went around and called on all the jukebox operators and the stores. So I thought, man, I had really reached the big time. But I hadn’t seen no sales. So, one weekend I decided to go to visit my wife’s parents in Ville Platte. I decided to stop in Opelousas at a record shop on the way there. The woman (who owned it) said, "Am I glad to see you. A record salesman just left here." I said, "Who was he with?" She said, "He was with Mercury Records, but he doesn’t have any of your stuff."

So, man, I sold her a bunch of stuff. I found out where he was headed for, so I hurried to the next town. I got there a little bit ahead of him. At the retail place, y’know. And I waited for him. So, when he showed up, I introduced myself, and we went in...I didn’t tell him who I was. After he come out, I said, "Don’t you have some of that other stuff that they put out there?" He said, "You mean that Cajun and that swamp music stuff? I got some of that, but I don’t ever take it out. I can’t stand that stuff." He was going to Tulane University and didn’t like that kind of music, so he wouldn’t even let the people hear it. So, I pulled my labels from the guy then.

Besides New Orleans, were you distributing into, say, Shreveport or Memphis?

I was trying to work with Stan (Lewis) out of Shreveport, but it was hard to work with Stan. He didn’t cotton to what I was doing all that much.

Did you have distribution in Texas anywhere?

No. But, like I said, I would go out to Beaumont and sell ‘em out of the back of my car, y’know. ‘Cause it was close. Houston was too far away.

Eddie twisting the knobs at Goldband, 1960.

So most of your records were distributed from Lafayette to Lake Charles, and that was it?

Well, I had so much other business, I couldn’t do all that other stuff. By that time, I got the TV business going gung-ho...

So by the time you moved into the Church Street location, the records were just a sideline.

Yeah, that’s all. I had 27 brands of TVs I was selling. I had 15 trucks, and 18 people working for me. But I finally realized that with all the money I was taking in, I was just putting it in one pocket and taking it out and giving it to the manufacturers and all that, so I said, "Wait a minute. This ain’t working." So I quit all that mess and went back to being a TV technician. I got me a bench man -- I done the outside work, and he did the bench work. I stayed in the business for 38 years, and made money out of it.

Do you think that it’s safe to say that Goldband is America’s longest living independent label?

I would have to think that that’s a fact. I don’t know of anything else out there that’s enjoyed the longevity that Goldband has. On one of their liner notes, Ace Records said that once you hear a Goldband record, you know you’re hearing something nobody else has. Well, that’s what I tried to do. But I didn’t think anybody was noticing what I was doing. I believed in just one thing: get the music as good as you can, and keep the feeling.

Eddie Shuler's Reveliers - The Goldband chronological discography
Compiled by Dave Sax and Al Turner

1011 (first pressing)
EDDIE SHULER’S “REVELIERS”
(A) A-1011 Broken Love (Eddie Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie) prob. 1945
(B) B-1011 Is There Room in Your Heart (For Me Darling) (Eddie Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie)

NB: NB: Original blue label with heavy silver print. “Broken Love” cuts off dead at end about 4 bars before finish. ‘A’ side has 1011-A in wax. ‘B’ side has 1011-B in wax. Label shows A-1011/B-1011 respectively. Reissued/remastered on a red label c. 1949 (see below).

Both of these have the logo, “Everyone a treat.” (Presumably intended as “Every One A Treat.”) These 2 records do use different takes including the ‘spontaneous’ asides, suggesting that the band had well-rehearsed the two numbers.

The acoustics and balance varies a lot between the versions suggesting that 2 sessions is possible, although unlikely. More likely the musicians or microphone(s) were moved after running through the numbers once. The two sides that are very thin and distant in sound are not on the same record! They are:

Broken Love. BLUE LABEL VERSION.
Is There Room In Your Heart (For Me Darling). RED LABEL VERSION

On the other 2 versions, the sound is more full but the fiddle less prominent. Quite an extraordinary set of circumstances!

The maroon press is a very swishy pressing and would have been pressed not that long after the blue label. It is less often found. Shuler obviously had the disc remastered because of the dead stop on the first pressing and had to come up with other takes. Both are primitive pressings from a time when it was difficult for the new independents to find plants to press their records. In a couple of cases, a side plays more than 20 seconds before any music is heard. Quoted dates of 1945 (even late 1944 has been mentioned) seem likely judging by the appearance of the records.

1011 (second pressing)
EDDIE SHULER’S “REVELIERS” c. mid 1946
(A) Broken Love (Eddie Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie)
(B) Is There Room in Your Heart (For Me Darling) (Eddie Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie)

NB: Maroon label with gold print; otherwise identical typeset, etc. ‘A’ side has G-1010 in wax. ‘B’ side has G-1011 in wax and uses a different plant than the blue label issue.

"Is There Room in Your Heart (For Me Darling)" copyright by Shuler and Ronald "Pee Wee" Lyons on October 9, 1946.

G-1012
EDDIE SHULER’S “REVELIERS” c. mid 1946
(A) Mes Cinquantes Sous (My Fifty Cents) (Miles) (Vocal – Frankie)
(B) Jolie Blonde (Pretty Blonde) (Vocal – Frankie)

NB: Probably the last with logo “Everyone a treat.” Frankie = Frankie Miles
“A” is a vocal duet, probably with Shuler.
Same label and plant as maroon version of 1011 but 1013 has not been seen..

G-1013
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS”
Forever Lost
Soldier’s Waltz [probably]

G-1014
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. 1947
(A) Which Star Above is You (Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie)
(B) Only One Sweetheart For Me (A. Peshoff) (Vocal – Buckshot)

NB: Deep maroon & gold label.

G-1015
EDDIE SHULER c. 1947
(A) La Valse De Meche (nc) (Vocal – Norris)
(B) I Don’t Blame Myself (I Blame You) (nc) (Vocal – Eddie)

NB: Norris = Norris Savoie. No main artist credit; “Eddie Shuler” rubber stamped on label in gold. 6 in wax/4 in wax only. Same label as 1014.

G-1016
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. 1947
(A) Pipe Line Blues (nc) (Vocal – Eddie)
(B) Burning Love (Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie)

NB: ‘A’ Side has GRC-2/A-12558R in wax. ‘B’ Side has GRC-4/A-12559R in wax. The “R” suggests that an earlier pressing could exist. Same label as 1014.

G-1017
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. 1948/9
(A) Hey Cushmall (nc) (Vocal – Norris)
(B) Faded Love Waltz (nc) (Vocal – Norris)

NB: Lighter weight Research Craft pressing, maroon and gold label, thinner title print. "Norris" = Norris Savoie.

G-1018
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. 1948/9
(A) Friends Gather (Stutes) (Vocal – Frankie)
(B) My Jolie (nc) (Vocal – Norris)

NB: “Friends Gather,” despite vocal credit, is a western swing instrumental. Same label as 1017.
Stutes = poss. Hector Stutes

G-1011
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. 1949/50
(A) Way Down Under Blues (Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie)
(B) I’m Mighty Afraid You Are Wrong (Sons-Shuler) (Vocal – Mary Sons)

NB: Same label as and pressing type as 1017 & 1018, indicating that it dates from the same period but actual sequence unknown.

G-1011
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. 1949/50
(A) Broken Love
(B) I’m Mighty Afraid You Are Wrong (Vocal – Mary Sons)

NB: Remastered version of the 1945/46 pressing with greatly improved sound quality.

G-1019
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” Billboard: Nov. 11, 1950
(A) I Never Want a Sweetheart (Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie Shuler)
(B) Your Heart Can Never Be True (Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie Shuler)

NB: Black label and gold print, same pressing type as 1017/8 and the new 1011.

"I Never Want a Sweetheart" was copyrighted by Shuler on May 19, 1944.

G-1020
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. late 1950
(A) Jambalaya Boogie (C. Broussard) (Vocal – C. Broussard)
(B) Traveller’s Waltz (nc) (Vocal – C. Broussard) = Charlie Broussard

NB: Same label as 1019.

G-1021
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. 1951
(A) Ace of Love (Shuler-Lyons-Choats) (Vocal – Eddie Shuler)
(B) Hiding My Tears in the Rain (Gartland-Shuler-Nelson) (Vocal – Eddie Shuler)

NB: Research Craft press.

G-1022
EDDIE SHULER’S “REVELIERS” c. 1951
(A) Right Next Door to Texas (A. Peshoff) (Vocal – Eddie Shuler)
(B) Do You Think of Me (Shuler-Conner) (Vocal – Eddie Shuler)

NB: from this point: all 78s have red labels with silver print. This one uses a different plant with written numbers in wax and has a larger title font, similar to Goldband G-F 102 by Iry LeJune.

G-1023
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. 1952/3
(A) The Couple in the Car (Next to Mine) (Shuler-Lyons-Floyd) (Vocal – Eddie Shuler)
(B) I’ll Be All Smiles Tonight (T. B. Bransom) (Vocal – Eddie Shuler)

NB: This is the first we are aware of on a 45 rpm, which is maroon and silver. The 78 is the usual plant, the same as G-1017 through 1020 (Research Craft).

G-1024
This was probably a cancelled release or mistakenly missed number. This number was used for a 60s repress of Iry LeJune.

G-1025
EDDIE SHULER AND HIS ALL STAR REVELIERS c. 1952/3
(A) Broken Love (Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie Shuler)
(B) Help Us Oh Lord (Gibbs-Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie & Pee Wee) = Pee Wee Lyons

NB: “Broken Love” is a new version, not a reissue of 1011. Same pressing type and label as 1022.

G-1026
This was probably a cancelled release or mistakenly missed number. This number was probably used for a 60s repress of James Freeman Folk Star / Eagle 106 and Folk Star G-F 1196.

G-1027
EDDIE SHULER c. 1953/4
What Is That Thing Called Love
Uncertainness, Unhappiness

G-1028
EDDIE SHULER
(A) Things I Love the Most (Are the Things I Must Forget) (Vocal – Eddie)
(B) It’s a Dirty Deal (Vocal – Eddie)

NB: Listed in a Goldband catalog and probably scheduled, but not issued. It could otherwise have been a later reissue.
See next entry.

G-F-1129
EDDIE SHULER c. February/March 1955.
(A) Things I Love the Most (Are the Things I Must Forget) (Lyons-Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie)
(B) It’s a Dirty Deal (Lyons-Shuler) (Vocal – Eddie)

NB: Delta pressing 3543/3544 = c. February/March 1955. The Shuler number (with the GF- prefix) is actually a Folk-Star number, but with a Goldband label. Hopelessly confusing, as it obviously became for Eddie at the time. 45 has maroon label as 1023, 78 not verified.

G-1015 [reissue]
EDDIE SHULER’S ALL STAR “REVELIERS” c. October, 1955
(A) La Valse de Meche (The Marsh Waltz) (Vocal – Norris)
HACKBERRY RAMBLERS
(B) The Misery of a Broken Heart (Vocal – not credited) Pee Wee Lyons?

NB: Delta pressing 6803/6804 = c. October, 1955. Reissue of G-1015 with a new ‘B’ side.
“A” side may not have been confirmed as same recording as original release.

Goldband 1029 does not exist but was the intended number for a Bee Arnold record that mistakenly came out as Goldband G-1129 (delta 6807/8) at the same time as the above record. Another current release was Iry LeJune FolkStar G-F 1198 at 6805/6. Likewise, the intended 1030 by the Boogie Ramblers appeared as G-1130, which was among the first pressed at the Coast pressing plant, contemporary with FolkStar 1130 [Clarence Garlow}.These numbers were used again in the early sixties.

This was the last of Eddie’s early records (he had a couple in the late ‘60s or ‘70s), and Goldband continued in 1956 from G-1031 as the label used for all artists. [Folk-Star was discontinued at 1201 until the end of the decade because of a complaint from 4 Star Records].

Shuler appears to have later assigned these unused numbers for reissues. A catalog shows 1024 as Iry LeJune’s Goldband 103 coupling (don’t ask – it was intended to be Folk-Star 103), but only a late pressing 45 from the ‘60s or later has actually been seen with this number. Likewise, 1026 is shown as a reissue as a reissue of James Freeman’s Folk-Star/Eagle 106 record (also on Goldband G-F-1196 – yep, a Folk-Star number), but I’ve never heard of a copy.

Eddie Shuler singles on other labels:

TNT 103
EDDIE SHULER AND HIS REVELIERS 1953
(1) Grande Mamou (E. Shuler) vocal-not credited
(2) Your Heart Can Never be True (E. Shuler) vocal-not credited but is Shuler

NB: Black label with silver print. No vocal credits, but “Grande Mamou” aurally by Norris Savoie. “Your Heart Can Never be True" is a later re-recording of G-1019.

Khoury’s 700
EDDIE SHULER AND HIS ALL STAR REVELIERS 1954/5
(A) J’ai Passe Devant ta Porte (nc) (The For Me, For Me Song) vocal-not credited

NB: Reverse is by LeBlanc’s French Band (Floyd LeBlanc, reissue of OT 104). This blue/silver Khoury’s is the start of the second 700 series, c. 1954/5, after the 600 series. Not the early Lyric/Khoury Hillbilly 700 series.

Additional unissued songs by Shuler can be found in the Charly Goldband reissue series albums "Bop Boogie in the Dark" (GCL-105) and "Hillbilly Stomp" (GCL-108).

Goldband Studio, 313 Church Street, in August 2005.

"No Color In Poor": San Antonio's Harlem Label

2011-09-25T11:25:00.038-05:00

If it had only served as the initial catalyst in the career of one artist, Doug Sahm, Harlem Records of San Antonio would be significant enough. But it also gave us outstanding vocal group records from the Lyrics, Royal Jesters, and Fabulous Flames, along with patented “West Side” R&B from Sunny and the Sunglows (before they were the Sunliners) and Charlie Alvarado and the Jives. There had been a couple of reissues of this material in the '80s, but like many who had been exposed to Harlem’s catalogue, I sensed that this was an enterprise that clearly deserved to be better documented. How to actually accomplish that was another matter.

I began halting attempts to research Harlem in 1998 while writing the liner notes for Doug Sahm’s San Antonio Rock album on Norton. All I knew then was that the prime mover behind the Harlem label, disc jockey Joe Anthony (Joseph Anthony Yannuzzi), had been dead since 1992. Still, I took some solace in the knowledge that Sahm was very much alive and well at the time, and surely would submit to an interview. Sahm’s verbal excesses were legendary, though if they extended to his Harlem days, there was no evidence of it in print. In interviews Sahm usually catapulted from his “Little Doug” child prodigy days in the early fifties to the Sir Douglas Quintet’s 1965 debut on Shindig in the space of a paragraph or two. Did he really mean to imply that this crucial ten-year period was of no importance, or did interviewers know (or care) so little about San Antonio music and Sahm during those years that they just skipped an entire decade? I suspected the latter, though Sahm’s unexpected death in November, 1999, left that, along with the rest of my questions, sadly unanswered.

Sahm’s death sent me back where I had actually started from: a phone number stumbled across at random in the Texas Music Industry Directory for Emil “E.J.” Henke in San Antonio. That Henke was listed at all was amazing -- the veteran music man had flown so far under the radar for so many years that many assumed he was dead. Henke had not been one of the more flamboyant record producers Texas had produced. Age had also caught up with him. During our initial conversation, I wasn’t sure if I was communicating with a human or a backwards tape loop running on low batteries. Monosyllabic grunts affirmed or denied my questions. Hospital schedules were mulled over. Somehow I was able to clarify that yes, Henke still had tapes for the Doug Sahm sessions he claimed to have produced (falsely, as I later discovered), and perhaps he’d be interested in licensing these to a reissue label. A brief moment of clarity, then back to hospital schedules.

This was going to take some work. Two or three trips to visit a super-cranky wheelchair-bound man in his late sixties later, I still knew only slightly more on Harlem Records than when I’d started. Henke, easier to communicate with in person, was no less remote and defensive when specific questions were posed to him that he didn’t wish to answer. The only reason he agreed to speak with me at all was because Norton had paid him for the rights to use his Sahm tapes for the reissue, which came out in 2000. Some of E.J.’s comments were indeed laced with real insight, even occasional humor, yet giant areas of unknowingness remained. “Joe handled that,” would go his stock answer for most questions I had about the operation of Harlem. “I was gone.” It finally appeared that Harlem would indeed have to remain buried in a hazy, distant past. Henke’s death a couple of years later, in 2002, reaffirmed this view.

Not so fast. Within a year or two of Henke’s passing, former San Antonio disc jockey Henry Carr – a name Henke never mentioned to me – emailed, revealing more details about the Harlem label than I had ever thought possible, especially now. Most telling was his explanation why Henke had been so vague and defensive about the Harlem era: he had been imprisoned in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary for most of that period. It can be safely said that Henke’s role in the label was far more minor than his attempts to rewrite history made them appear. Anthony and Carr did most of the recording, financing, and promoting; Henke assisted with some initial capital, and little else.

In addition to Carr, veteran San Antonio saxophonist/bandleader Charlie Alvarado – who recorded eight singles with Anthony on Harlem and various other labels – has stepped up to help fill in the blanks. A few frustrating gaps and questions still remain, but thanks to these two men we can now bring closer into focus the true story of the daring experiment that was Harlem Records.

“A Bright, Twisted Man:” Joe Anthony and KMAC

Top 40 radio in fifties San Antonio was dominated by two stations, KONO and Gordon McLendon’s KTSA. These were well-oiled corporate machines, populated by interchangeable white disc jockeys with fresh broadcasting degrees. It hardly mattered to them if the audience requested a Little Richard or Ray Coniff record, just as long as it paid the bills and allowed the hoped-for opportunity to move on to a bigger market somewhere.

KMAC was another story.

“KMAC was a very cheap, third or fourth or fifth-rated station,” Henry Carr says. “It was not a big-time operation. It did a lot of phone-ins. It was all pitch radio. But they had this program that was on for two hours a night called Harlem Serenade. Flip Forrest, a black man, was the DJ. He kept the job for a long time, then got a better job as (gospel singer) Mahalia Jackson’s valet, and left. Joe (Anthony) had been looking for a job in radio, and had worked in, I believe, Refugio. He went in to KMAC to talk to the owner, Howard W. Davis – one of the cheapest men on earth – and convinced him that he could do this show, and he could do it for fifty bucks a week. Howard had been paying Flip Forrest seventy-five. So, Joe got the job. And Howard never knew what he got himself into…Joe was a bright, twisted man.

“This was 1956, ’57. Rock and roll is there. You could hear it on XEG, XERF – on a good night you could hear John R. out of Nashville (WLAC). Joe heard all those approaches and combined them. His mother was Mexican; his father was an Italian immigrant. He was like Wolfman Jack, but could break out in Spanish at the proper time, and say it in slang. So, right there, all the West Side loved him.” Charlie Alvarado concurs with this assessment. “Joe was one of the most popular DJs in town,” he says, “especially with the Chicanos.”

Joe and Henry had been friends since attending Brackenridge High School together in the early fifties. Both were bound by a love for black music, and a burning desire to get into the music business somehow. “Third-rate” KMAC provided that opportunity, despite low-to-nonexistent wages. “You didn’t make money at the station,” Carr, who began working for KMAC’s FM sister station KISS in 1958, points out. “You made money through the station. I was doing charts for KMAC. Joe had his show. So we could pretty much promote whatever we wanted. And, also, Joe understood that everything came with a price. That was the beauty of it.”

Joe Anthony's KMAC chart for January 8, 1960, with Harlem releases by the Lyrics and Royal Earl.

Ongoing federal investigations were little deterrent to the payola that ruled the day in Top 40 radio, as Carr unreservedly admits. “When record companies needed something on the surveys, you’d get things. I was looking at one of my surveys awhile back, thinking, ‘Why on earth did I choose Bobby Rydell on Cameo as the Pick Hit? Oh yeah – rent.’ And Chess Records was pretty much that way with us. We were in very close contact with Paul Gayten, who was one of the chief promo men for Chess.

“KMAC and Joe’s show in particular broke many, many records. No one would touch (Mark Dinning’s) ‘Teen Angel’ until Stuart Weiner at Wemar Music came down and said, ‘Here’s some money.’ And then, of course, it became my pick hit on the pop side. And Joe did that (as well). They also broke ‘Shout’ by the Isley Brothers. (Jimmy Jones’) ‘Handy Man’ was another.

“So, this was a station that you didn’t have to fight with (Gordon) McLendon – Gordon’s operation dominated the Southwest, San Antonio in particular. And here was a show (Harlem Serenade) that the kids liked. Harlem grew out of that – I guess our own greed. Joe and E.J. Henke were just a bit greedier than me, because they signed paperwork between each other. I said, ‘No, just pay me some money if we make some.’”

The only suggestion of disunity in Joe and Henry’s friendship was Joe’s sexual orientation. Anthony was a closeted homosexual, completely at odds with the innocent laments of teenage love his label would become known for. The mysterious Charlie Woods, whose name appears on at least one Harlem label release, was (according to Carr) one of Joe’s boyfriends. He may or may not have had a financial stake in the label at a certain point, as well.

Harlem and E.J. Henke

Joe Anthony inaugurated Harlem in the summer of 1959 with a racially mixed vocal group fronted by Carl Henderson, the Lyrics. “Oh Please Love Me,” a doowop ballad, was a hot local hit over the closing months of that year, eventually selling a few thousand copies and making all three local charts. Harlem was in business. But like most small labels with a local hit, Joe soon discovered that he had overextended himself, and was unable to offset the invoices from the pressing plant and distributors with his meager salary and unpredictable payola deals. Out of desperation, he offered E.J. Henke 50% of Harlem if he'd forgive Joe’s debts, and Henke agreed.

Henke was a big, lumbering man of German lineage who occasionally found work as a wrestler. Henry Carr had met him around 1955, when Carr’s father, a loan shark, hired Henke as a collection agent. By that time Henke – a frustrated country singer – was already involved in the emerging song-poem business, and would soon start a country/rockabilly label, Warrior. E.J. was fairly typical of most of the men in the record business in ‘50s Texas – a gambler who reduced the complexities of pop music down to a few simple formulas, underpinned all the while by a fervent wish that rock and roll would just go away so he could get back to country music.

“Henke comes out of that old school of song-poems,” Carr explains. “Henke was an apprentice to one of the masters. If you got a letter from Henke, it would say, ‘Now’s the chance to make BIG money…,’ and ‘big’ would be in 18-point type.

“Emil was a good-hearted guy, he was just really, really country. He was an old-style record guy/carney who always believed he had a hit. He never understood the music.”

Henke’s legit releases on Warrior were not nearly as lucrative as his song-poem mill, which relied upon low cunning and the naivete of amateur songwriters for a steady stream of business. For $20, gullible song-poets would send Henke their lyrics, hoping for a possibility at the big-time that Henke’s pitches promised. What they actually received was an acetate of their song vocalized by Arkey Blue or some other local country singer – and a “good luck” letter. Henke didn’t even bother to press vinyl singles, as even the cheapest song-poem operations did.

Carr was amazed. “I would go to the post office with him sometimes, and he would pull out a two or three inch stack of letters – and every one of them would have a $20 bill in it: ‘Here’s my song, here’s my $20.’”

Many small labels were done in by ordering an initial 500 or 1000 copies of a new record only to find it unsalable. Anthony and Carr hit upon an ingenious way to subvert this problem. After a session would be recorded, Joe would pay to have two acetates made. He would then proceed to play the acetate at least once a night on Harlem Serenade until his listeners started calling the local stores and creating a demand. Only then would the bare minimum pressing amount – usually 100 copies – be ordered with money Joe or Henry had saved from record hops, and placed on consignment at the local stores and One-Stops (distributors who carried all labels). A few Harlem releases probably didn’t make it far beyond that initial press, though others sold into the thousands. Doug Sahm’s “Why, Why, Why” was by far Harlem’s best seller, moving (by Henry’s estimate) over ten thousand copies in 1960.

Joe Anthony KMAC chart for August 5, 1960, with Doug Sahm's first Harlem release.

Carr says that once a hundred copies were out in stores, “you’d wait a week, and hope that you could start pressing up 500 at a time. Once you got action – meaning that it was actually being sold – that’s when you had the opportunity to be overextended.” Harlem was often in such a predicament for the next two years, its weak financial position negating such niceties as royalty payments. “None of these people – outside of Doug (Sahm), who was paid when he sued us – were paid,” Henry says. “I don’t think we ever paid anyone. Harlem did not really make money, but allowed steady cash churn.”

Ongoing money problems didn’t prevent Anthony from plunging headfirst into the record business. Royal Earl, Gary Middleton, the Royal Jesters (“Royal” names were big in 1959), Doug Sahm, Sunny and the Sunglows, and Charlie and the Jives were all recorded in rapid succession over the closing months of 1959 and into the new year. Charlie Alvarado’s experience is probably typical. “I started playing at a club called Fiesta Club on Commerce in 1959,” he recalls. “Joe Anthony was a DJ on KMAC, which was about a block away from the club. He used to catch our show there. He liked the way we played.

“I started doing gigs for him at the Arthur Murray Dance Studios on Alamo Street. He’d be there as a DJ, but he’d also have a live artist. That’s where I met the Royal Jesters. They had a number they wanted to record on Harlem. I hadn’t recorded anything before that – I was too busy playing. Recording had never entered my mind.”

On the Go with Joe (Anthony), column in the San Antonio Snap News, 1961.

In what was still a very segregated era in Texas, San Antonio bands were different. “Race was not that important,” Henry says. “The Hispanic bands were always integrated. Some of the places on the West Side, like Mario’s and Mi Tierra, were open all night – so all races were welcome. On the East Side, it was black. But frankly, I never heard a lot of the ugly words until I came to California. San Antonio was about the music. We were all poor. So much for that competition – there is no color in poor. I just never felt racial animosity in San Antonio, ever.” A white boy like Doug Sahm playing with Spot Barnett or a black man like Bobby Taylor singing with Charlie and the Jives was becoming more common as the sixties began.

You Tube video with the Royal Jesters' "My Angel of Love," backed by Charlie and the Jives.

Joe and E.J. didn't want the public to know that they were the actual owners of Harlem. This was largely due to the generous amount of airplay Harlem artists received on Joe’s show, and their high rating on KMAC surveys, all during the height of the payola scandals in Top 40 radio. This may have been the area where Henry Carr was of greatest service to Harlem. “I was the face of Harlem Records if we went out anywhere,” he says. Indeed, this is backed up by the only contemporary print reference to the label located so far, an early 1961 black newspaper column, written by Anthony, in which he slyly noted that “Henry Carr of Harlem Records” had announced signing Spot Barnett.

Harlem was on-the-job training for Joe and Henry. Neither knew anything about song publishing, allowing Texas Sound Studio’s Jeff Smith rights to their early material under his Tex-San (BMI) company. This only became an issue after Sahm’s “Why, Why, Why” hit and all the publishing royalties went to Smith. Joe very quickly set up Ebony Music (BMI), named after the Ebony Lounge, the local black hotspot.

L to R: Mario Cantu, Fats Domino, Joe Anthony, and Henry Carr, 1960.

“Neither Joe nor myself understood the value of copyright ownership,” Carr admits. “(Fellow KMAC DJ) Charlie Walker introduced me to Slim Willet and he explained the biz to me. He showed me a check for a large amount from BMI – his yearly advance for his tune, ‘Don't Let the Stars Get in your Eyes.’”

It was also around the time that “Why, Why, Why” began moving that Henke’s song-poem operation ran seriously afoul of the law. “He got greedy,” Carr explains. “He wrote back to these (amateur songwriters) and said, ‘Let’s re-record everything, and for $50 or $100, I’ll give you a share of stock in my company.’ Maybe he should have incorporated first. I think it was over a hundred counts that he pled guilty to. A hundred-odd counts of mail fraud. He went to Leavenworth. I was in the courtroom when he was sentenced. (It was) a shock to him. I had to get the marshal to get Henke's car keys so that I could deliver it to Juanita, his wife.”

It’s unclear how long Henke stayed in prison. According to Carr’s recollection, he was sentenced to serve five years, but this appears to have been commuted after only 18-24 months. In later interviews with this writer, Henke avoided the subject of prison entirely.

Henke’s incarceration probably had something to do with Anthony’s decision to abruptly wind down Harlem after the release of the Fabulous Flames single (#114 in April, 1961). By then he was preparing a new label with Charlie Alvarado, Hour Records. Harlem’s reappearance after a 13 month absence in May, 1962 with two older Charlie and the Jives masters suggests a newly-free Henke counterploy to Hour, though Alvarado himself has no recollection of any unusual circumstances surrounding this release.

“I am sure that Joe didn't participate beyond the early 1961 releases,” asserts Carr. “Henke was out of jail and asking for his share. Joe made some kind of move to settle, involving transfer of masters and also sale of his record shop to Henke. I was in the army during this time and had no direct knowledge of details, other than general conversations with Joe after my return to San Antonio. Charles Woods was involved, somehow – maybe a buffer.” The terms of Anthony’s “settlement” with Henke are far from clear.

Recording Sessions

With only one or two exceptions, everything on Harlem, Hour, and related labels was recorded at Jeff Smith’s Texas Sound Studios, located on Hildebrand Avenue on the city’s North Side. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes collecting Texas labels is familiar with the “TSS” designation, etched into the run-off grooves of countless singles from the late 1950s until the early 1970s. But who was Jeff Smith?

“Jeff was like an old-style Chamber of Commerce guy,” Carr says. “You do business with him, he’ll go out and promote you. Jeff would take stuff out to the stations. And of course, if it was a Jeff custom pressed job, he’d get ‘em out there early in the day. Jeff was probably the most accommodating engineer I’ve ever met. (But) he had no knowledge of the music. And he was a little bit cautious with running the meters. I’m sure rock and roll killed him (from an aural standpoint). He got a little confused with the electric bass for awhile, particularly with the early stuff on Harlem. You can hear it on “Oh Please Love Me.’ It did knock the needles off the jukeboxes.”

Owing to his paranoia, his nightly radio job, or both, Anthony rarely attended Harlem recording sessions. As far as Henke’s involvement in sessions went, Carr says, “I don’t think he attended a session after Royal Earl (Harlem 103). In fact, after Royal Earl, I was the only one who ever attended. Not that I ever did anything, but it always looked good to have somebody in the back smiling.” Henry laughs. “Later I learned, nod your head…it looks even better.” More laughter – informed by a knowing sarcasm.

“That’s how it happens…by the time you learn how to snap your fingers, nod your head, and look cool, you’re too old to be in the industry.”

The Decline of Harlem

Even with a strong local talent pool to draw from, personal drive and enthusiasm, a wide local following, and a lock on radio exposure for his artists, Joe Anthony never really was able to capitalize on the success and momentum that Doug Sahm’s “Why, Why, Why” brought to Harlem Records. His engagement with the label only lasted into the spring of 1961, barely eight months after Sahm’s record had hit, and less than two years after he had stated. The label he replaced it with, Hour, itself only lasted a mere four releases, coming to an end in 1962. Perhaps Henke’s prison stint had awakened him to the dangerous possibilities of his ongoing payola deals. The conflict of interest he boldly flaunted by spinning Harlem singles nightly on KMAC could have, if exposed, gotten him kicked off not only his own station but disbarred from broadcasting for anyone. Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth the chance. Besides, other labels had since come along to record local talent – Cobra, Jox, Tear Drop, Renner, and many more. He wasn’t as badly needed in that area as he had been back in 1959.

But larger than all of these concerns was the changing nature of black music itself. The raw and urgent sounds that Anthony and Carr had been digging since the early fifties were giving way to tightly arranged, orchestrated faux-R&B, transparently calculated to crossover to white teen audiences. Their youthful enthusiasm was waning. “Joe believed that rhythm and blues died the day Motown opened its doors,” Carr says.

There really was no going back for Joe. He retired from radio for a couple of years in the late 1960s before his improbable reemergence as the self-styled “Godfather of Heavy Metal,” a role he relished on a variety of San Antonio stations until his death from lung cancer at age 55 in 1992. Record collectors who tracked down Joe in the 1980s, attempting to learn something about Harlem, found a disinterested cynic who viewed those days as ancient history.

E.J. Henke soldiered on in both the local record and song-poem ghetto for the rest of his life, occasionally reviving the Harlem label for releases new and old. Henke steadfastly maintained that he had bought out Anthony’s half of the label in 1964; like many of Henke’s claims, this is refuted by Carr, who clearly remembered Joe offering all rights and tapes to Harlem to him in 1969 for $1500. Carr passed.

The last time Carr dealt with Henke was in 1968. Henry had gone to work for Mercury/Smash Records on the West Coast when the Sir Douglas Quintet scored their comeback hit “Mendocino” (on Smash). A phone call arrived one day from somebody with the far-fetched notion of leasing Doug Sahm’s nine-year-old regional hit “Why, Why, Why” to Mercury. The caller was eventually passed to Carr, the only person at Mercury familiar with both the record and the pitchman. “Henke was just an angry guy then,” he recalls. “He sent me strange records he’d produced. And they were terrible records.”

KMAC chart with Henry Carr, November 4, 1960. Why was Bobby Rydell chosen as a Pick Hit? "Rent."

Carr had, in fact, fared better than both of his former acquaintances after Harlem’s demise. After moving to Austin in 1965, where he was involved with that city’s nascent psychedelic music scene, he eventually came to realize that the entertainment industry was never going to blossom in Texas. San Francisco beckoned. “You could come out here and make a living suddenly,” Henry wryly recollects. “In Texas, you could get health insurance if you were a used car salesman, maybe. That was about as low as they would take it. People in the entertainment business didn’t get it. You couldn’t get a bank loan. You couldn’t get anything. Here they give you loans on dreams.”

Carr worked for Mercury Records in California for a few years but eventually drifted away from the music business for more reliable, less trendy areas of show business. “I didn’t survive disco, really,” he says.

It’s virtually a given today that anyone who experienced the California music scene in the late sixties as an emmigre would take a dim view of their local bands or records, wherever that might have been. Henry very sharply disagrees with this notion.

“San Antonio was the best,” he says. “San Antonio was the excitement. It was about the music. And when it ceases to be about the music, it’s not fun. I mean, 800 people at the Tourist Club Ballroom every Sunday to hear a couple of local bands, and a disc jockey who played records when they changed sets – every Sunday. And everybody left there happy. San Francisco was good for poets, but it was not really good for move your body and move your soul music.”

Joe Anthony and Harlem Records must be considered a major aspect of that remarkable time in San Antonio. “Joe was one of the pioneers. He understood progressive radio before there was a term. You’ve got to put him in there with all the other greats of radio, because they brought the music to us. Those were great times.” To Henry Carr, Harlem “was the nicest record company I’ve ever been involved with. Because it was so small, and of course the era – if you had a record company, you were in tall cotton.”

For the teenagers buying Harlem singles, the musicians, and the community at large, it was more than merely a local record label.

“It was part of them.”

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HARLEM DISCOGRAPHY

This listing covers all known Joe Anthony, Charlie Alvarado, and Henry Carr related labels and releases from 1959 to 1964. Harlem 112 remains unknown to this day. Hour 103 is still a blank, and the Harlem “1000 series” has not yet been worked out to satisfaction. Even with these blanks, this is still the most detailed listing yet published on any San Antonio label of the period.

You Tube video featuring the Lyrics' "Oh Please Love Me."

101 THE LYRICS – Oh Please Love Me / The Girl I Love (August 1959)

One of the strongest debuts on any Texas label from the period, the Lyrics reached as high as #14 on KONO on September 6, 1959. (Chart data from KMAC is irrelevant for obvious reasons.) Unusually, “Oh Please Love Me” was reissued twice, first on the local Wildcat label (who pressed the Harlem singles initially) in 1960, then nationally on Coral in ‘62. Despite being a local hit, finding an original copy in playable condition today is a challenge. Mint copies have sold for $500 or more. Bootlegs probably exist.

Henry: I think the Lyrics played a record hop at the King of Clubs, and Joe told them that we were going to do something. I think we approached him – Abel Martinez. He was the leader of the Lyrics. When asked for label artwork, Joe had none. He asked Walter Evans (Joe’s nightclub act partner) to draw one on the spot. Hence the dice. Lonnie Fairbanks (Wildcat Records) pressed the first ones. Lonnie made his living as the operator of the first modern car wash in San Antonio. He had one press. When the girls were not drying the hood of a Chevy, they would slap a biscuit on and press one out.

102 GARY MIDDLETON Vocal backing: The Excello's – Don’t Be Shy / Pretty Please (1959)

Middleton’s only record, a decent attempt at late ‘50s rock and roll with an unknown vocal group, the Excellos. Repressed in the 1970s for the nascent collector market.

Henry: I think it was the Gary Middleton record that got Henke involved with Joe initially. Doug Sahm was involved there somewhere. Middleton did an Elvis-like act, and that would have been too far beyond Henke’s country roots. We didn’t promote the Middleton record at all.

103 ROYAL EARL AND THE SWINGIN' KOOLS -- Forever Dear / Royal Earl Shuffle (Oct. 1959)

This is the debut of Fort Worth bluesman Earl Bell, better known for his later “Talking Guitar” single. The only Harlem single not to derive from local talent, it was recorded at Sumet (often misspelled “Summit”) Sound Studios in Dallas. Henry believes that Royal Earl was discovered by Lonnie Fairbanks and Tren Dumlao of Wildcat Records, though why they didn’t record him for their own label is unclear.

104 THE LYRICS – The Beating of My Heart / I Want to Know (1959)

The second and last Lyrics single, with a faithful Moonglows cover on the A-side. Carl Henderson sings lead on both sides. Henderson went on to record for Renco locally before moving to California and having a couple of minor hits on Renfro in the mid-‘60s.

Henke repressed Harlem 104 in the '70s; this is usually confused with originals these days. Originals have the "TSS" in the dead wax; the reissue says "Producer: E.J. Henke" on the label and is a LH pressing.

Henry: ‘The Beating of My Heart” was my favorite of all Lyrics material. Sales were 2,500 to 5,000 copies. The song, when played live at Tourist Club Ballroom’s Sunday afternoon record hop, filled the dance floor with grinding teenagers. The perfect blend of Catholic morality and the emerging youth culture. Scratch Phillips hosted a television program on Monday nights at KMEX – I remember the Lyrics appearing. Scratch was always good to Harlem. He played material by, and promoted, local artists.

KONO charts with the Lyrics and Royal Jesters.

105 THE ROYAL JESTERS Music by Charlie and the Jives --My Angel of Love / Those Dreamy Eyes (January, 1960)

One of the supreme moments in Texas doowop, featuring stellar vocal performances from the original Royal Jesters line-up, including Oscar Lawson on lead. This was also the debut record for Charlie and the Jives, and Charlie’s grinding tenor sax combined with Arnold de la Garza’s distorted guitar provide a perfect counterpoint to the velvet five-part vocal harmony. This first record in the Jesters’ long career is also considered by many to be their best. “My Angel of Love” hit #38 on KONO, February 27, 1960. This has been bootlegged by the doo-wop mafia. Originals are also $500+.

Henry: The Jesters didn’t have a band. Within the Latin community, there was a lot of hostility between bands. The Royal Jesters were right at the top of it. They always traveled in a pack – I don’t know if that was for their safety or not.

106 GEORGE CHAMBERS -- Time / I’ve Tried (1960)

Henke asserted himself with this straight country outing – much to Joe and Henry’s chagrin. Charlie Walker played it a few times on KMAC’s country show. Chambers later recorded for Renner, among others.

Henry: I’d be surprised if the Chambers or Gary Middleton sold anything. I would think that they were a hundred pressing initially. We couldn’t get ‘em to bite on George Chambers.

107 DOUG SAHM AND THE MAR-KAYS -- Why, Why, Why / DOUG SAHM AND THE PHARAOHS -- If You Ever Need Me (May 1960)

Although Doug Sahm had recorded for Sarg and Henke’s Warrior label prior to this, “Why, Why, Why” was the record that established him. “It was goin’ up the charts when school was out,” Sahm later told Deron Bissett. “It bugged me ‘cause then I couldn’t go to school to say, ‘Hey, look at me, boy.’” This sold well enough in South Texas to attract the attention of Los Angeles disc jockey Hunter Hancock. He reissued it on his Swingin’ label for national distribution, though it probably sold more on Harlem.

Henke repressed this circa 1973. This later pressing omits the band names, inserts a new song publisher (Riviera), and credits himself as producer – even though Henry says E.J. was nowhere near the studio that night. The reissue also has "LH" numbers instead of "TSS" in the dead wax.

Henry: Doug was about 11 when I met him. I was on Johnny Dugan’s Treehouse, which was the kid’s show at WOAI, and he was doing one of the adult shows that came on a little later. (Laughter) Once I went to work for KMAC (years later), we became a bit closer. We would see each other on a regular basis, because I went to work at nine at night, and where else could he go? After midnight, you had to go to the radio stations, because everything else was shut down.

When “Why, Why, Why” broke, we had two options – one was to promote it ourselves. We tried that, and it didn’t work too well. That involved giving Larry Kane (Houston TV host) $500 and 500 records – and making Doug play three shows the same night (in Houston). Three separate record hops during a hurricane. I don’t think he ever forgave me. He made me go with him. We did two out of the three. We were on our way to the third one when Kelley (Sahm’s drummer) drove into the ditch. That ended the television and radio promotion in Houston. The deal was, for the $500, Kane would give you a week’s promotion up to his television program, on the air. So, it was fine. I don’t know whether it sold any records.

Once “Why, Why, Why” became a hit, we made a deal with Hunter Hancock, who had Swingin’ Records (in California). Hunter played it, did fairly well. There was actually money that came back, even on a 50 percent deal. That was kind of the feeding chain. A guy on a small station would make a deal with a guy on a big station, each time giving away a piece of the action.

108 DOUG SAHM AND THE MAR-KAYS -- Baby Tell Me / Sapphire (October 1960)

Recorded July 26, 1960, Sahm’s soundalike follow-up to his hit sold only decently, and received no attention from any national labels. Rocky Morales and the Mar-Kays once again provide backing. By this time the local scene was heating up. As Doug told Billy Miller, “By the time I had ‘Sapphire,’ there were a lot more great bands in town. The competitiveness made you good.”

This was the first Harlem label to state, “A Manhattan Production.” According to Carr, this was another of Joe’s schemes, possibly to keep any money made by Harlem from being seized by authorities because of his affiliation with Henke.

Henry: With a Doug session, you never knew what was going to happen. You never knew what the name of the song was, or what it was going to be. It was just, “Meet me over there (at the studio).” “Okay, Doug.”

Charlie: I’d come into the studio and work with Jeff Smith. I helped him with Doug Sahm, on arrangements. When I was at the Tiffany Lounge (c. 1957), Doug would stop by. He’d play hookey from school, I think, because he was only 14, 15 years old.

Charlie and the Jives.

109 CHARLIE AND THE JIVES -- For the Rest of My Life / Bobby Socks and Tennis Shoes (1961)

Recorded January 13, 1961. The late black guitarist/vocalist Jitterbug Webb, who replaced Arnold de la Garza, shares vocal duties with Charlie Alvarado on “For the Rest of My Life.”

Henry: Charlie Alvarado is the San Antonio equivalent of Johnny Otis. He always had a band that had the style – whatever it was at that point. He could do it, from real Chicano, to Earl Bostic imitations. He knew how to get vocalists. The guys who could truly sing, as soloists, belonged to Charlie. Bobby Taylor, for one. He went on to sign with Motown as Bobby Taylor and the Vancouvers. It was remarkable to find Taylor in San Antonio. Charlie played the (Air Force) bases, and I think he found his guys there. Because his vocalists lasted awhile, then were gone completely. Never saw ‘em again. As far as what we called Chicano music of that time, I don’t think it got any better than “For the Rest of My Life.” The lyrics were perfect – the pain, oh, the pain!

110 SUNNY AND THE SUN-GLOWS -- From Now On / When I Think of You (February 1961)

Torch ballad b/w stomping rock ‘n roll. Recorded February 6, 1960, but not released until well after Sunny Ozuna hit big locally with “Just a Moment” on Kool that summer.

Henry: Sunny Ozuna really wanted to be on Harlem, but we couldn’t sign him because his parents were too smart for us. So he left, but we (released) his version of “From Now On” anyway. And then Sunny went one direction, and the Sunglows went another one. They went with Sunglow Records.

111 SENSATIONAL HARMONIZERS - Get Your Soul Right/You Ought To Wake Him Up (?) "A Manhattan Production."

112 Untraced

Henry believes 112 was possibly a spoken word/comedy single by a stand-up comedian he found at the Eastwood Country Club, Joel Cowan, who played with a group, the Do Re Mi Trio. "They were an Ink Spots type group," according to Henry.

113 DOUG SAHM AND THE DELL-KINGS -- Slow Down / More and More (March 1961)

With solid backing from Frank Rodarte and the Dell-Kings (who grew out of the Pharaohs), Sahm’s “Slow Down” out-rocks Larry Williams’ original and all subsequent versions as well, including the Beatles. Rare promo copies were pressed on yellow vinyl.

Henry: The follow-up to “Why, Why, Why” (“Baby Tell Me”) got airplay throughout the city. It was a successful record, (but) the record that followed (“Slow Down”) sold more than the second one. But we had both KONO and KTSA playing it during the daytime, when people actually listened. (Laughter) They loved it. Every day at 3:30 you could hear it coming out of the cars…coming out of the high schools. The Dell-Kings had no color. There was no race involved. They played at the Town Lounge – that was their standard place. Their crowd was city hall, judges, bailbondsmen, and criminals. It was in the KMAC building, what would you expect? Up the street was the Tiffany Lounge, which had the Lebanese gangsters. The private clubs, like the King of Clubs – that was the Greek guys.

114 THE FABULOUS FLAMES with the Original Sunglows -- I’m Gonna Try to Live My Life All Over / So Long My Darling (April, 1961)

Garnering virtually no attention upon release, over the decades this has become one of the most sought-after and valuable vocal group records on any Texas label, originals going for over $1000. It was reissued as Sunglow 102.

Henry: The Fabulous Flames were a group of James Brown’s Famous Flames that were fired. We found them at Eastwood Country Club. There were three of ‘em: Louis Madison, “G.W.” George Washington – he was killed shortly thereafter – and I’m not sure who the other one was.

115 CHARLIE AND THE JIVES -- Come On / Mercy Baby (May, 1962)

Vocal on the A-side by Jitterbug Webb; B by “Charlie Fiesta” (Alvarado). This release coupling two older recordings (“Come On” was done at the same time as “For the Rest of My Life”) came out virtually simultaneous to Charlie’s third single on Hour, “The Coffee Grind.” While this move suggests Henke reappearing back on the scene and hastily releasing older recordings, Charlie has no memory of this (indeed, he has no recollection of Henke at all).

Charlie: They wanted to put Charlie Fiesta on there because I was playing at the Fiesta Ballroom. I got after their butt for that.

116 DOUG SAHM Music by: SPOT BARNETT -- Just a Moment / Sapphire

Recorded February 16, 1961. Despite Henke’s assertion that this was pressed on Harlem (which I repeated in my notes to San Antonio Rock), no copies have turned up, and the general consensus now is that it never got beyond having the labels printed. Henke instead pawned the masters off on Abe Epstein, who released it on his Cobra label in 1963 with the Harlem catalogue number (presumably just to confuse future collectors).

117 BIG BUD HARPER (with) O.S. GRANT AND THE DOWNBEATS I've Just Got to Forget You / Never Let Me Go "A Twin Spin Production" A&R Datty White

Blues shouter Big Bud Harper was a San Antonio mainstay, appearing locally with groups like Mike and the Bel-Airs and Spot Barnett from the mid-fifties onward. The Downbeats, a black group from Gonzales, had previously recorded for Sarg and scored a big hit in San Antonio with “Darling of Mine” on that label in 1960. Carr recalls that this was recorded at the same session as Sahm’s “Just a Moment.” Original copies are rare.

118 CHISHOLM GANG Anita / Kansas City (1973)

Mediocre lounge rock, typical of Henke’s later efforts, that sounds like it was recorded many years before it was pressed. The highest number known in the 100 series.

1002 THE MAR-VELLS Tonight / Wobble Trot

The Harlem “1000 Series” is so obscure that only two releases have been documented so far. It could be that Henke used this series for custom pressings on a variety of labels, as T-Bird 1003 by local band Bobby Shannon and the T-Birds (1964) has “HM” matrix numbers.

1005 PAUL RAMOUS Fencewalk / Fifteen Miles from Provo (1970s)

Country, once again sounding like it had been recorded well before its release date.

RELATED SINGLES

Blue Star 101 Denny Ezba and the Goldens - I’ve Been a Fool For You / Don’t Leave Me Like This (1960)

Recorded at Texas Sound on August 22, 1960. Henke insisted that this single existed, as does Carr, though it may have been pressed in a quantity as few as 100. Hopefully, a few have survived in collections, though it has been impossible to verify this. Anthony probably thought Ezba was “too pop” for Harlem.

Henry: This was one more offshoot with Harlem… a one time release, a special project. A custom pressing through Jeff Smith. Silver label. I remember we charged Ezba $200, and I think we made $100 on the deal.

"San Antonio's popular new combo, the Goldens, making their recording debut with a tune called 'I've Been a Fool for You.'" -- San Antonio Light, Sept. 1, 1960.

Hour 101 Charlie and the Jives – I’m Leaving It Up to You / Scratchy, Part 7 (1961)

Joe Anthony’s first move after dropping Harlem was establishing Hour with Charlie Alvarado. Both showed a remarkable sense of the teenage market by reviving this old Don and Dewey non-hit, recorded at Texas Sound on May 4, 1961. A lot of teeth-grinding must have occurred after Dale and Grace took an inferior version of the same song to #1 on the pop charts, two years after the Jives’ version.
Carr was still lurking in the background, though he would soon be drafted.

Henry: Hour (was inspired by) Minit Records (out of New Orleans). So we were going to have Hour. It took very little to amuse us.

Charlie: I got the recording bug, because every time they played my records on the radio, I felt good. We were trying to sell (lease) these records to somebody else. Like Atlantic, or whoever.

Hour 102 Bobby Taylor with Charlie and the Jives – Seven Steps to an Angel / Ubangi Stomp (1961)

Possibly the first record in Bobby Taylor’s long career, which later included stints at Motown and VIP. Hour 102 features a take-off on the Moonglows’ “Ten Commandments of Love” as the A-side flipped with a dance floor shaker – no relation to Warren Smith’s rockabilly tune on Sun.

Charlie: These guys had a little group at Ft. Sam (Air Force base), four singers. Bobby Taylor was one of them. They sang real good together. But the other guys were about to get discharged and go back home. Bobby said he didn’t have nobody to go to. I said, “Well, if you want a job, you can stay here.” That’s the way Bobby started playing with me. He did about a year with us.

Henry: "Seven Steps to an Angel" was a Randy Garibay knock-off of the Moonglows’ tune. Paul Gayten – Chess’s traveling promo man at the time – wanted 50% of the publishing. I don't think that we filed any.

Hour 103 Untraced

Hour 104 Charlie and the Jives (vocal by Benny Easley) – The Coffee Grind (Part 1) / The Coffee Grind (Part 2) (April 1962)

Hank Ballard and the Midnighters covers with black vocalist, Benny Easley.

Ebony 1000 Matt “T.I.” Madison and the Minit Men – Please Don’t / Don’t Make Me Cry

Yet another Joe Anthony label. A tape box in Henke’s possession credited the vocalist as Matt Mattison, rather than “Madison.” His identity remains mysterious, as is the “A&R” credit to Joe Anthony’s boyfriend, Charlie Woods.

Henry: Ebony Music (BMI) was created for Hour records. Joe had a Friday night, midnight to 4 am record hop at Club Ebony. Spot Barnett was the house band. I remember Mattison (Minit Men…we were awestruck by the Cosimo sound)…

Master 101 Spot Barnett Combo – Black Cherry (Twist) / Pony Ride (1961)

San Antonio saxophone great Vernon “Spot” Barnett’s signing with Harlem Records was announced in January, 1961, but his brief association with the label only resulted in this disappointing instrumental outing and Sahm’s “Just a Moment” session.

World’s 123 Benny Easely (sic – Easley) with Charlie and the Jives – Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye / You Say You Love Me

Taste – Charlie and the Jives – Besame Mucho / Gilbert’s Rollin’

Charlie: We had an arrangement for “Take Five” by Dave Brubeck. We didn’t have a piano, so the guitarist did the part. We also did a lot of Spanish numbers, like the bolero, “Besame Mucho.” At that time I had James Kelley on bass, Jitterbug Webb on guitar, and Eddie “Pineapple” Marconi on the drums. I told them I wanted to do “Besame Mucho” in E minor, just like we did “Take Five.” And I want the 5/4 tempo on it. And Jitterbug and James said, almost at the same time, “Charlie, are you crazy?” But it came out real pretty.

Sound Tex 641209
Tom Swift and his Electric Grandmothers - Empty Heart / Come On In

The folk-blues aesthetic drunkenly collides with the British Invasion on this December, 1964 epiphany from Henry Carr and friends. If notable for nothing else, the Electric Grandmothers (no electric instruments are present) enjoy the dubious distinction of being among the first groups in the U.S. to record a cover of any Rolling Stones record – with improvised lyrics substituting for forgotten ones.

Despite a stellar cast – future Conqueroo guitarist Charlie Prichard, singer Michael Martin Murphey, Austin artist Mark Weakley, and Henry on jug – this is actually not as interesting as it looks, coming across as an unfunny folk parody of the Rolling Stones. One hundred copies were pressed, and that certainly was enough in this case.

Carr, Houston White, and Gary Scanlon would revive the “Electric Grandmother” name two years later for their Austin light show company, and it appears on a couple of 13th Floor Elevators posters from the late 1966-early 1967 period.

Henry: That’s a Jeff Smith custom press. I think we sold half-dozen or so. There was a disc jockey who was kind enough to play this over and over. He was a friend of Jeff’s.

By that time I was working at the San Antonio Express-News. Of those on the session, three of them worked at the newspaper with me. My brother, Bill Carr, David Price – who went on to work with the Monkees later. And I might have gotten Charlie Prichard a job with the paper. He was definitely a part of the band. Mike Murphey (Michael Martin Murphey)…He went to North Texas, but was down visiting. He was a friend. Mark Weakley was the rich kid in the back with the fancy guitar.

Jeff said, “What are you going to call this?” Well, what are you going to say? You’ve got a bunch of people who were stoned and drunk and have stumbled down the hill because they had nothing better to do, and it sounded pretty good at the house. “Let’s run down and make a record.” You can do it with computers now, but then it required five drunken people in one car.

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Joseph Anthony Yannuzzi
b. October 9, 1936 Bexar County TX
d. Sept 12, 1992 Bexar County TX

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Thanks to Henry Carr, Charlie Alvarado, Mike Myers, and Doug Hanners for helping with this article.

Freddie Frank on Starday 117

2011-07-25T19:52:00.004-05:00

Freddie Frank - Gypsy Heart / Al Petty - Al's Steel Guitar Wobble (Starday 117)

"Gypsy Heart"

"Gypsy Heart" was Freddie Frank's second single, after his first release on Abbott (heard here) went nowhere. It was, regrettably, his only release on Starday, and remains far less known than Jim Reeves' cover version (though I don't think many would argue today that Reeves's version was better). This was one of the few Starday singles to have been made in Dallas instead of Houston or Beaumont, and the sound quality is superior to many early releases on the label. This is a solid, commercial country single that should have at least qualified as a regional hit.

Jack Rhodes would soon give up band leading, but this still features his group from Mineola, which in the summer/fall of 1953 included Jimmy Johnson (lead guitar), Al Petty (steel guitar), Joe "Red" Hayes or Kenneth "Little Red" Hayes (fiddle). They were augmented here by Harold Carmack (piano), and unknown bass and drums. Though credited on the label to "Jack Rhodes with Freddie Franks (sic)," Rhodes does not actually play on the record.

Freddie remained bitter about this session when I interviewed him 40+ years later. "What happened, it was another one of those manipulation deals," he said. "I cut 'Gypsy Heart' ... my record hadn’t been out a week, and Jim (Reeves) covered it. Mine was a demo. It was intended to be a demo. Jack had that in mind -- to pitch it to somebody else. Jack was one of those first-person people. Everything is, 'I, me, my...' Nothing is 'ours,' or 'we did this.' That was Jack." But the songwriter credits would seem to contradict this observation, since Jack shared credit with Dick Reynolds and Lorraine Dean.

The flipside is from an unrelated session by Al Petty with the Western Cherokees.

Below: Freddie Frank (courtesy Beamon Forse Collection).

Harmonica Kid on Nucraft 2022

2011-06-25T09:26:00.021-05:00

Harmonica Kid - Coo-Coo-Coo / Jole Blon (Nucraft 2022)

"Coo-Coo-Coo"

"Jole-Blon"

Back in the 1970s, somebody found a Harmonica Kid record and decided, because the artist had a voice that was somewhat similar to Link Davis's, that it must be Link Davis under a pseudonym. Since that time, the accumulated evidence has exploded this myth, but of course the record collecting community is more immune to self-correction than a third world dictatorship, and 40 years later, the Harmonica Kid is still routinely identified as Link Davis.

"The Harmonica Kid" was actually the nom de disque for a man named Smith Spadachene (1912-1983). It appears Smith was the son of Italian immigrants who settled in Grimes County, Texas, during the late 1800s. He served in the military during WWII and was probably in Houston by 1949, when he made his debut on Gold Star. A long series of singles of varying quality on Nucraft (the same label that produced Solid Jackson Hipsters) followed, but these didn't sell. In 1964 he made the world's worst Beatles tribute record ("Beatle Twist"), and finally the Kid concluded his career with a strange commentary on a current economic crisis ("Inflation").

Paul Brown of the Bar X Cowboys recorded one of Spadachene's songs, and was the only person I've ever talked to who remembered the Harmonica Kid. Paul said that the Kid worked in his family's grocery store in the Heights area of Houston, and wrote songs for a hobby. He didn't think that the Kid actually played live gigs. The record business being what it is, even hobbyists and amateurs get lucky once in a while, and Spadachene's moment of glory came in 1954 when Skeets McDonald had a minor hit on Capitol with one of his songs, "I Love You, Mama Mia."

Below: Billboard, April 23, 1955.

"Coo-Coo-Coo" b/w "Jole-Blon," from 1955, is the Harmonica Kid's attempt at Cajun music, and is a pretty fun record. No harmonica is present, but the fiddle playing is quite good, and it's possible that Link Davis (who had a single on this label around the same time) agreed to sit in on this session. Billboard gave it a lukewarm review, stating that "despite poor recording, (it) could see some territorial action." The territory was not as impressed.

Below: Billboard, Sept. 6, 1952.

THE HARMONICA KID DISCOGRAPHY

Gold Star 712 (c. 1949)
SMITH SPADACHENE
Moving On
Spanish Two-Step

Nucraft 104 (1952)
102 RANCH BOYS
ACA 2149 OPS Blues (Smitty the Harmonica Kid) v: Harmonica Kid
ACA 2150 I Love You Mama Mia (Smitty the Harmonica Kid) v: Harmonica Kid

Nucraft 107 (1952) BB ad: Sept. 6, 1952
STRING BAND
(A)ACA 2281 I'll Keep on Crying (Smith Spadachene) v: Harmonica Kid
(B)ACA 2282 Take a Trip with Me (Smith Spadachene) v: Harmonica Kid

Note: "I'll Keep on Crying" listed in ACA files as "Lonesome Blues."

Nucraft 111 (ACA master: March 30, 1953 )
HARMONICA KID
ACA 2491 Jole (Leisy-Spadachene) BB: May 23, 1953
ACA 2492 Blon (Leisy-Spadachene)

Nucraft 114 (1953)
HARMONICA KID with the Sunset Playboys
(A)114-A Martha Lea (Smith Spadachene)
(B)118-B(sic) I Wish You Wuz My Darling (sic) (Smith Spadachene)

Nucraft 130 (1954)
HARMONICA KID & RANCH BOYS
I Didn't Do Nothing (S. Spadachene-B. Leisy) BB: June 5, 1954
Little Dutch Girl (S. Spadachene-B. Leisy)

Nucraft 132 (1954-55)
SMITH SPADACHENE and Band "Double Header Special"
GS-1103 Ivory Tower (Fulton-Steele)
GS-1104 I Love You Mama Mia (Spadachene-Leisy)

Nucraft 2021 (1955)
HARMONICA KID
Parakeet Love Song
My Deon Son

Nucraft 2022 (1955)
HARMONICA KID
Jole-Blon (S. Spadachene-Leisy) BB: April 23, 1955
Coo-Coo-Coo (S. Spadachene-Leisy)

Azalea 102 (1955)
SMITH SPADACHENE
A-009 You Pretty Little Thing (Shelly Lee Alley)
PAUL BROWN with the Gibbs Sisters and Luke Colburn
A-010 Rum and Soda (B. Leisy-S. Spadachene)

Note: AZALEA 102-B is a reissue of Nucraft 102-B.

Nucraft 100 (1959)
HARMONICA KID (and) FAY FROELICH
I Can Always Tell (Leisy-Spadachene) BB: June 8, 1959
HARMONICA KID (and) M.T. SCHULTZ
Little Dutch Girl (Leisy-Spadachene)

L&Q 100 (c. 1964)
HARMONICA KID (and) FAY FROLEICH
Beatle Twist (Spadachene)
Little Dutch Girl (Spadachene)

L&Q 101 (c. 1974)
HARMONICA KID
Inflation
Peppenadi

Bobby Doyle on Back Beat 531

2011-06-12T10:45:00.010-05:00

Bobby Doyle - Hot Seat / Unloved (Back Beat 531)

"Hot Seat"

The blind pianist Bobby Doyle (1940?-2006) had a shot at the big time in 1962 when Columbia signed him for an album. Unfortunately, the style of music that Bobby was playing at that time -- the "jazz" vocal group, a la the Kirby Stone Four and the Hi-Los -- ceased being popular about five minutes after the album was released (though it was shrewdly co-opted by the Beach Boys). There's a MySpace page which has some tracks from the LP. Kenny Rogers, who sang and played acoustic bass with Doyle's Trio, went on to superstardom while Bobby was relegated to the Houston and Austin lounge circuit for the rest of his life.

Not mentioned in any of the articles and obits on Doyle was this 1964 effort for Don Robey and Back Beat. Bobby is obviously channeling Roy Orbison in "Hot Seat," a very commercial rocker that should at least have been a regional hit, but no dice. This came in an attention-grabbing picture sleeve that looks more like 1957 than '64.

Floyd Tillman on Daffan 113

2011-05-15T11:04:00.009-05:00

Floyd Tillman - Cold, Cold Beer / Floyd's Song (Daffan 113)

"Cold, Cold Beer"

"Floyd's Song"

Probably one of Floyd Tillman's least known records, "Cold, Cold Beer" was recorded for the Daffan label in 1956 while he was at the nadir of his fame, and may not have actually been released (it's taken here from Bear Family's The Daffan Records Story). Both sides hark back to his 1930s roots, with Floyd supplying his own acoustic lead guitar, and the inimitable Pete Burke on piano. "Unplugged" acoustic hokum blues was definitely not what the public wanted to hear in 1956, as what Floyd later dubbed "the Great Depression of country music" had by then been ushered in by pop/rock music, leaving "old-timers" like then-41 year old Tillman in the dust.

Country music writers have said that Floyd went into "semi-retirement" after his Columbia contract expired in 1954, but this is merely a charitable way of saying that he could no longer get gigs or sell records. He probably thought he had nothing to lose by cutting this session (two other songs were issued as Daffan 103). Just a few years previous he had appeared on the cover of Billboard (see below).

A film of Floyd performing "Slippin' Around" on Nashville TV with Hank Garland from this period has surfaced.

Below: Floyd Tillman at Magnolia Gardens, Houston, early 1950s. Click to enlarge.

Below: Floyd Tillman at Dessau Hall near Austin, c. January, 1957. L to R: Jack Green, Hub Sutter, Johnny Bush, Tiny Smith, Floyd Tillman. Click to enlarge.

Below: Floyd in his studio on the cover of Billboard, April 15, 1950.

Below: Detail of above. Click to enlarge.

Dug Finnell on Peacock 1644

2011-04-25T21:30:00.009-05:00

Dug Finnell and his All Stars - Sugar Man / Love Then Satisfaction (Peacock 1644)

Dug Finnell - "Sugar Man"

Houston's disc jockeys get their comeuppance in this 1954 romp, as "Dug" Finnell roasts Joe Howard - The Duke of Dowling (KNUZ), Clifton "King Bee" Smith (KCOH), Lloyd "Hotsy-Totsy" Johnson (KYOK), Dr. Daddy-O, and Okie-Dokie (stations?), accusing them of stealing his woman with their sweet talk. After hearing this, Mrs. Finnell might actually have been more tempted to run off with the great guitarist, who, like the rest of the band, is a mystery.

This is apparently the same Doug Finnell (1903-1988) who was a mainstay on the Dallas scene for decades. He recorded for Brunswick in 1929, but for some reason this was his only other known record.

This is ACA master #2898 from July 27, 1954.

Below: Hotsy Totsy in the Houston Informer, April 3, 1954.

The Feature/Fais-Do-Do Recordings of J.D. Miller on Bear Family

2011-04-11T22:00:00.006-05:00

Various ARTISTS: ACADIAN ALL-STAR SPECIAL: The Pioneering Cajun Recordings of J.D. Miller (Bear Family) 3 CDs plus 80-page book

Postwar Cajun music in all its colors is to be found here, the first comprehensive assemblage of Jay Miller's pre-Excello recordings. I would not have thought such a thing possible, but producer Lyle Ferbrache is an unusually dedicated man, and through some strange alchemy he has somehow managed to not only locate every Feature/Fais-Do-Do French-language single (itself an extraordinary accomplishment), but also photos and biographical information on nearly every artist on the label. Happy Fats, Doc Guidry, Jimmy "C" Newman, Chuck Guillory, Austin Pete, Terry Clement, Papa Cairo, Aldus Roger and many more are all here. The disc transfers (by Doug Pomeroy) are superb, and a wonderful hardcover book completes the package. For more information, Bear Family's page devoted to Acadian All-Star Special can be found here.

The box is listed for over $90 in a few places, however, Deep Discount has this for $49.44 postpaid here. Which is less than what you'd have to pay for a clean copy of any of the original singles on this box.

Sonny Burns on Bear Family

2011-03-28T21:44:00.008-05:00

I was pleased to see Bear Family announce on their website that Sonny Burns - A Real Cool Cat: The Starday Recordings is set to be released on May 30. The subtitle is not as explicit as it should be: this is Burns's complete Starday recordings, including eight unissued songs and two alternate takes. There was a Burns bootleg a couple of years back (titled after his worst record, the awful "Satan's A-Waitin'"), and that was better than nothing, but this one will be definitive in every way. All but one or two tracks are taken from the original studio tapes, resulting in a huge improvement to the original vinyl. It turns out Jack Starns' home studio didn't sound so bad after all.

Burns, despite being a big star in Houston and Galveston in the early-to-mid 1950s, didn't leave a whole lot of documentation behind. He lived fast but didn't die young. Unlike the rockabillies, there was no "honky-tonk revival" for people like him later in life, and it appears he got out of music around 1970. The only reason he's mentioned at all in country music history was his brief connection to the young George Jones, but this has been wildly exaggerated -- of the 31 surviving Starday masters by Burns, only two are duets with Jones. Starday cut Sonny loose (or he quit) after his January, 1956, session, so there were no "Thumper" Burns rockabilly singles from him, or Dixie soundalikes.

This release will hopefully recover Burns's true legacy: a formidable interpreter of honky-tonk music who simply never found the right song.

Frankie Lee Sims on Specialty 487

2011-03-20T16:27:00.017-05:00

Frankie Lee Sims - Rhumba My Boogie / I'll Get Along Somehow (Specialty 487)

"Rhumba My Boogie"

"I'll Get Along Somehow"

Frankie Lee Sims' Lucy Mae Blues LP on Specialty, released in 1970 (but kept in print through the '90s), and drawn from sessions made in Dallas in 1953-54, is probably the single finest blues album by a Texas artist. The only contenders for that title are Lightnin's Herald album and/or Lightnin's Texas Blues Man LP. Sadly, it came out too late for it to benefit Sims, who died just before it was released. Sims should have been "rediscovered" in the early '60s, but wasn't. Cue "O Fortuna" here.

Lucy Mae Blues was compiled by Barry Hansen, a man of impeccable taste. Hansen carefully listened to all of Sims's Specialty masters and selected the 12 best. For a long time, I assumed that these were "the complete" Specialty recordings of Frankie Lee Sims. Wrong. Hansen deliberately left out several masters, including both sides of this, Frankie's final Specialty single, from 1954.

Above: Frankie Lee Sims c. 1969, among his huge collection of rare 78s and LPs.

I don't blame Hansen for leaving "Rhumba My Boogie" off the LP. It is the weakest track Sims ever recorded, a goofy attempt to cash in on the current pop craze for rhumbas. A rural Texas bluesman recreating himself as Xavier Cugat is not going to produce great music, but the music world being what it is, it isn't hard to picture "Rhumba My Boogie" becoming a huge hit and Sims becoming known as "The Texas Rhumba King" for the rest of his career. Billboard said on April 3, 1954, that "there's no denying the power of this Latinized R&B effort."

"I'll Get Along Somehow" is better, but only marginally, being a generic "Worried Life Blues" re-write.

Only one photograph of Sims exists, taken a year before he died by Chris Strachwitz, who also interviewed him. Sims was born in New Orleans and absorbed some of that city's culture (he claimed "Buddy Bolden's Blues" the first song he learned) but grew up in Marshall, Texas. One reason why he wasn't "rediscovered" might have something to do with the fact that he shot a man in Dallas ("drinking all that wine, all that mess") and must have spent some time in jail. As with everything else to do with Sims, the dates are hazy.

Below is the complete Sims interview by Chris Strachwitz. Click images to enlarge.

"Frankie Lee Sims" - Blues Unlimited #119

Page One

Page Two

Page Three

The Starday Story by Nathan D. Gibson

2011-03-12T23:00:00.010-06:00

The Starday Story: The House That Country Music Built
by Nathan D. Gibson with Don Pierce
University Press of Mississippi, 2011

And so we have a Starday book. Even in my least pessimistic moments, I would not have thought that such a conception could be realized in these distressing times. But Nate Gibson and the increasingly daring editorial board of the University Press of Mississippi have embarrassed my cynicism into temporary remission with this book.

Yodeling Kenny Roberts' Indian Love Call LP does not mark most people's entree to the Starday label. But it becomes clear early on in this book that Nathan D. Gibson is not by any stretch an ordinary listener. A young undergraduate at Emory College in Boston, Gibson, exerting an enthusiasm for vintage country music that I would have thought completely alien to a modern college student, tracks down Roberts and invites him to appear on a recording session with his band in the early 2000s. One thing leads to another, and pretty soon he's on the phone with Don Pierce, president of Starday Records. When Pierce tells Gibson he's available to answer any questions he may have about the label, Nathan hops the next plane to Nashville. The idea for a book soon comes into focus.

Amazing what can happen when you talk to people.

Between 1953 and 1970, Starday and its affiliates released a staggering 2,200+ singles and EPs, and 500+ LPs. To help put that in perspective, Sun/Phillips International released a mere 323 singles and EPs, and 20 LPs within roughly the same time frame. It was one of the most prolific and active labels going during vinyl's heyday, a juggernaut that touched upon a wide array of American vernacular music styles -- except blues. As early as 1956, Pierce was advertising the label as "Exclusively Country-Western," like General Motors a brand name that you could trust.

Starday was begun by Jack Starns, Jr. and Pappy Daily, but it was really Don Pierce, a Seattle-born accountant (who bought into the label shortly after its formation) who made the label a success. Pierce comes across as one of the greatest hypesters in the music business, impossible to dislike, a born promoter who never has a negative thing to say about anyone. A savvy businessman, by the late fifties he recognized that a market existed for bluegrass and old-timers after the major labels had jettisoned them from their studios, and promoted this angle to the hilt. Starday thus became synonymous with "traditional" country music in the late fifties and sixties, perpetually hyping itself as the real thing, not some cash-in on the latest trend. (Pierce hoped no one remembered the rockabilly singles, and must have been tremendously embarrassed when Gibson brought them up.) It was a successful formula -- for awhile.

As you could expect from an economics major, Pierce is great with numbers, instantly recalling the exact sales figures of Starday's hits. And, as with any true music industry insider, he is constantly dropping names: Ralph Peer, Jim Denny, Syd Nathan, Jean and Julian Aberbach, and many more all flit through The Starday Story, and I'm sure Pierce could have kept going until the author stopped him. What Pierce is not so great with is music. His sole comment on the subject? "I want to hear the melody. I don't want no hot licks in there...I said, 'Keep it simple.' We're selling that song and the artist, we're not selling hot licks. That was my code." It was adherence to this "code" that in fact kept much of country music boring and predictable throughout the sixties, and in this regard, Pierce was identical to his peers at the major labels. After George Jones, Starday never developed another major young talent.

Starday eventually couldn't compete with the majors, and was in trouble by 1967. Pierce summoned his vast experience as a salesman and hypester to unload Starday and King, by then two barely functioning labels with only one commercially viable artist between them (James Brown) to Lin Broadcasting in 1970 for an astonishing $2.7 million ($14.9 million in today's dollars). It was only the two labels' song publishing branches (which were included in the deal) that have allowed a portion of that money to be recouped over the decades. Moe Lytle later bought the masters for $375,000.

Gibson covers a lot of ground in this book -- the early western swing and honky-tonk years get a chapter, rockabilly gets a chapter, bluegrass gets full coverage, and he, more so than Pierce ever did, realizes that the custom series is probably the heart of the Starday legend. It would be impossible to thoroughly cover so huge an array of artists and styles in one book, but Gibson does an admirable job hitting on all of the most relevant aspects of "the house that country music built." A remarkably thorough 70 page discography completes the book, helping make The Starday Story both a fun, insightful read as well as an essential reference work for years to come.

Jimmie Heap & The Melody Masters on Imperial 8112

2011-02-07T07:10:00.009-06:00

Jimmie Heap and the Melody Masters (Perk Williams, vocalist) - Honky Tonkin' Women / Curtain of Tears (Imperial 8112)

"Honky Tonkin' Women"

"Curtain of Tears"

Should a man devote himself to scholarly pursuits or surrender to the temptations of worldly pleasures? It's a timeless theme in poetry and literature, here reinterpreted by the great Perk Williams. It's hard to argue with the clear logic of the final verse:

Why study about harmonics
When Deep Ellum's in my bones?
And these honky tonkin' women won't leave me alone

Below: Jimmie Heap and the Melody Masters, KTAE broadcast, Taylor, Tx., early 1950s. From left: Cecil "Butterball" Harris, Jimmie Heap, Horace Barnett, Perk Williams, Bill Glendenning, and Arlie Carter. Note Grand Prize beer banners and shirts. Click to enlarge. Courtesy Kevin Coffey Collection.

Homer Zeke Clemons on Imperial 8088

2011-02-05T15:00:00.010-06:00

Homer Zeke Clemons - Sell the Coldest Stuff in Town / Feeling Low - Feeling Blue (Imperial 8088)

"Sell the Coldest Stuff in Town"

"Feeling Low - Feeling Blue"

Homer Clemons' recordings would be notable enough just for their musicianship, which remained at a high level from his earliest session for Swing to his final ones for Imperial. What makes them even more remarkable is his refusal to change with the times, and continue to make risque double entendre songs as if nothing had changed since 1936. "(I) Sell the Coldest Stuff in Town" from 1950 is yet another example of this. Like Clemons' other efforts, this hokum blues had originated during the wild and reckless Depression years, with Whistling Bob Howe and Frankie Griggs' "The Coldest Stuff in Town" (from 1935). I would guess that Clemons had been performing it, and others, like "Operation Blues," since that time. But this type of material was strongly discouraged by the country music industry in the late forties. Lyrics were now supposed to be as generic and homogenous as possible, to ensure maximum radio airplay and sales. Obviously you couldn't play "Sell the Coldest Stuff in Town" over the air. Clemons didn't seem to care. Predictably, his recording career did not survive into the fifties.

Homer Clemons on Swing 1001 can be heard here.

Homer Clemons on Imperial 8091 can be heard here.

Below: The Jimmie Davis band in Baton Rouge, May 9, 1944. From left: Joe Shelton (mandolin), Homer Clemons (bass), Moon Mullican, Jimmie Thomason (fiddle), Charlie Mitchell (steel guitar), and Curly Perrin (vocals).

Solid Jackson Hipsters on Nucraft 103

2011-01-31T22:21:00.007-06:00

Solid Jackson Hipsters - Stormy That Gal Of Mine / Where Are The Words (Nucraft 103)

"Stormy That Gal Of Mine"

The first of two releases by this mysterious outfit, who may or may not have been based in Houston in 1952, when ACA mastered four sides by them. Jack "Scat" Powell has left only a few traces of his existence that I can find -- he recorded for Bluebird in 1937, and then somehow stumbled into a Duke Ellington session a year later. Billboard reported in September, 1948, that he was disc jockeying at WKY in Oklahoma City.

I would guess that "Scat" was something of a jazz novelty act along the lines of Harry "The Hipster" Gibson, and, as white R&B goes, this is not bad. "Stormy's" suggestive lyrics are similar to "Rock and Roll Ruby," though there couldn't have been a connection.

Conrad Johnson on Gold Star 621

2011-01-28T17:45:00.030-06:00

Conrad Johnson and his Orchestra - Howling On Dowling / Fisherman's Blues (Gold Star 621)

"Howling On Dowling" (vocal by Conrad Johnson)

"Fisherman's Blues" (vocal by Conrad Johnson)

This is the fourth in a series exploring little-known aspects or recordings of Houston's African-American music scene of the 1940s and 1950s.

Conrad Johnson (1915-2008) is usually mentioned today only in the context of his years as the band instructor for Kashmere High School, particularly during the sixties and seventies. It was in that time frame that the Kashmere Stage Band made several albums and singles that are now highly regarded by the soul/funk cognoscenti. A documentary film about the band was recently made.

Call me old-fashioned, but I've always preferred 1940s jazz/swing/blues over soul/funk, and it profoundly irritates me to see this decade continually undervalued, or (more often) just plain forgotten. It was a jumping time, and Johnson, who was leading his own band in Houston as early as 1939, made quite a few memorable singles during the last few years in that decade. I suspect that part of the reason why he isn't recognized as much as he should be for these records is that they were usually only credited to his vocalists -- people like Goree Carter, Lonnie Lyons, L.C. Williams, and that frequent visitor to Houston, Big Joe Turner. The other part of the problem is that these records weren't hits. Like many others on the scene, he was then ignored by Don Robey's Duke/Peacock labels, and so Conrad's recording career sadly was put into deep freeze after 1950. A lot had changed by the time he returned to a studio 20 years later.

This is Conrad's debut record, inspired by the Third Ward's most famous thoroughfare, and made for the newly launched Gold Star "race" series. I've estimated that it was recorded and/or released around September, 1947, based on the fact that a contract exists for Curtis Amy (Gold Star 618) that is dated July 18 of that year. This is the only record in which Conrad sets down his alto sax and sings. The other musicians are believed to include Sam Williams (tenor sax), Ed Harris (baritone sax), Jimmy Vincent (trumpet), and unknown piano, bass, drums. The record must not have sold much as it is one of the rarest issues on Gold Star, and once again the above label is a Photoshop "historic recreation," not the real thing. Thankfully Bruce Bastin saved this from oblivion and reissued it on a Krazy Kat LP in 1989.

These were the days when Dowling Street must have been really buzzing. As Conrad sings in the bridge,

On Dowling Street is where you meet
The greatness (?) of a nation
Chicks, shows, records, and barbeque
Ice cream parlor, and Eldorado, too

The final verse is a call-and-response with the band:

Dowling Street's got a solid beat
When you're there everything's allreet
Rettig's fine
Ice Cream's fine
Market (?) Dowling
Movies are howling

...I can't make out the last two places mentioned.

"Shows" probably refers to the Dowling Theater (2110), which had stage shows and talent contests in addition to movies. "Records" refers to Eddie's Record Shop (2818), makers of the Eddie's label (Eddie Henry was probably Bill Quinn's point man for Gold Star's 600 series). "Barbeque" could mean any of the food joints on the street, or specifically the Avalon Barbeque (2715). "Ice Cream Parlor" is Rettig's Ice Cream (2901). The Eldorado Ballroom was three blocks south at the corner of Dowling and Elgin.

The Eldorado Ballroom, the only structure on the street (besides churches) still recognizable from 1947, laid dormant for the last few decades, but has made an improbable comeback in the 21st Century. Conrad himself reappeared to play and talk about the old days at a concert/interview session hosted by Roger Wood on February 19, 2003. I was pleased to participate in this event by supplying the above songs, which were played to the delight of the crowd, and Conrad told me he got a big kick out of hearing these again for the first time in 55 years. "Howling On Dowling" was then used as the theme for the Eldorado fundraiser on May 17, 2003,which generated $75,000 in funds for the building's ongoing renovation and restoration. The Aurora Picture Show people have been making good use of the venue recently, a trend which I hope will continue.

Below: The heart of Dowling Street, from the 1949 Houston City Directory. Click to see full sized view.

First in this series: Jesse Lockett on Gold Star 650

Second in this series: Rock and roll radio in Houston, 1950

Third in this series:Sammy Harris on Freedom 1539

.

Sammy Harris on Freedom 1539

2011-01-20T20:47:00.019-06:00

Sammy Harris And Orchestra - King Zulu / Fatso (Freedom 1539)

"King Zulu" (vocal by Leon Whitehead)

"Fatso" (vocal uncredited)

Time has not been especially kind to Houston's African-American orchestra leaders of the 1940s and '50s. Sammy Harris, I.H. Smalley, Sherman Williams, Ed Golden, and others were the biggest names on the scene of their time, but they recorded little (if any) and made the unfortunate career move of playing saxophones instead of guitars. This is pretty much unforgivable. Even worse, they appear to have had no influence at all on the Blues Brothers. Strangely but perhaps significantly, all of them ignored Don Robey (or vice versa).

Sammy Harris is only mentioned once by his peers in Alan Govenar's huge Texas Blues book, in a passing reference from Grady Gaines, who remembered Harris as his high school band instructor. Grady apparently didn't think it worth mentioning that Sammy, who played alto sax, also led one of the most popular and exciting bands in town for many years. They were regulars at hotspots like the Eldorado, Club Matinee, and Club Ebony.

Below: Houston Informer, February 10, 1951.

It probably didn't help matters that Harris only made this one record, but if you're going to make just one, you should make it count. "King Zulu" and "Fatso" are pure fun. There is a strong Louis Jordan and Amos Milburn influence working here. (Who cares if the brass are a little out of tune?) It was recorded at ACA in 1950 and probably released around September of that year. The record itself is a high quality flexible vinyl pressing by Gold Star/Research Craft.

Other than Harris and vocalist Leon Whitehead, the personnel here is unknown. The Houston Informer wrote in its November 22, 1952, issue that the group included Richie Dell Thomas (nee Archie or Archia) (piano), Henry Sloan (trombone), Paul Wallace (tenor sax), Roy Patterson (trumpet), Leon "Popeye" Whitehead (vocals), and Duke Barker (drums), so perhaps some of these men were present on the "Zulu" session. A Club Matinee ad from early 1951 (shown above) cites Roger Wallace as the group's "sensational tenor sax" player; I presume he's the same person as Paul Wallace. Richie Dell Archie/Archia was the sister of Tom Archia, the Chicago saxist who helped launch the Aristocrat label.

Below: Houston Informer, February 6, 1954. Click to enlarge.

Below: Richie Dell Archie in the Houston Informer, February 10, 1951.

Bob Tucker and his Sky Riders on State 4002

2011-01-13T22:26:00.020-06:00

Bob Tucker and his Sky Riders (vocal by Virgil Hume) - Quit Draggin' Your Feet / My Tears Are Dry (State 4002)

"Quit Draggin' Your Feet"

"My Tears Are Dry"

Little information has survived on Bob Tucker: it is known that he played a two-pedal Bigsby steel guitar and worked the West Texas / New Mexico circuit from the 1940s to at least the 1960s. And that's about it. "Quit Draggin' Your Feet," featuring lead vocals from Virgil Hume and some nice steel breaks (but still is relegated to the "B" side), probably dates from around 1951-52. It is Tucker's only record from this period. This was "rediscovered" and introduced to a wider audience (i.e., 500 people) during the 1990s on the Boppin' Hillbilly LP series, but miscredited to Gabe Tucker.

At a certain point, Tucker decided that Clovis, New Mexico, needed two recording studios, and operated one out of his garage there. I don't think Norman Petty lost much sleep about this potential threat to his business. Tucker is apparently the person who owned the Caron label, which gave us some OK early '60s rock and roll from The Sparkles and Murle Richardson.

Tucker's Bigsby sold for $16,000 last year, which I think is one of the highest prices ever paid for a steel guitar.

Bob Tucker and his Sky Riders in the 1950s, with Lonnie Campbell (drums), Paul Stambaugh (piano), and Truman Welch (guitar - far right). Click any photo to enlarge. All photos courtesy Kevin Coffey Collection.

Virgil Hume with Lefty Frizzell in Amarillo, probably December, 1950.

Dance poster.

Virgil Hume in Amarillo, c. 1953.

Bob Tucker's Bigsby steel guitar (made in 1950).

Rusty McDonald on Intro 6061

2011-01-11T19:12:00.012-06:00

Rusty McDonald - You Got the Right Number / Call Operator 209 (Intro 6061)

"You Got the Right Number"

"Call Operator 209"

We've already heard Rusty McDonald's outstanding Chesterfield record (heard here), and Westex has posted his Coast single (heard here). This one on Intro pre-dates both of those and we find Rusty going for a pure honky-tonk sound here a la Frizzell. In fact "You Got the Right Number" was obviously inspired by "If You've Got the Money (I've Got the Time)." On the flipside Rusty goes to where Frizzell feared to tread, with a pure blues from Floyd Dixon. Rusty was into blues but this was probably recorded at the behest of Intro, who owned Aladdin and therefore was hoping for some crossover action.

The musicians are unknown but this was recorded in Los Angeles at Radio Recorders on August 5, 1952. Dick Stubbs remembered sitting in on a couple of Rusty sessions so perhaps he's present on the steel.

Rusty McDonald appearing at Crystal Springs in Fort Worth, late 1950s.

McDonald was living and playing in the Beaumont area as well as his home town of Lawton, Oklahoma, during these years. Billboard reported on December 5, 1953, that McDonald was a DJ on KSWO in Lawton and had his own TV show there.

Some film footage of Rusty McDonald has been posted to You Tube. It captures him appearing with the Callahan Brothers and Spud Goodall in the 1943 western, "Springtime in Texas." I think this is the only film footage of Rusty.

"Old Joe Clark"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-InlHVgO8Q&feature=player_embedded#!

"Turkey in the Straw"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wpft9unp4sA

Thanks to the Hillbilly Researcher #3 for information on the Intro label.

Homer Clemons on Swing 1001/2

2010-12-17T19:20:00.018-06:00

Homer Clemons and his Texas Swingbillies - Operation Blues / From the Start and to the End (Swing 1001/2)

"Operation Blues"

"From the Start and to the End"

Most people are by now familiar with Homer Clemons' "Operation Blues" -- it was singled out by Nick Tosches in his influential and ground-breaking book Country: The Biggest Music in America, has been reissued many times, and can be purchased for 99 cents at iTunes. Even the original Blue Bonnet and Modern label 78s are pretty easy to find. Few would deny that "Operation Blues" is a classic example of a risque blues reinterpreted and filtered through what is now generally but vaguely described as "Texas Swing."

Prior to 1995, however, nobody knew that an earlier and, in my mind, far superior version of "Operation Blues" existed on the Swing label out of Paris, Texas. This was the same label that gave us Roy Lee Brown's superb "Ice Man Song" (heard here), and several rare blues outings bought from Gold Star. Swing, as we now know, was part of a family of labels operated by Jimmy Mercer in Paris from 1946 to 1950, which included Royalty, Cajun Classics, Hill-Billy Hit Parade, Western Magic, All-Spice, and probably others. (The article below mentions a "Down Beat" label also, which has not been found.) Mercer also did custom pressings and, remarkably, bootlegged the Freedom label (which I'll address in a future post). Out of all of these, Swing is the rarest and most coveted -- the "Black Patti" of Texas labels.

In his early days, Mercer was pressing on highly fragile, reclaimed shellac -- he ground up used 78s, cooked them, dried them, and pressed new records out of them, just as Bill Quinn had done. In light of this, combined with the fact that distribution was probably limited to Dallas and Fort Worth, it's a miracle that even one copy exists today of Swing 1001/2 (or the next release, also by Clemons). I've never seen this record, either in a collection or for sale. The above picture is a "historic recreation" courtesy of Photoshop. The only known copy resides safely put away in the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, probably thanks to the efforts of the late Bob Pinson. It was resting there in quiet anonymity, and might have remained forgotten, but fortunately Kevin Coffey visited in 1995 and immediately grasped its significance. Thanks to him and Bob we have these sound files.

And the music? Sure, it's poorly recorded and pressed, but the brilliance of the musicians cuts through the noise loud and clear. What immediately impresses the modern listener is the complete absence of fiddle and steel guitar -- instead the 'front line' is comprised of lead guitar, a blues-drenched clarinet, and an extremely jazz minded pianist whose crazy solo couldn't have been bettered by Art Tatum. This is the real thing. So much of what is thought of and celebrated as "Texas Swing" is in fact a banal, toned-down compromise, because some record company yahoo was sitting behind behind the booth saying, "Oh no, you can't play those fancy chords, this is hillbilly music after all. What will the people in Waxahatchie think?" Perhaps the far more tame flipside was intended for the "hillbilly" market. God only knows who "Operation Blues" was intended for. It might have sold some around Dallas in early 1947, but was soon eclipsed by the Blue Bonnet version. It's humbling to think something this good could just completely disappear without a trace.

Why did Clemons re-record these songs a few months later with a completely different and much smaller band? We don't know.
Clemons himself is a mystery; while many Dallas musicians remembered "Operation Blues," few could recall anything about the man who recorded it (twice). Johnny Gimble knew and worked with him in 1954, and remembered Clemons being seriously injured in a car crash around that year. He might be the "Homer Zerle Clemons" who died in Van Zandt County in 1961.

Below: Announcement of Swing Records in the Paris News, November 24, 1946, erroneously describing Swing as "the only record pressing business in Texas today" (Gulf/Gold Star pre-dated it by over a year). Click to enlarge. Courtesy Martha Evans, Lamar County Genealogy Society.

Woody Bridges on Royce 1638/39

2010-12-15T19:43:00.008-06:00

Woody Bridges - Old Old Man / Rich Man's Servant (Royce 1638/39)

"Old Old Man"

"Rich Man's Servant (Poor Man's Wife)"

Woody Bridges has been a part of the Beaumont/Port Arthur scene since the early '50s -- he sang with Cliff Bruner, Deacon Anderson, Troy Passmore, and Billy Carter there -- but this 1963 outing was his first single. It was made at Gold Star with Bob Davis (electric mandolin), Herbie Treece (guitar), Wiley Barkdull (piano), Phil Parr (bass), and unknown steel guitar and drums.Both sides are good and deserved a wider recognition than the Royce label could provide.

A few years later Woody made a couple of records for Jack Rhodes that came out on Jack's Pathfinder label. "I really liked Jack Rhodes," Woody says today. "He helped (my wife) Grace and me a lot. I was offered a Captiol recording contract back then. But I would have had to go on the road with the Ray Price group for 273 days a year. Jack talked me out of it, saying he liked me too much to see me destroy my life. We had three kids at the time. Jack said I would lose my family and it would destroy me because I cared too much. I didn't like it at the time, but later in life I was very glad he did that."

Woody confirms that Royce was owned by Ray Jackson (the guy who wrote "Who Shot Sam" among others) and Jim Reddell. Jerry Robinson's Royce single was posted here.

Cliff Bruner on Preview 1008

2010-12-11T23:25:00.009-06:00

Cliff Bruner with Pee Wee Whitewing and the Others Brothers - Welcome to the Club / Faded Love (Preview 1008)

"Welcome to the Club"

Cliff Bruner's return to the recording studio after a 21 year absence didn't make any headlines. It was 1971, and the country music world wasn't too concerned with an aging 56-year-old's rather pedestrian attempt to sound contemporary. Bruner had been an insurance salesman ever since the bottom fell out of the Beaumont/Port Arthur dance scene in the early '50s but had never stopped playing fiddle or working occasional gigs. His brilliant fiddle playing had helped make him semi-famous, yet that instrument is nowhere to be found on this side -- a typical example of what was wrong with country music during these years.

"Welcome to the Club" is credited to Jimmie Davis, someone Cliff always spoke of admiringly (he had played with Davis in the pre-war days). Preview is a Jay Miller label.

Homer Zeke Clemons on Imperial 8091

2010-11-28T12:59:00.014-06:00

Homer Zeke Clemons - Dallas Limited / Oklahoma Bound (Imperial 8091)

"Dallas Limited"

"Oklahoma Bound" ("Mean Mama Blues")

Homer Clemons is remembered today for his version of Georgia Tom Dorsey's "(Terrible) Operation Blues," a record celebrated by Nick Tosches in his book Country. The original version on Swing was not reissued until the late 1990s, but the Blue Bonnet/Modern version was pressed no less than four times -- twice in 1947, again in the early '50s, then finally in the late '50s (as "Hank Brown"). Given this much attention, it's tempting to believe the record was something of a hit. We should be careful in assessing how much of a "hit" it was, however, as a record had to only sell 1,000 copies to be considered a regional "hit." There were no cover versions; then again, something that risque would not have been touched by the mainstream "hillbilly" A&R men of the day, even if it had sold very well.

Far less known are Clemons' four excellent records on Imperial, all from 1950. "Dallas Limited" rearranges the old Jimmie Davis/Milton Brown "Davis Limited/Brownie Special" with Arthur Smith's "Guitar Boogie" riff. "Oklahoma Bound" is an update of Moon Mullican's "Mean Mama Blues," also from the pre-war days. Clemons sings and plays bass, but the guitar, steel, and drums are unknown. Feeling no pain, Clemons also helps himself to the writer's credits on both sides.

Below: "Zeke" Clemons and his Texas Swingbillies at the Round-Up Club No. 2, Dallas, c. 1950. From left: Dub Dickerson, Clemons, Joe Rea, Tiger Echols, Red Mullins, and Ken Lasater. Photo courtesy Kevin Coffey Collection. Click to enlarge.

Despite a lengthy presence on the Dallas/North Texas music scene -- ranging probably from the 1930s to the mid-1950s -- almost no biographical information has survived on Homer "Zeke" Clemons. He must have been playing somewhere during the pre-war days, but where we don't know. He spent some time in the military during WWII. In 1944, he played bass for awhile in Jimmie Davis's gubernatorial band alongside Mullican, Joe Shelton, and Johnny Gimble. In late 1946 or early 1947, he made two records for the Paris-based Swing label, then (with a much smaller band) switched to Blue Bonnet. At a certain point he began acquiring jukeboxes in the Dallas area, and is mentioned in this capacity in the Dallas Morning News clipping shown below. After the Imperial sessions, he continued to play and occasionally was recruited for session work, e.g. Lee Bell on RCA-Victor. He was playing again with Gimble when he was involved in a serious car crash around 1954. This apparently ended his career.

Clemons, as far as I know, never appeared on the Big "D" Jamboree. He was probably considered too old-fashioned, or his songs too risque (or both), for that family program. Like Leon Chappelear, Clemons apparently never could really adapt to post-war, Nashville-based country music. His heart remained in the free and easy western swing of the '30s.

It is not known exactly when Clemons was born, or when he died. However, a Homer Zerle Clemons, born in Van Zandt County (near Dallas) in 1913 died in 1961. Is this our man? I don't know, but a 1961 death would help explain his near-total eclipse from the memories of Dallas musicians.

Below: Homer Clemons in the Dallas Morning News, March 14, 1950.

Rex Griffin on World 15

2010-10-24T12:49:00.011-05:00

Above: Rex Griffin performing at the Adolphus Hotel in Dallas during a KRLD broadcast c. 1942. From the collection of the Dallas Public Library. Click to enlarge.

Rex Griffin - Everybody's Tryin' to be My Baby (World transcription 15)

"Everybody's Tryin' to be My Baby"

While Rex Griffin is mainly remembered today for turning the '20s Tin Pan Alley pop tune "Lovesick Blues" into a country song (his 1939 version being the direct inspiration for Hank Williams' huge hit), it's remarkable that his authorship of "Everybody's Tryin' to be My Baby" remains virtually unknown and legally uncredited. Rex first recorded it as a Jimmie Rodgers-esque tune in New Orleans in 1936; this more "modern" version dates from a 1944 World transcription. The song floated around the Southern honky-tonks for many years, where Carl Perkins eventually heard it, rewrote some of the lyrics, and then recorded it for Sun, crediting himself. That alone wasn't so bad -- Perkins probably had no idea who the actual author was -- but after the Beatles revived it in 1964, the song became a lucrative copyright indeed. Yet nobody ever challenged Perkins' authorship, perhaps because they mistakenly assumed that Griffin's version was itself a hokum blues rewrite (it isn't). It wouldn't have helped Griffin by then, anyway. He had died, a broke alcoholic, in a New Orleans charity hospital in 1958.

Griffin worked all over the South, but he lived in Dallas off and on throughout the 1940s and early '50s. He was recruited to the city by KRLD announcer Gus Foster for the Texas Round-Up, the forerunner of the Big D Jamboree. Few photos of Griffin exist, so I was pleased to find this fabulous image of him performing at the Adolphus Hotel in Dallas in the early 1940s. (Thanks to the Dallas Public Library.)

Bear Family released a 3-CD box set of Rex Griffin's complete recordings in 1996.

Curtis Kirk on Abbott 126

2010-10-22T19:46:00.012-05:00

Curtis Kirk (with) Red Hayes' Fiddles - I Can't Take It With Me (When I Leave This World) / The Little Things You Do (Abbott 126)

"I Can't Take It With Me (When I Leave This World)"

"The Little Things You Do"

Jack Rhodes and Red Hayes strike again. "I Can't Take It With Me," audibly recorded at the same late 1952 KWKH Studio session that also produced Freddie Frank's "12,000 Texas Longhorns," (heard here) pre-dates "Live Fast, Love Hard, Die Young" by over two years and perhaps served to inspire it. Besides expressing a universal truth about money and death, Rhodes apparently wasn't exaggerating very much here in advocating a "live only for sex" philosophy. In his mid-40s at the time, he seems to have discovered late in life the bizarre effect that song has on the wiring of the female mind, an incantation that dissolves inhibitions regardless if you're Frank Sinatra or a three-chord hillbilly from East Texas. He then went "middle-age crazy" with any number of female companions. "Jack was obsessed with women," Al Petty told me. "There were a lot of death threats."

Alas, Jack lazily rhymes "girl" with "world" too many times for this lyric to really go anywhere, and Curtis doesn't clearly enunciate the song's most memorable couplet (in the final verse):

My pop, he used to say you're wasting money on a crowd
Did you ever hear of pockets in a cold, black shroud?

All of the surviving Rhodes/Kirk collaborations are keepers, though. Besides the two Abbott releases, there was the 1951 acetate of "Down Texas Way" and the 1954 acetate of "Easy Livin'".

Morris Mills on Macy's 127

2010-10-16T12:55:00.006-05:00

Morris Mills and The Rithumakers - I'd Like to Slip Around / Don't Play This Record (Macy's 127)

"I'd Like to Slip Around"

While RCA-Victor extolled their new seven inch, 45 rpm vinylite format as "the sensible, modern, inexpensive way to enjoy recorded music" in the April 2, 1949 issue of Billboard, many more years passed before most labels adapted to this "sensible" new size. It is easy to understand why. Jukeboxes were the lifeblood of the record industry. There were no 45 rpm jukeboxes in 1949; only slowly would they emerge and, eventually, supplant the 78 rpm jukebox.

Thus, this release on the Macy's label -- the only one known on 45 -- was quite a novelty when it came out around June, 1950. Probably intended purely as a promotional gimmick, it could not have sold much, as it could only have been played on a new RCA 45 turntable at the time. (It was also released as a 78.) It is a "Gold Star process" pressing, and that, too, is something of a surprise. The ever-inventive Bill Quinn quickly figured out a way to master and press records on the new format, but this went unnoticed, as there hardly was any demand for 45s among the local Houston labels until the mid-fifties. By then Quinn was out of the pressing business. A Gold Star repress of "Jole Blon" and a few releases on the Humming Bird label are the only other local 45s I know of from this period.

Morris Mills was a singer from Lufkin who worked a lot in Houston and Beaumont during these years. The backing group on this "answer" record to "Slippin' Around" includes most of Jerry Irby's band: Deacon Evans on steel, Jack Kennedy on piano, and Tony Sepolio on fiddle. Macy's was riding high in the summer of 1950, as the Billboard ad below illustrates, but the regional hits would dry up by late the following year.

Below: Billboard ad, July 15, 1950. Click to enlarge.

Jerry Robinson on Royce 1640

2010-10-13T20:50:00.003-05:00

Jerry Robinson - Paper Moon / Here Is Your Heart (Royce 1640)

"Paper Moon"

Carl Mann's 1959 hit revival of Nat King Cole's "Mona Lisa" may have inspired this little-known take on the Harold Arlen standard. About Jerry Robinson nothing is known, but I suspect that the uncredited backing group is Link Davis and the Cajuns. It certainly sounds like the inimitable Walter "Buck" Henson on bass, who was Davis's main bassist.

Peck Touchton on Starday 160

2010-10-03T11:41:00.007-05:00

Peck Touchton - Let Me Catch My Breath / flipside by George Jones (Starday 160)

"Let Me Catch My Breath"

Starday's failure to develop Raleigh "Peck" Touchton must be considered one of that label's greatest blunders. This, his only release for the label, was accidentally issued under George Jones's name and never corrected.

By mid-1954, Jack Starns had left Beaumont and moved to Houston. He was still managing the Western Cherokees, and continued to be the driving force behind Starday, but his influence on the label was waning. Pappy Daily and Don Pierce were now asserting themselves, deciding who would be on the label, and this didn't bode well for artists that Jack had signed, like Peck.

"Jack Starns came to some place we were playing," Touchton said in an interview. "We hit it off pretty good. I signed contracts at his house. At the time, he lived in Houston. Man, I thought we were fixing to take off ... old Jack inviting me into his house to sign a contract. A week or two weeks later, we went to Gold Star and cut four sides." Peck used his own band, The Sunset Wranglers, on the session: Doug Myers (fiddle), Hoyt Skidmore (steel guitar), Herman McCoy (guitar), Carlton Wilcox (bass). According to Peck, Eddie Noack was also present at the studio to cut his own session. (This would have been his "Take It Away, Lucky" debut session for Starday.) "He was as drunk as a Cooter Brown," Peck remembered.

After the session, Starns loaded a bunch of master tapes in his car to drive them to Pierce in California, but a "wreck on the highway" apparently caused tapes and paperwork to get separated from their boxes. Pierce, under the impression that Jones was the singer on "Let Me Catch My Breath," mistakenly issued the record under his name with an actual Jones master, "Let Him Know," on the flipside.

Pierce wrote to Touchton on October 13, 1954, apologizing for the error. "It seems we have had all sorts of bad luck ... when Jack Starns got in an auto accident, his letter to me concerning you was lost, and that's how the mistake occurred. I pressed 700 records of 'Let Me Catch Your Breath' but the label showed the artist as George Jones so we had to scrap the records and take a loss."

Unbeknownst to Peck, Don Pierce didn't actually "scrap the records." Most or all of the 700 copies were probably sent to disc jockeys. A Toyota-like "recall" would have been too expensive, and ineffectual anyway. If he did anything, Pierce probably just sent a letter out instructing DJs to not play "Let Me Catch My Breath." Surviving copies exist on both 45 and 78.

Pierce then tried to get Peck on a bigger label, partially because his song "Tonite I'm Getting Married" had just been recorded by Jack Turner for RCA-Victor. Months went by, more letters were sent, but ultimately no major label contract was forthcoming, and by that time Starday was no longer interested, either. Touchton signed with the much smaller Sarg label the following year.

Starday 160 label courtesy Al Turner collection.

Below: Don Pierce's letter to Touchton, October 13, 1954. Click to enlarge.

Dixie Rogers on Caprock 101

2010-09-17T18:58:00.004-05:00

Dixie Rogers - I Will Miss You / What Then Will You Say (Caprock 101)

"I Will Miss You"

"What Then Will You Say"

The Caprock label from Big Spring does not seem to have produced a bad record during its two-year existence. Hank Harral, Jimmy Simpson, Hoyle Nix, Durwood Haddock, and Ace Ball were among the artists who put in a session for the label, named after the Caprock Escarpment in West Texas/New Mexico. Dixie Rogers deserves a hearing as well with this fine single. The unusually informative sleeve to this copy, perhaps scribbled by a disc jockey, tells us that Dixie, age 17, was a senior at Snyder High School at the time, and her phone number was 3-4554. The sleeve is datestamped March 14, 1958, so the record was probably released around that time. Unfortunately, the sleeve does not tell us who the excellent steel guitarist is, but I'll wager a guess that it's Weldon Myrick.

Below: Dixie Rogers.

K. Shirey on Bunny 102

2010-09-13T20:23:00.015-05:00

K. Shirey with Skeeter Jasper's Southerners - Swingin' Down / Tonight (Bunny 102)

"Swingin' Down"

Skeeter Jasper was a fiddler from the Southeast Texas area who appeared on Nolan Bush and his Southern Playboys' Bluebird session in 1941. He must have suffered some sort of head trauma which made time freeze, for this mid-1950s release could easily be mistaken for a Bluebird or Vocalion field recording from before the war.

Above: K. Shirey.

Nothing at all is known about the vocalist, K. Shirey, but the Southerners probably included Beal Ruff (clarinet), Neal Ruff (tenor banjo), and possibly Jay Webber (steel) and Frank Lukowski (drums). "Swingin' Down" is a memorable western swing romp in which the singer, rather than "sing the blues," sounds positively elated that his wife has left him, giving him an excellent excuse to party at The Cabaret Club in Bandera.

Below: The Cabaret Club, "Cow Boys' and Cow Girls' Rendevous" in Bandera. Site of K. Shirey's party in "Swingin' Down."

Bennie Hess on Pearl 707

2010-09-11T20:07:00.006-05:00

Idaho Bill Westfall (Bennie Hess) Singing With His Snake River Boys - If You Can't Get Five Take Two / Treasured Memories (Pearl 707)

"If You Can't Get Five Take Two"

"Treasured Memories"

One of the great things about Bennie Hess is that, no matter how much of his music you have, there is always more out there; and he is almost never boring. He would sometimes record under colorful pseudonyms, also, as he does here as "Idaho Bill Westfall." Why record under another name? Why not? Perhaps Bennie, a hard-core Jimmie Rodgers disciple, thought this record would have been too wacky and unorthodox for his country fans. It is, as far as I know, his only session to feature trumpet and kazoo solos. What a shame that no film footage (and few photos) survive of this remarkable character.

Pearl was a Houston label, despite the "Hollywood" address, and this was presumably recorded in that city in 1957. "If You Can't Get Five" was an old hokum blues, first done by Peggy Johnson (1934), then Georgia White (1936), and finally Milton Brown and his Musical Brownies (March 1936). Hess presumably was influenced by Milton's version. Never a western swinger, Bennie nonetheless manages to pull off a fine performance here that seems to pay homage not just to Milton Brown but '30s western swing in general.

Bill Tutt on Gilt-Edge 5079

2010-09-06T18:37:00.005-05:00

Bill Tutt - Selling What She Used to Give Away / New Kelly Waltz (Gilt-Edge 5079)

"Selling What She Used to Give Away"

No one knows why Bill Tutt thought it would be a good idea to dust off this Buddy Jones "classic" from 1938 during the Eisenhower era, when you could have probably been arrested for singing or playing something this suggestive in public. Tutt not only revived the song but took pains to make it an outright homage to what we now call "pre-war western swing," with a decidedly Bob Dunn/Buster Jones styled single-string steel solo from "Curley" and "hot" fiddling from an unknown musician. "Wanda" solos on piano and there is pretty tough lead guitar from "Gail." Who were these people? I don't know. Billboard called the record "kinda cute."

Below: Billboard, December 13, 1952.

Harry Choates on Gold Star 1326/1330

2010-08-08T16:18:00.020-05:00

Harry Choates and His Fiddle - Cajun Hop / Harry Choates Special (Gold Star 1326/1330)

"Cajun Hop"

"Harry Choates Special"

Harry Choates's third release for Gold Star, which hit the jukeboxes in the summer of 1947, finally gave an accurate representation of how he and his band sounded in night clubs. "Cajun Hop" was merely an updated version of Leo Soileau's "Les Blues de Port Arthur," but "Harry Choates Special" broke from the "Jole Blon" mold entirely to deliver an excellent western swing dance/jam tune. Choates had been playing things like this since his earliest days as a musician. But years after Choates's death, when Pappy Daily was reissuing Choates's Gold Star masters, he deliberately avoided both these sides. Daily crafted a posthumous ideal of Choates as a "pure" Cajun folk artist that, for the most part, successfully deluded most listeners and writers for many years. I addressed and, I hope, permanently smashed this myth in my liner notes to the Choates Bear Family CD Devil in the Bayou (2002).

The "Cajun Hop" session is unique because Bill Quinn actually typed up a session sheet which the entire band signed, and, miraculously, this sheet actually survived and is now in the University of Texas archives. This is one of only two session sheets to survive for any Gold Star session, by anyone. Quinn's motivation was apparently to prove that he had paid the band for their services in case one of them tried to sue him later (as Jimmie Foster would do later that year for his non-credit on "Jole Blon"), though since he's only paying them $1.00 each, the contract is purely a formality. Either that, or the Melody Boys worked very cheap.

"Harry Choates Special" is not listed on the contract and is presumed to date from a later session. Quinn, in his usual eccentric fashion, issued 1326-A backed with 1330, and 1326-B ("Fa-De-Do Stomp") backed with 1331 ("Rubber Dolly"). This contract is reproduced for the first time below, as well as two rare Choates photos whose condition was too poor to use for the Bear Family release.

Below: The Choates Gold Star session sheet for the "Cajun Hop" session, dated (Wednesday), February 19, 1947. Click to enlarge.

Below: Harry Choates and Band in the Corpus Christi, Tx. area (possibly Rob's Place in Robstown), 1947. Left to right: unknown drums, Pee Wee Lyons (steel guitar), unknown saxophone, probably Wally Bryant, probably B.C. Jennings, Harry Choates, Red Fabacher.

Below: Harry Choates and Band, possibly in San Antonio, 1948. Left to right: Amos Comeaux (drums), Junior Keelan (bass), Choates, Johnnie Manuel (piano), Pee Wee Lyons (steel), unknown (guitar?).

Jimmy Simpson on Sourdough 101

2010-07-23T18:21:00.013-05:00

Excerpts from Jimmy Simpson, The Oilfield Boy, Sings 'Alcan Run' And Other Alaska Songs (Sourdough LP 101)

"Sourdough Shack"

"Si-Wash Gal"

Most discerning music fans have heard a few of Jimmy Simpson's '50s singles ("I'm a High Toned Papa," "Blue As I Can Be," "Honky-Tonk Spree," etc.) but his debut album has been unjustly overlooked -- to my knowledge, it has never been reissued, or even bootlegged. This is a shame. Recorded in 1967 in Tacoma, Washington, with Jimmy Patton's band, Jimmy Simpson Sings Alcan Run and Other Alaska Songs is almost completely comprised of original tunes about the 49th State, and as a folkloric artifact is more satisfying than most "folk" and country albums of that decade.

In the LP, Jimmy pours on the local color, sings in the same Southern drawl as his early '50s records, and creates an altogether seductive picture of the carefree life as it was lived in "The Last Frontier." In "Sourdough Shack," Jimmy prospects 20 years for gold, strikes it rich one day, but ultimately realizes that living 600 miles from nowhere in the Alaskan mountains trumps a rich man's neurotic life in the concrete jungle:

I searched for days and weeks on end
No maps, just dogs for friends
I faced death in the strangest of ways
The Lord surely helped me to win

I want to go back to my sourdough shack
Where the rivers and lakes have no names
Six hundred miles from the railroad track
Where memories overcome pain

Jimmy's romance with a local Chinook Indian girl ("Si-Wash Gal") contains what just may be the single greatest two lines of poetry ever written:

I'm tired of Seattle, and conventionalities
The things they call "society" makes the blood within me freeze

According to this webpage, "Siwash" is now considered to be a derogatory term for Chinook Indians, an inference I'm sure Jimmy Simpson was completely unaware of back in the '60s.

Though the album takes its romantic liberties (for one thing, Jimmy lived in Anchorage, not 600 miles from civilization), for the most part its tales of gold mining and oil drilling are drawn from experience. In a 2005 interview, I asked Jimmy how he got into gold mining. His reply:

"I always kind of liked the idea of gold mining. I met a real nice guy up in Kotzebue (Alaska) by the name of Art Fields. I went up there to race snow machines. Art is part Irish, part Eskimo, and part Russian. Quite a mixture. He’s a character. Anyway, he asked me if I’d ever consider going mining. I said, “Sure.” So, the next summer he called me and said he had some ground up there, and we could work it. He wanted to be partners with me. We mined up there for three years, north of Nome, Alaska. We had to fly everything in there. But that was my first adventure, and we never looked back."

Jimmy still mines in Alaska and Canada. "It’s a good life out there," he told me, adding (with a line almost straight out of this LP): "You don’t have to answer to many folks."

Below: Jimmy Simpson in 2005.

By null at 2010-07-23

Eddie Miller on 4-Star 1407

2010-07-18T18:13:00.022-05:00

"Release Me (And Let Me Love Again)"

"Motel Time" (Not Recommended For Radio Broadcast)

From our 21st Century vantage point, the source for the phenomenal appeal that Eddie Miller's "Release Me" enjoyed in the fifties and sixties is, shall we say, elusive. The song was a huge country hit for Jimmie Heap, Ray Price, and Kitty Wells in 1953-54, and its appeal to a country audience at that time is somewhat understandable -- it is a divorce song but one that never bluntly mentions that once-taboo subject, instead substituting the neutral and metaphoric descriptor "release" in its place. What is less decipherable is the song's appeal to non-country audiences in the sixties, first as a huge R&B hit for Esther Phillips in 1962, then as an international pop smash for Arnie Dorsey, aka Engelbert Humperdinck in 1967. Eddie Miller's original 1949 version for 4-Star ranks alongside Red Hayes' version of "A Satisfied Mind" as among the least known of all 'original versions' of popular songs.

Country music folklore has it that Miller wrote "Release Me" in 1946, tried to get everybody to record it without success, finally recording it himself as an afterthought three years later. Like most "country music folklore," this fable is a transparent example of bovine scatology. Miller co-wrote "Release Me" with a guitarist in his band, Bobby Gene Yount, in 1949, probably inspired by the current Floyd Tillman/Jimmy Wakely hit, "Slippin' Around." As Yount told Kevin Coffey, "We had been down to Pasadena, where 4-Star Records and Publishing companies were located. Coming home we got to talking about divorce. I think it was Eddie who said, 'Wouldn't it be easy to just sign a release form.' We stopped off at the club where we were working to unload our instruments, and then we got to messing around. I started doodling around with my guitar and Eddie started singing the words 'release me.' In about 45 minutes to an hour...and a few beers later...we had written 'Release Me' -- at least the basic form of it. (Guitarist) Dub Williams was working with us, so we gave him one-third of the song."

Eddie Miller and his Oklahomans in Los Angeles, c. 1950. Miller is at the mike, Bobby Gene Yount is to his right, Teddy Anderson is on piano, Bob Hines is on steel guitar, and Bob Morris is possibly the second guitarist.

When the record was released, the writer's credits read Miller-Williams-Gene (sic). Yount's middle name was printed instead of his last. 4-Star owner Bill McCall usually added his "W.S. Stevenson" pseudo to the credits of songs that he thought had potential, but McCall judged "Release Me" too ordinary to bother with. Sales of Miller's version bore out this judgement. Three years would lapse before Jimmie Heap remembered the song, and recorded a new version at one of his Capitol sessions.

More interesting to 21st Century ears is the outrageous flipside, "Motel Time." Miller had sang that "to live together is a sin" in "Release Me," but "sinning" doesn't seem to be a problem for Miller in "Motel Time." The song seems related to "Release Me," in a perverse way: once the divorce went through, one could expect a freer, happier life devoted to guilt-free one-night stands in motels.

After "Release Me" became a huge hit in 1954, Eddie Miller started a second career as a tireless promoter ... of Eddie Miller. Reimagining himself as a great songwriter, Miller publicized himself as the sole author of not only "Release Me" but "There She Goes" (co-written with Durwood Haddock), "Playboy" (co-written with Bob Morris), "Thanks a Lot" (co-written with Don Sessions), and many more, as the late sixties Country Song Round-Up puff-piece shown below demonstrates. Miller boasted of writing 800 songs, which sounds impressive until one realizes that about 750 of those are songs like "Annie, the She-Buckaroo" and "Patty Cake Man." And that quite a lot of them are co-written, anyway. Eventually he helped found the Academy of Country Music, still going strong today, and became a born-again Christian before his death in 1977. In his later years, he had re-recorded a spiritual version of "Release Me" with new lyrics, and thanked God that no one remembered or ever recorded "Motel Time" again.

"Release Me" had an afterlife that no one could have known in 1954. No one except the remarkable Bill McCall, who decided that his name should be on the song after all, and bought out Yount and Williams' share of the song in 1957. When the song became a huge pop hit in 1967, the writer's credit read Miller-Stevenson.

4-Star labels courtesy Al Turner Collection.

Below: Eddie Miller in Country Song Round-Up. Click to enlarge.

Durwood Haddock

2010-07-11T16:10:00.044-05:00

Durwood Haddock c. 1965.

Anyone who has studied Texas country music closely has run across a Durwood Haddock record at one time or another. Born August 16, 1934, in Fannin County, Texas, Durwood was incubated in the early fifties scene in Sherman and Denison (about 70 miles north of Dallas, close to the Oklahoma border), an area previously patrolled by the likes of Eddie Miller and Tiny Colbert. But Durwood spent a significant portion of his career in West Texas, working the honky-tonks in Odessa and beyond during the fifties and sixties, and DJ'ing at KERB in Kermit (west of Odessa) and elsewhere.

Durwood started recording for 4-Star in 1954 (as "Durwood Dailey"), and put in stops with Caprock, D, Eagle, Cimarron, United Artists, and more before moving to Nashville in 1969. (My favorite of his records is "East Dallas Dagger" / "What Difference Does It Make" on D.) He is best known for co-writing "There She Goes," the Carl Smith hit in 1955. During his career, he crossed paths with a remarkable number of people, and his lucid insights and recollections of Tiny Colbert, Eddie Miller, Jack Rhodes, Pappy Daily, Fred Crawford, the Miller Brothers, Eddie Noack, and Freddie Frank, among others, should be of great interest to anyone remotely into Texas country music history.

Durwood's take on 4-Star Records' owner William A. McCall is particularly striking. While seemingly ever other musician who recorded for 4-Star would have us believe that McCall was second only to Adolf Hitler in the Evil category, Durwood gives a more level-headed and realistic assessment, stating that "he never did anything to me. He paid me. He sent me a check if he ever owed me anything. It was never very much, because, Good Lord, how much money could it be on a Rocky Bill Ford and Carl Smith record back then?" Such a view is a refreshing contrast to the typical, childish rhetoric of "these big mean men took advantage of poor, innocent me" that most musicians advance, often merely as a transparent defense mechanism to make up for the fact that their records didn't sell.

Durwood is still recording. His latest release is HANKS A LOT (a tribute to Hank Williams, Snow, Locklin, et al.). More information can be found on this, and a lot more, at: www.DurwoodHaddock.com

This interview was conducted on September 3, 2006, with a few follow-up questions via e-mail in 2010. Numbers in the text refer to footnotes at the bottom of the page.

AB: Tell me how “East Dallas Dagger” came about, both the song and the session, and how you got connected to Pappy Daily and D Records.

I was living in West Texas when I recorded the song in Dallas. When I worked for Tiny Colbert in Denison, Texas…he was always saying, “It’s sharper than an East Dallas Special” -- about anything that might impress him or anything he thought was unusual. And I asked, “What in the world is an East Dallas Special?” He said, “It’s a knife they use in that part of Dallas.” I said, “Oh, really? A switch blade?” He said, “Yeah.” For some reason I just stored that information away. Later, there were some story songs that came out around 1957 and 58…I don’t remember exactly what was out. If memory serves, Stonewall Jackson had out “Waterloo” and The Kingston Trio had “Tom Dooley.” Anyway, I decided to write a story song and decided to use “Dagger,” thinking that if I used the word “Special” it might be mistaken for a “train song.” I finally wrote “East Dallas Dagger,” and gave Tiny a third of it. And then I called Jack Rhodes about it, and sent it to him. He said he was going to Dallas to record some people, and if I wanted to be on the session, he said, “come on down”. So I did. It was Sellers Studio in Dallas where we recorded. Jack produced the session and I gave him a third of the song for it. There were two people on the session that I remember, the others I don’t. Robin Hood Brian played piano and Bob Millsap played guitar. (1) That was the first time I met Bob Millsap. We later became friends and associates in the music biz in Nashville, until his death in 2003. Some of the best records I ever made were produced by Bob Millsap.

Anyway, that’s how “East Dalllas Dagger” came about. I wrote the song while I was on vacation in Denison visiting my mother. Jack, I guess, couldn’t find anyone except D Records to take the recording and Pappy Daily put it out in 1959. It never did do a whole lot, but I guess you could call it a “minor classic” at least I’ve heard a few call it that. I’ve always been amazed how many ask me about that record over the years, especially historians like yourself.

AB: Well, it’s kind of unique to hear a traditional type of murder ballad from that era, the late fifties.

Well, it’s a pretty salty record. (Laughter) I think if it had been promoted and distributed it might have done a little better. Who knows? But really, I was just put in on the tail end of the session at Sellers. If you listen to it close or maybe you won’t have to listen too close, you’ll know that they never did get the chords exactly right. (Laughter) As I recall I was not feeling well that day either, and I always felt my performance was lackluster… and that’s being generous.

AB: So it was Jack Rhodes who sent it to Daily?

Yeah. He sent it to Pappy Daily.

Durwood Haddock and Band, c.1959, Grand Falls, Tx. From left: Bob Hudnall, Guitar; Durwood, Fiddle; Bill Karnes, Drums; Rustie Seay, Bass; O'Neil Beck, Steel. Courtesy Durwood Haddock.

AB: There’s a photo of you with Pappy Daily. What was the occasion?

I first met Pappy in person, in Nashville during the DJ Convention in ’61. I was working at radio station KERB then. Me and Vaughn Brinson got together and created a manager-artist type thing; of course he was the manager and also owner of the radio station, as well. He was kind of struck with the music bug, too, I guess. Anyway, I had talked with Pappy several times by phone prior to recording my previous D singles. When I had finished one, I’d just call him and say, “Well, I’ve cut another thing I’d like you to listen to and see if you want to release it.” And he’d say, “Naw, kid, just send it on down here and I’ll put it out.”

I had talked with Pappy Daily several times by phone prior to recording my previous D singles. When I had finished one, I’d just call him and say, “Well, I’ve cut another thing I’d like you to listen to and see if you want to release it.” And he’d say, “Naw, kid, just send it on down here and I’ll put it out.”

Later I wrote a tune called “Big Night at My House” with Vaughn. We recorded the song at Clifford Herring’s Studios in Fort Worth and a novelty tune called “Funny Farm” for the B side. Frankly, I was never really happy with the sound but ‘course, that’s always the case after the fact. Even so, I cut two or three more things at Herring’s. Any way Vaughn was supposed to take the session to Nashville and see if we could get a deal there, instead for reasons I didn’t know or can’t remember, he stopped off in Houston and played the session for Pappy Daily. Pappy apparently loved it because “Big Night at My House,” wound up on United Artists Records. Pappy later told me when I met him in Nashville that “Big Night At My House” was a great song. At that time he had an arrangement of some kind with Art Talmadge A&R for United Artists.

Ad from the Music Reporter magazine, November 10, 1962.

While we were in Nashville (for the DJ Convention in 1961), Vaughn and me also talked to Charlie Lamb with The Music Reporter magazine, in which we had previously ran several advertisements promoting “Big Night at My House.” He said, “You guys need to make the rounds at some radio stations on your way back to Texas, get some pictures … send ‘em back to me and I’ll publish them in the magazine.” So, on the way back from the DJ convention, Vaughn got his camera out and that’s what we did. The first stop was KDXE in Little Rock, Arkansas, then H.W. Daily Distributors in Houston, where Pappy posed with me in his office while Vaughn snapped the picture. At Charlie’s suggestion we visited several radio stations as well, and that’s why you see me with Country Johnny Mathis, Arlie Duff, Nat Stuckey and so on, which appeared in Charlie Lamb’s Music Reporter Magazine (December 1, 1962).

AB: You mentioned that you first met Jack Rhodes with Eddie Miller at Rhodes’s motel in Mineola. What was that occasion?

Here I may have to lay a little groundwork to get to the occasion, forgive me if I ramble too much …me and Eddie and Tiny Colbert had been working together out in West Texas. I first went to work with Tiny in 1954. We worked around Denison, Sherman area, working American Legion Halls, VFWs, honky-tonks, school shows…anything Tiny could find. Tiny had already worked in West Texas at Jim Dow’s Danceland in Odessa. In February of 1954, Jim called Tiny and asked him if he wanted to come back and bring a couple of musicians with him. Tiny wanted to know if I wanted to go, and I said, “I can hardly wait. Tell me when.” So that year in February of 1954 we headed out for West Texas and guy by the name of Bob Geesling -- also from Denison -- who played guitar and sang, went with us. After a few weeks Bob kind of flanged out and went back to Denison. Then a guy named Red Waltman took Bob’s place. Me and Tiny stayed on for a short time after that, but it just didn’t work out with Walden so eventually Tiny and me got let out at Danceland and Waltman brought somebody in that he apparently liked better. Okay, back to meeting Jack Rhodes…Shortly before Tiny and I lost our gig at Danceland, Eddie Miller showed up on Tiny’s doorstep in Odessa. Tiny and Eddie had worked with each other out of Denison, Texas in the mid to late forties. Anyway, eventually, we found a gig at Weaver’s Inn in Kermit 44 miles west of Odessa. Me, Eddie, Tiny and Larry Eudy, who doubled on fiddle and drums...

When we went out there (to Odessa) in 1954 we worked seven nights a week and a matinee on Sunday. You couldn’t do that here (in Denison). You’d be doing good to get ‘em (the audience) out on a Saturday night for free. (Laughter)

AB: There seems to have been a lot of guys from East and North Texas who made that pilgrimage out to Midland/Odessa, and I guess it was mainly…

Money! It was money, oil…you couldn’t make any money in this part of the world (Denison). Musicians can’t make a living here. In the early ‘50s, the oil boom was a lot bigger than it is now. It kind of petered out in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, but when we went out there in 1954 we worked seven nights a week and a matinee on Sunday. Tiny later told me when he first went to Odessa he worked seven nights a week, and a matinee every afternoon. You couldn’t do that here. You’d be doing good to get ‘em (the audience) out on a Saturday night for free. (Laughter) So, that was a good lick for me, I tell you. It was just what I was looking for. You know, you just couldn’t make any money in this part of the world playing music.

AB: I have Tiny Colbert’s “Juvenile Love” on 4-Star. Are you playing on that?

Yeah..Red Hayes and me played fiddles. Tiny is playing piano, Al Petty is playing steel, Leon Hayes, Red’s brother, is playing bass, and Eddie Miller’s playing guitar. And that’s basically the same bunch that was playing on my session in 1954: “There She Goes,” “I Don’t Wanta,” “Who’s Gonna Know,” and “Girl Nobody Claims.” But Bobby Garrett, who was working with Hank Thompson at the time, was playing steel.

After that, we moved to Lamesa. Tiny had “Juvenile Love” and I believe “Heap Mad Injun”, and Eddie had “Pull Down the Night Shades” and “Hidin Out” (also on 4-Star), all of which I played fiddle on. And so, they got with (promoter) Joe Treadway, who was also a salesman for KJBC Radio in Midland, and a deal was made that he would book them. Since they had records out they decided, “Hey, we can start touring.” Well, you know how that goes. (Laughter) It didn’t work out too well. But anyway, we went to Lamesa and started doing a live radio show on KPET and Joe booked us around the area in places like Anson, Texas, Bronco, New Mexico, Midland, Texas…or wherever . Tiny, Eddie and Joe had posters printed up billed as “The 4 Star Caravan featuring Eddie Miller, and Tiny Colbert.” Unfortunately, the 4 Star Caravan turned out to be a debacle, so Tiny and Eddie decided to disband and go back to Denison. I thought, “Oh, Lordy, of all places to go, why there?” And we even went back to KRRV. Tiny and Eddie tried to do the same thing they had done in the late forties all over again when they were Eddie Miller, Tiny Colbert & the Oklahomans. Well, they’d forgotten I suppose, there’s TV now. You know, people wouldn’t go out much back when they had nothing to do…now that they had TV, they weren’t going anywhere. (Laughter) So, we didn’t do any good, and Eddie and Tiny had a falling out. Eddie left and wound up with Leon Hayes in Dallas.

Eddie Miller (second from left) with Dub Williams (guitar) and Leo Fender at the Fender factory, c. 1950.

Now, back to meeting Jack Rhodes… finally. Eddie and Leon Hayes left Dallas and ended up down at Jack Rhodes’ Trail 80 Courts in Mineola. I was still in Denison playing fiddle for Tiny. Anyway one afternoon, Eddie calls me at the radio station (KRRV) and wants me to come down to Mineola and listen to some songs. After discussing the event with Jack in later years, I think my visit might have been an effort for Eddie to put on the dog a little and impress Jack, since he was living in his motel. According to Jack, it didn’t work. Anyway I drove down one morning, and that’s when I met Jack Rhodes who, showing little interest, played and sang a few songs for me. At one time or the other he must have had every picker and songwriter hanging out in his motel including Eddie. He’d give ‘em a place to stay, and they in turn would have to do a few things for him, I never knew exactly what. I only know what my arrangement was with him, but it didn’t include staying in his motel. Freddie Frank is one that comes to mind…I used to work with Freddie out in West Texas, me and him and Bill Myrick and Leon Hayes.

At one time or the other Jack Rhodes must have had every picker and songwriter hanging out in his motel, including Eddie Miller.

AB: Freddie was a great singer.

Yeah, he was. But the trouble with Freddie was Freddie. (Laughter) He just didn’t seem to care one way or the other. Jack tried to do a lot of things for him, but Freddie…I don’t know what it was…he was a great talent though and a pretty good fiddle player. We played twin fiddles a time or two when we were both playing with Bill Myrick and his Rainbow Riders in Odessa around 1955. (2)

AB: I guess Freddie’s best remembered for “This Old Rig.” Did that get a lot of airplay?

Oh, yeah. I think he put that on Slim Smith’s label, Permian, derived from the Permian Basin in which Odessa was located. Slim owned the Hawaiian Club there where I think Freddie was playing at the time. Yeah, he did pretty well with that, around that area, you know. It was a local hit.

AB: Like a lot of people, Freddie had pretty bitter memories of Jack Rhodes.

I don’t know why that is. I know Jack tried to help Freddie and Jack had a few bitter memories of Freddie, too. I don’t know what his arrangement was with Freddie…Jack told me about a deal he had for Capitol Records, but Freddie didn’t hit it off with Ken Nelson during the meeting, and the deal went down the tubes. There are a few more details that Jack told me about, but I won’t go into it now. (3)

But, I never had any problems with Jack, or Freddie either for that matter... Of course, my idea about the business is: if you don’t want to do something then don’t say you will. But if you go ahead and give it a shot, and you know what the deal is, why do you want to gripe about it if things don’t turn out the way you thought they would? But a lot of people are not like that. Jack’s deal with me was, “I’ll get the song published for a third” (i.e., one-third ownership of the song). And I said, “OK, let’s do it,” and I did it a few times and I have no regrets. As far as writing a song together…we never did.

That’s just like “There She Goes.” Me and Eddie Miller did, however, write the song together in Lamesa, Texas. Well, when I went to sign a contract with 4-Star publishing company, I saw the name W.S. Stevenson on the agreement, along with mine and Eddie’s. I had no idea who that was, even after William A. McCall said, “OK boys, here’s the way it is: I’ll have to have part of the song in case another artist wants to cut it, and if they do I’ll give him my part.” Of course, that never happened, you know, at least not as far as I was concerned, and I had no idea what he was talking about. I was about as sharp as a wet rag, what did I know? But I’ll tell you one thing, if he’d said, “I want it all,” I probably would a-given it to him. Because, like every aspiring wanta-be, I wanted that record out. Eddie, however knew what the deal was…he’d already had “W.S. Stevenson” on several of his songs including “Release Me,” but never told me or anybody else. I don’t think Tiny even knew. Believe it or not, I had no idea until about 1969 or’70, when I saw a version of “Release Me” reviewed in Nashville’s Record World, that there were four names on it: Eddie Miller, Dub Williams, Robert Yount & W.S. Stevenson – who, I later learned from BMI, was William A. McCall. All those years I thought Eddie was the sole writer.

Durwood Haddock in Denison in the early 1950s. Courtesy Durwood Haddock.

That guy McCall…everybody puts him down. It wasn’t his problem that I didn’t know anything about the intricate details of song writer’s and publisher’s contracts. And, after all, I didn’t have to sign the agreement but since Eddie Miller did, I felt like it was alright. McCall’s ethics may have been questionable but he was right legally. He told us what he wanted, but we didn’t have to go along with it if you didn’t want to, but a lot of ‘em did and griped about it later.

AB: His reputation has been completely destroyed over the years. Eddie Noack called him “the biggest crook that ever lived.”

Well, I don’t know why he would think that. I thought Noack was working with Pappy Daily most of the time. But, I’m sure he had his reasons, or thought he did.

That guy McCall…everybody puts him down. It wasn’t his problem that I didn’t know anything about the intricate details of song writer’s and publisher’s contracts. He told us what he wanted, but we didn’t have to go along with it if you didn’t want to, but a lot of ‘em did and griped about it later.

AB: Eddie Noack had a few early releases on 4-Star.

Did he? I remember when he had “Have Blues – Will Travel,” a top 20 chart in 1958 on D. I always liked the sound. I never heard any of his 4 Star releases.

I met Eddie Noack when I was living in Nashville and he was working for Pappy Daily’s Glad Music. Eddie was kind of a dour type of person, you know. I liked him alright. We lifted a few beers together from time to time and shot the bull, but I never had any business dealings with him. I never heard him say anything about William A. McCall, good or bad. I know he had a top 5 chart in 1956 with Hank Snow, titled “These Hands” as well as other songs recorded by several major artists, but if McCall had anything to do with them, I never knew.

AB: Noack was kind of a pessimist?

Yeah...I never knew much about Eddie. I don’t know what his dealings with McCall could’ve been, and how it could’ve been that bad, but as I said, I’m sure he had his reasons. I do know, however, he was quite popular in Europe and toured over there frequently. (4)

AB: I was just putting that quote out there as being typical of what people have said about Bill McCall.

Yeah, nobody ever has anything good to say about him. As I said, he never did anything to me. He paid me. He sent me a check if he ever owed me anything. It was never very much, because, Good Lord, how much money could it be on a Rocky Bill Ford and Carl Smith record back then? A penny split three ways on a country record in the fifties? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. I know on one statement, I was paid one cent each for “There She Goes” sheet music with Carl Smith’s picture on the front. I was paid for 197 copies. I still have the statement signed by William A McCall. I wouldn’t be buying a Cadillac that year.

AB: So maybe Rhodes and McCall were pretty upfront with people, but after the records came out with their names on them, this kind of resentment set in.

Yeah, you’re right about that. But I’ll say again, nobody had to agree to any of it before the fact. I don’t know why people are like that. Ego, I guess, and thinking their songs did better than they really did. (Music publisher) Troy Martin, in the fifties, made a comment that makes a lot of sense: “You can go on about how great a song is all you want to, but I can tell you when a song is good. It’s when you get paid for it.” Of course he didn’t say how much.

(Music publisher) Troy Martin, in the fifties, made a comment that makes a lot of sense: “You can go on about how great a song is all you want to, but I can tell you when a song is good. It’s when you get paid for it.”

You get egos involved…and all that good stuff. I liked Eddie Miller alright, but he had an ego you’d have to be airborne to see and Tiny, had a pretty good sized one, too. I’m not completely devoid of one myself, but not to the point that I lose all my scruples.

Jack Rhodes didn’t seem to have much of an ego. He could probably best be described as a song scout. I never heard Jack say he wrote anything, but I never heard him say he didn’t either. And Jack did me a big favor once, he helped me out with BMI in 1957 without me even knowing about it. Then I was so green I didn’t even know I was supposed to be a member of BMI, and “There She Goes” had already been a hit. Without me even asking him to do it, Jack got me signed up with BMI and advised them to send me my 1955 Country Achievement Award along with a nice check and a statement advising me that W.S. Stevenson was a pseudonym for William A. McCall. That’s when I actually found out who W.S. Stevenson really was.

Jack's deal with me was: “I’ll get it published.” And he did. I don’t regret the deal. Nothing ever came of it much, but it easily could have. Just like “There She Goes.” Who knew anything was going to happen with that? Nobody did. All I knew was, I wanted to do it, and I scrounged up the money to pay for the session. I signed the contract, giving up a third, along with three other songs. These were the first songs I ever recorded, the first I ever had published and out of that session two of the songs were covered by two major artists, and one became a standard. What if I had told McCall that I didn’t want to go along with his deal?

AB: After “There She Goes” became a hit for Carl Smith, why didn’t 4-Star put out any more records on you?

I didn’t want to be on the label anymore, for one thing. I’d have to pay for the session, see. And I didn’t have the money. I felt since I had some success with “There She Goes” that McCall should pay for it, but he didn’t see it that way, I guess, and I thought I could find a label that would. Dream on. He didn’t pay for Patsy Cline’s first session, either, I heard, and I’m fairly certain he didn’t pay for the ones she had on Decca before Owen Bradley took over. But what a lot of people don’t understand about the record business -- and I didn’t at the time -- is if it’s an independent label, and you want to record, well, most likely you or somebody will have to pay for the session. However, if you record for a major label, and if you sell any records, you’re not going to get a dime until they get theirs back first, if then, since they paid upfront for your recordings. So, one way or another, you’re going to have to pay. You’re either going to have to pay upfront, or further down the line. And if your record sales don’t pay for your session with a major label, it’s likely you’re not going to be on the label very long. Sometimes that’s not the case however. Consider Patsy Cline, who had loser after loser for four years after “Walking after Midnight.” Somehow, she kept her contract with Decca. Believe it or not that was during the time she was still connected with William A. McCall. Go figure. Most any other label would have dropped her a long time ago.

Original pressing of "There She Goes" on 4-Star, 1954. Courtesy Al Turner.

AB: So McCall’s method was actually more upfront about the whole thing.

I can only speak from my experience. I signed a five year contract with McCall and also a writer’s contract. When I called him, collect by the way, and said I wanted out of my contract, he simply said okay and said, “I’m not mad at anybody and hope you aren’t either.” Now, I’m not sure if everybody had to pay up front for their sessions, like Hank Locklin, T. Texas Tyler, and the Maddox Brothers and Rose, but a lot of ‘em did -- like me, Tiny, Eddie, and Slim Willet that I know of.

AB: The Rocky Bill Ford version of “There She Goes” pre-dates Carl Smith’s. Did you have any contact with Ford? He was a barber in Houston.

My version was originally released as a single with "I Don't Wanta” on the flip. It was issued on 78 rpm (only) when the 45s came out, so you can see where that left me. Stations would only play the new configuration. Rocky Bill Ford's release came after mine, and it was issued on a 45. I never met Mr. Ford.

Eventually, I did get some recognition (for writing "There She Goes"). But there, for the longest time, I didn’t even mention the song to anybody; I didn’t even sing it on any of my gigs. I didn’t care one way or the other. I got tired of defending myself, so I just dropped it.

AB: I find it odd that you co-wrote this big hit (“There She Goes”) in 1954 but for a long time after that, no labels approached you to record for them.

Yeah, it was frustrating for me. In a way, it still is today. Not to a point where I’m going to blow my brains out or anything. But Eddie was in the forefront as the song’s writer. He’d already had “Release Me,” and everybody in the biz knew him and the song. I was just an idealistic kid still wet behind the ears. I’m like 20, 21 years old. So, when push comes to shove, if he told them he wrote it, well, they believed him. They didn’t even know about me, see. It’s kind of like the Dub Williams-Robert Yount thing. I know that record labels as well as publishing companies then were more interested in you if you had already done something. And of course, if you’re not there to say you did it… (Laughter) …somebody else will say they did. Besides, I wasn’t in the right place to get anything going. Someone asked me, “Why didn’t you and Eddie do anything together again?” I said, “To be quite frank with you, I didn’t feel comfortable working with him anymore. I may have been wrong but on the other hand I may have been right as it’s turned out. I always felt he could have been a little more considerate on my behalf, since after all, me, him and Tiny were all in it together, at least for awhile.” Eventually, however, I did get some recognition. But there, for the longest time, I didn’t even mention the song to anybody; I didn’t even sing it on any of my gigs. I didn’t care one way or the other. I got tired of defending myself, so I just dropped it. If you’re in that business, it’s always the old hyperbole: “The wheel that squeaks the loudest, gets the grease.” That’s what generally happened. I didn’t even receive writer’s credits on Carl Smith’s initial release, nor did W.S Stevenson for that matter. Only Eddie Miller was listed. That was really frustrating and a big disappointment…not sure how W.S. Stevenson felt about it. Tiny Colbert was the one that found out about it first. He was at KRRV when the record came in. He then stopped by my house and said, “Well, you better get your contract out, Carl Smith’s record just came in at the radio station, and your names not on it.” After I recovered from shock, I wrote Columbia Records, and they advised by letter that they were not informed by the publisher that there was more than one writer, and assured me they would make the correction on future pressings. SHOW BUSINESS!!!!

Eddie Miller in the 1950s. Courtesy Kevin Coffey Collection.

AB: Did you know Slim Willet?

Yeah, I knew Slim quite well. I liked him pretty good, he was alright. He was “on” all the time. He was a great salesman. On the radio, they loved him around Abilene. And of course, he had that TV show there for awhile. I worked at KCAD radio in Abilene in the mid-sixties before Slim finally wound up with it. On one occasion Slim and I were discussing the music biz and he advised that he really liked my record “How Are Things In Your City” and without skipping a beat, he went on to add, “Cause it’s short”! Eventually, we got around of course to the subject of “Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes” and how much money it had made. He also maintained that he didn’t ever intend to depend on the music business as a profession. He said, “I can make a livin’ doin this” …referring to radio. I never heard him say anything about 4-Star, which of course his recording of “Don’t Let The Stars” was on. I, however, have heard some fairly spicy stories about Slim and William A McCall.

Slim Willet was “on” all the time. He was a great salesman. On the radio, they loved him around Abilene.

AB: Tell me about Tiny Colbert.

I met Tiny in Denison in 1954. I don’t know why he decided to come back (to Denison), but he did. Somebody put him on to us. He was making the rounds. We were just a bunch of kids learning how to play. Bobby Boatwright and I learned how to play fiddle together. Arthur Boatwright (Bobby’s father) had put together a little group called the Junior Rangers.

Tiny wanted to hear what we sounded like. We were up at a fellow’s house and he was going to meet us up there. We were sitting out on the front porch when Tiny drove up in his 1950 Chevrolet. We hit a little tune or two, and that was about all it took. He decided he’d found him a group. That’s how I met him. We worked around here for awhile, then from there we went to West Texas.

AB: Was he mainly playing piano at that time?

Yeah. He also played lap steel. Tiny was an excellent piano player. He played rhythm really well, and he could improvise with the best of ’em, but he could not play a note of melody. If he could, I never heard him play melody on anything. Which, you know, is not bad…it’s just unusual. But boy, he could lay into it otherwise. Now, lap steel…well, that was a different matter. Steel wasn’t his main instrument. Even so, he played lap steel on some of his and Eddie’s early Blue Bonnet recordings, and he sounded pretty good to me.

Tiny Colbert and his Sunshiners at the Danceland Club, Odessa, early 1950s. From left: Lee Burris, Jack Coffman, Tiny Colbert, Wayne Carnes, and Bob Geesling. click to enlarge. Photo courtesy Kevin Coffey Collection.

On the personal side, Tiny, whose real name was Theo, was anything but Tiny. He probably weighed around 275 pounds, and he had a great head of curly black hair with a widow’s peak. He was also a fun guy to be around. He always liked a good laugh and he laughed often…he was very jovial. I never saw anybody that mutilated a cigar the way Tiny could… and he was tighter than bark on a tree…which may have been out of necessity.

AB: How long did you play with Tiny? Two or three years?

No, not that long. I started in the latter part of ’53…Maybe about nine months or so. Maybe a year. I recorded for 4-Star in October of ’54. We recorded his and Eddie’s first. So, I probably left Tiny sometime in 1955.

AB: After you left Tiny, were you leading your own band? What were you doing in ’55, ’56…

In ’55, I worked for Tiny around here in Denison for a short time. After he and Eddie had their falling out, Eddie tried to get me to go back to California with him. But something about Eddie made me feel uncomfortable. Plus, I figured it was because I had a car and he didn’t. As I look back now, I wonder how things might have turned out for me had I done so.

After I left Tiny, I put a band together, got a radio show on KTAN in Sherman, Texas, and worked around some of the same places I had worked with Tiny, but eventually it all fell apart. Then I went back to West Texas and started working various and sundry beer joints and honky tonks with various people. I worked the Pelican Club awhile. I worked with Bill Myrick and Freddie Frank awhile. I did TV shows on KMID with Bill. That’s where I first met Roy Orbison and The Wink Westerners. Later, I got another radio job in Fort Stockton (KFST) for about three months. I then went back to Odessa and worked at KECK doing live news reports from their news car the KECK Mobil News Patrol – I was backtracking really good -- and from there I even went back to KPET in Lamesa but this time a DJ/ announcer. After that I went to KVKM in Monahans, Texas doing the same thing. From there, I went to KERB in Kermit and stayed there, oh, I guess five or six years. All that time I was still working clubs part time.

AB: Yeah, I’ve got you listed at KERB from 1957 to 1962.

That’s about right. Then, I got out of the radio business altogether. I was burnt out with it and put another band together…I never learn. I tried to revitalize the old Miller Brothers band with the woman who owned it, Julia Acord, but we could never come to terms. So, I dropped that and put my own outfit together. I fronted for Leon McAuliffe for two weeks at the Golden Nugget in Las Vegas. That was an experience... Red Herron and I played fiddles, Dean Abbot drums, Shawna Lawrence bass, my brother Jerry Haddock electric lead, and Jack Lloyd sax and clarinet. It was just a thrown-together deal. Leon had just about quit touring at that time. He had one or two jobs left. He took the remnants of Merl Lindsay’s band and included me with Red Herron and Jack Lloyd, who was a McAuliffe alumnus, for the Nugget gig. Afterwards I put my own outfit together.

AB: Is that how your Cimarron single ("Blackland Road") came about? Can you tell me more about that?

When I worked with McAuliffe in Vegas, we, of course, did "Big Night At My House." Leon had heard the record previously and he really liked the song. He approached me about putting it out, and I advised that Vaughn Brinson had another track on it and I felt we could use that. Why Leon wanted to release it again after it had been on United Artists, I have no idea. Be that as it may, I asked Brinson for the track, but for one reason or the other he never sent it to me. He may still have it. So, I decided to try to come up with something similar which turned out to be "The Lady Of My House," which is on the flip side. Leon was agreeable to releasing it, but "Black Land Road" received the most attention…albeit very little. The session was cut in Odessa at Tommy Allsup's Studio, probably in l965. Tommy played guitars, Lloyd Jordan played bass, Wayne Long played rhythm, can't recall who played drums, and there were four girls whose names I never knew that did background vocals.

AB: I wanted to ask you about Caprock Records. That was your second release: “That’s the Way It Goes.” Was Caprock owned by Hank Harral?

Yeah. He was working at KHEM in Big Spring at the time. I recorded at Ben Hall’s in Big Spring, which was a garage he had converted into a studio of sorts. Weldon Myrick‘s playing guitar on it. I think Deana Hall, Ben’s wife is playing bass. Bobby Tuttle is playing steel on the flipside. Bill Johnson was playing drums. Johnny Porter’s playing fiddle. (5) Hank Harral happened by the studio when we were recording…guess he liked what he heard and wanted to put it out. I was kind of leery about it, but then I thought, “Why not? Nobody else is interested and I really don’t have anything to lose.” The deal was, I’d just furnish him a master, and I would still own it. Here I’d like to point out that Jack Rhodes -- whom I should have contacted after recording -- called me and wanted to know if I was interested in somebody else picking up the record. He never said who it was, but I was interested. When I approached Hank he advised that he didn’t want to let the record go. Didn’t set too well with Jack. Even so, if I had read my agreement with Caprock a little closer, I could have done it anyway, regardless.

I kind of liked what Johnny Cash was doing. I never really set out to record a rock record. I was interested in western swing, the Hank Williams sound, and all of that, you know?

AB: A lot of country musicians were profoundly affected by rock and roll, happening around this time, in ’56 and ’57. What was your take on that?

Well, I kind of liked what Johnny Cash was doing. I never really set out to record a rock record. I was interested in western swing, the Hank Williams sound, and all of that, you know? For “East Dallas Dagger,” I just used what was there.

AB: You didn’t set out to make a rockabilly record.

Nah. I just did it, that’s all. I went in and sung the thing, and that’s all. And it’s the same thing with “That’s the Way It Goes.” My idea was, “If I can do something that’s kind of happening today, and do something like a Ray Price sound on the flipside, maybe one or the other will work.” And I liked Cash’s stuff. I was really impressed with his songs.

AB: What about Elvis?

I really didn’t care too much about Elvis in the beginning. But, I’ve got to tell you, as time wore on, I thought he was one of the greatest vocalists. He had a terrific range, and of course, when you hear him, you know who he is. Now, I liked “That’s All Right Mama.” Eddie Miller and I were in a café in Anson, Texas, gettin’ coffee’d up after a gig and they played that thing over and over on the jukebox. And Eddie said, “He’s just a flash in the pan, he’ll probably never get another hit” (Laughter)

AB: Did you have any contact with Buddy Holly while you were out in West Texas?

No, I never did meet Buddy Holly. ‘Course, I knew Tommy Allsup and Waylon Jennings real well who worked with Holly.

AB: Why did you record under the name Durwood Dailey? You switched to your real name in 1962, I believe.

I started using Dailey because McCall wanted to change my name, and I didn’t have a problem with it. As it turned out, I think he was right. But, then, when I started recording on Eagle Records, Vaughn didn’t think using Dailey was a very good thing to do. So I said, “OK, I’ll just use my real name.” Which I have always felt was a bad move then, as well as now.

AB: On your website, there’s a flyer for your appearance on the Big D Jamboree circa 1962. Was that the first time you had appeared on that?

No, I was on it when I had “How Lonesome Can I Get.” I was also on it with the Junior Rangers, a couple of times in ‘50-‘51. That’s also on my website.

AB: There’s a picture of you playing at the Caravan East in Albuquerque.

Yeah, that was about l964-65. A guy by the name of Bob Johnson, a real estate agent, owned it. It could hold about 400 people, I guess. Orville Couch was the first to appear there when it went country, and I went in for a two week stand after him. It was a Las Vegas-type strip club prior to that. And then this radio station KRZY talked Johnson into going country with it. When I was trying to put the Miller Brothers back together, I went through there and set a date with Johnson thinking I had a deal to use the name. I thought me and Mrs. Acord had a deal, but we didn’t. So, I told Bob what the situation was and he didn’t seem to be bothered about it at all. Well, here comes Bobby Rhodes; Julia Acord whom I believe was his mother, and the one who owned the Miller Brothers name …and approached me about using it. I said, “I’m not using it.” He said, “It’s on the marquee.” I said, “There ain’t anything I can do about that, because Bob Johnson put it up there.” I went on to say, “I told him before that I wasn’t using that name, but he already had it on the marquee” and that’s where it stayed. I never used the name again. Bobby was pretty good about it though.

AB: I’m surprised that the Miller Brothers name was so valuable. Bobby Rhodes bought it, I guess, from Sam Gibbs. Why did it continue to have this great value, even into the late 1960s?

I really can’t say, and I wasn’t aware that it was all that valuable. I believe they disbanded sometime in the mid-sixties and it may have been that the Gibbs Brothers, Sam and Leon, could see the handwriting on the wall when their biggest venues, which were probably NCO Clubs at military installation, got into some kind of disagreement with the government about what kind of music they could have and on which night.

The Miller Brothers, late 1950s.

Here I may be telling more than anybody wants to know…but anyway, it used to be, you know, you could work from here to the West Coast booking mostly military bases. You could book, say, Webb Air Force Base in Big Spring, Tex. on a Wednesday, and then Thursday you could go right on over to El Paso, and on and on. But then they cut back to where they wouldn’t have country but once a week, which was usually on a Friday. Well, when that happened, it put the Miller Brothers out of business… as well as a whole lot of other groups of that type, ’cause they could only book a Friday night at NCOs. While it’s true they could still work “regular clubs,” for the most part, there was no monetary guarantee like they could get from the military. So the Miller Brothers split up into little trios. If you wanted a “rock and roll night,” they had a little rock and roll ensemble, and if you wanted country, they had that too, see. The big bands were over with by that time. Fate was probably smiling on me, because if I’d gotten in that mess, I probably would have gone under quicker than I did. I talked with Sam Gibbs in the early ‘60’s when I was still in Kermit about setting a few dates for me. He advised that his agency had run into a whole new deal as far as bookings were concerned and that the full band thing was all over with. (6)

Sometime in the mid-fifties, the Miller Brothers did a song of mine and Eddie’s titled “Whose Gonna Know” on 4-Star, and later re-issued on White Label out of Holland. Vocal was by Billy Thompson. I originally recorded it in l954 on the same session with “There She Goes.” I don’t why McCall never released my version.

AB: You knew Fred Crawford. What can you tell me about him?

Fred and I were very good friends. He was in his early thirties when I met him. He and I worked a lot of joints together... He loved the radio business. He really loved what he was doing. If anybody really liked where they were in life, it was Fred. He liked to pick and sing, and had several releases on Starday in previous years, but I think he liked doing his radio show more than anything else. He had a great voice for what he was doing, and he was quite successful at it too.

He was a broker: he’d buy and sell his own time and he always had a full program with lots of commercials. He was working at KERB in Kermit when I was there. He had 2:05 to 3:30 every day. His idol was Tex Herring, an old radio pitchman that worked at KERB before Fred. Fred was more a pitchman than anything else. And he was a great personality. Called himself “Corn Fed Fred.”

AB: What would he be pitching?

Maybe pitching is the wrong term. It was just his way of doing spot announcements, all of which he ad-libbed from notes he had written on a tablet. He had commercials of every description on his show. He’d sell anything. It didn’t make any difference. He had all kinds of accounts…car dealers, cafés, grocery stores, and a lot of junk stores (Laughter), things like that.

AB: Was he singing in clubs very much at that time?

Yeah. He and I worked some clubs around there quite a bit. Me and him and my brother Jerry , and a drummer by the name of Lloyd Brown, and also Ernie Allen Stodghill – an announcer/salesman who also worked at the station (and played an old C-melody sax somewhat) -- played the old T-P Tavern down in McCamey, Texas, the Community Center in Monahans, the old Aragon Club and the West End Club in Monahans…

Fred was really into Hank Williams. I cut a record with him up in Clovis at Norman Petty Studios, I believe in l958. Petty tried to get him a deal with Atlantic, but that fell through. Ken Cline, a songwriter that worked for National Cash Register, paid for the session and wrote the songs, one of which was “Beyond The Shadow of a Doubt.” The other I played fiddle on, but don’t remember the title. I think some of the Crickets did back up vocals. That’s what I was told, anyway. (7)

AB: I guess by the late fifties, there were no more live bands appearing on the radio?

No. I guess the last time that I did a live radio show with a band was ‘55. That was in Denison at KRRV.

AB: What inspired you start Eagle Records in 1963?

Well, it was out of necessity, I suppose, when Pappy Daily decided to drop me off United Artists. I had cut another session which I hoped would be a follow up to “Big Night At My House”, which turned out to be “I’m Not One of Them” and “Our Big House.”
We took it to Pappy in Houston. He listened to both tracks and said, “Oh yeah, that’s a good one” as he listened to it in his listening booth he had in his office. As he played the dub he bent over the turn table…I thought he was praying. (Laughter) Maybe he was praying it’d get better. (Laughter) We thought we had us a deal. We come on back to Kermit fully energized in anticipation of our next United Artists release. A few days later, Vaughn called me in his office and said, “I got a call from Pappy, and he said he’s not going to take that record.” Whereupon Vaughn said he told him, “Ok Pappy, if that’s the way you feel about it…we don’t care, we’ll just do it ourselves.” So that’s what we did and that’s how Eagle Records came about. We had two or three 45rpms released on Eagle in the sixties. I still record on it today, which is now Eagle International, and have released four CDs on it… the latest is HANKS-A-LOT.

AB: The Eagle records were recorded at Sumet Sound in Dallas?

Yeah. Who was that guy they called “The Blonde Bomber”?

AB: Ronnie Dawson?

Yeah. He played drums on “How Are Things in Your City.”

AB: And after that you moved to Nashville?

No, after I left Odessa I went to Phoenix. I took a group out there. I was doing a little part-time work at KECK in Odessa and played weekends in Southern Oklahoma and West Texas. That must have been around ’65. And then in ’66 I moved to Phoenix to go to work at JD’s, the club where Waylon Jennings was previously. When I got out there, they had another group in it, so the owner Jim Musial told me to take the band to Magoos with Ray Corbin. So we had double bands there for quite some time. And then I finally did go to work at JD’s. I stayed there about two or three months until that flanged out. Waylon could always fill that joint up, but nobody else could. They had Bill Haley and the Comets in there with me doing the double band thing, and you could have fired a cannon and not hit anybody. I never did do any good at that club and finally left.

After that I worked with my band throughout the Southwest and up and down the California coast for a couple of years. Finally, Tommy Allsup gave me a call and wanted to know if I was interested in coming to Nashville and recording for Metromedia, and running a publishing company. I said, “Tell me when do I start?” I was extremely tired of fooling with a band and working clubs. So, I moved to Nashville in ’69. I did a lot of things you were supposed to do in Nashville…and a probably a lot of things you weren’t supposed to do. (Laughter)

AB: After moving to Nashville, did you re-establish ties with Eddie Miller? I found a newspaper article from 1972 that talks about a songwriting class given by Miller, Harlan Howard, Eddie Noack, Dallas Frazier, and a few others.

I wouldn't exactly say I re-established ties with Eddie. We never ventured into anything other than discussing the past a few times, and we never wrote anything together. There was never an association related to business.

At that time, as you probably know, Eddie was working for Fender Guitars, which was eventually taken over by CBS. Sometime thereafter, Eddie left Fender/CBS and opened an office, I believe on 17th Avenue South, and was touting a songwriter's course. That was actually the last time I saw him before his death. After the publishing company I was working with bit the dust, I went back to working the road and wasn't in Nashville all that much. I did, however, attend his funeral.

If memory serves, I think Eddie did say he was or would be teaching songwriting at Vanderbilt or one of the other colleges in Nashville. Not sure which.

AB: What did you think of the D Records box set that Bear Family put out?

I thought it was remarkable. Richard Weize and those guys do phenomenal work. I thought it remarkable the way they cleaned up the sound because, I’ve got to tell you – and I don’t think there’s anybody that would disagree with me – you could go in the studio and get the cleanest sound in the world, but by the time D Records got through with it, it sounded like it was pressed on sand paper.

AB: Well, Pappy pressed his early D records at Plastic Products in Memphis, which is well-known for putting out the worst pressings in America…

Terrible. I heard they were using recycled plastic. I was still at the radio station when, “Family Bible” by Claude Gray was released on D. And it was as clean as a pin. And I said, “What’s the problem here?” I even asked Pappy about it. I said, “Why do my records sounds so bad?” He said, “I don’t hear anything wrong with ‘em, kid. But I’ve got a tin ear.” I thought, “Well, you got that right.” You couldn’t get any airplay with ‘em.. I was even reluctant to play mine, but of course I did play it some. Now, the United Artists record was OK, of course.

Durwood behind the board at KERB in Kermit, c. late 1950s. Courtesy Durwood Haddock.

AB: So at stations like KERB, would you be on Pappy’s mailing list?

Yeah. Oh, they sent us stuff out by the stacks…by the pound.

AB: I have this romantic idea of stations like KERB having the freedom to play whatever they wanted, and thus spinning lots of Texas label records during the broadcast day -- labels like D, Allstar, Caprock, Bo-Kay, TNT, and so on. How accurate is this picture?

I can only speak for KERB when I was there. Me and anybody else working there could play anything that was available, as long as it fit the program genre being broadcast at the time. KERB, like a lot of stations of that ilk, were "block" programmers. One or two hours would be country, an hour would be gospel, then you'd have religious programs for a couple of hours, then you'd present music that we called pop music, e.g. Perry Como, Doris Day, Billy Vaughn, Bobby Vinton, and so on. Fred Crawford played only country/bluegrass, and since he bought his own time, he could play anything he wanted.

The labels you mention are very familiar to me except TNT. I met Jesse Smith who had Bo-Kay Records in 1957-58 when I was in Lamesa. I also had an unpleasant situation with Allstar Records also out of Houston, can't recall the CEO's last name, but his first name was Dan (Mechura). He released a song that belonged to me by Larry Butler titled “Foolish Affair,” which was originally titled “Strange Desires,” on which Jack Rhodes was also listed, and was published by Big D Music out of Dallas. Anyway, neither me nor Jack was listed as writers. How Allstar and Butler wound up with the tune and recorded it word for word, I can only guess.

AB: After living in Nashville so long, what finally brought you back to North Texas?

That just kind of evolved. We were just looking for a new avenue and decided to try it. Not anything in particular. Me and my wife Dee started building on our place in the seventies. We were going back and forth. So, we decided to try it here for a little while. We still go back to Nashville every once in a while. I wouldn’t say we’ve completely broken all ties but Nashville’s the only town I know of that you’ve got to get out of if you want to stay in it. (Laughter)

Durwood Haddock, 2000s.

--------------------------

1. “East Dallas Dagger” (D 1100) was released in September, 1959. The uncredited backing group, Bob Millsap and the Millmen, were a rock and roll band from Tyler who also had releases on Pappy Daily’s Dart label during this period.

2. Billboard reported on March 3, 1956, that “Bill Myrick, KECK, Odessa, Tex., off the air several months due to paralysis of his left vocal chords, is back at the mike with a daily deejay show. He’s also working a live TV show with his band plus doing personal appearances. His aggregation consists of Freddie Frank (Capitol), Durwood Dailey (Four Star), Leon Hayes, Johnny Jay, Billy Cooper, and Myrick.”

3. Billboard reported on August 6, 1955, “Ken Nelson completed a session in Dallas recently with a new discovery, Freddy Franks (sic), who hails from the East Texas oil fields. Nelson has high hopes for Franks, who was developed by Jack Rhodes…” Freddie’s Capitol session was never released.

4. Actually Noack was almost completely unknown in Europe and England during his lifetime. He toured England in 1976.

5. This is presumably the same Johnny Porter who played and recorded with Eddie Shuler’s Reveliers in Lake Charles, Louisiana, c.1946-48, and Adolph Hofner in 1955, with whom he recorded for Decca. According to Shuler, Porter was from Longview, Texas.

6. The Miller Brothers, formed in Wichita Falls around 1940, were one of the most well-travelled Texas bands of the 1950s. Most of these tours were limited to military bases in Western U.S., not night clubs. The band name was owned by Sam and Leon Gibbs, but was purchased by fiddler Bobby Rhodes (also spelled Rhoades) and his mother in the late fifties or early sixties. The name was valuable because the military bases would guarantee bookings for a group called “The Miller Brothers,” regardless of who was actually in the band (much the same way as Bob Wills could always get bookings for a band called "The Texas Playboys"). Rhodes in turn sold the name to Johnny Patterson in the early sixties. It’s not clear when the final “Miller Brothers” broke up.

7. Nothing is known about a Fred Crawford session for Atlantic, but he did record “By the Mission Wall” at Petty’s. It was released on Starday in 1957.

Danny Ross on Minor 105

2010-07-06T06:40:00.005-05:00

Danny Ross - Leave Me Alone / A Toast to a Broken Heart (Minor 105)

"Leave Me Alone"

"A Toast to a Broken Heart"

Here's the third installment of our "deconstruction" of Danny Ross and the Minor label. The band is OK, but is badly in need of a drummer.Billboard reviewed this on February 23, 1957, writing "Texas jocks ought to be on the lookout for this," but Pete Hunter and Hal Harris at KRCT in Baytown were probably the only ones who actually played it.

Jerry Dove on TNT 122

2010-06-13T12:10:00.013-05:00

Jerry Dove and his Stringbusters (vocal by Bob Martin) - You're Wasting Your Time / Stand Still (TNT 122)

"You're Wasting Your Time"

"Stand Still"

The TNT label of San Antonio is like the Rodney Dangerfield of Texas labels -- despite releasing something like 200 singles and EPs between 1953 and 1966, it's never gotten much respect. This is understandable: of the many country artists who recorded for the label, only Bill Anderson became famous. Next to Starday or Sarg (its closest relatives), there was comparatively little rockabilly and rock and roll on the label. There was an interesting R&B/gospel series, but it only lasted for ten releases. And of course, the label's country output is littered by unbelievably stupid novelties by Red River Dave (who had a financial stake in the company). Anybody who can listen to "James Dean's Deck of Cards" all the way through without thoughts of suicide must have a serious masochistic disorder.

Local labels shouldn't be of interest solely because they're local: they need to have actually been creative or unique in some way. But Bob Tanner doesn't seem to have had any sort of guiding vision like Pappy Daily or Charlie Fitch had. There's probably more bad releases on TNT than good ones. So the Rodney Dangerfield Syndrome is, ultimately, deserved. Tellingly, although Starday and Sarg have been anthologized for 30+ years now, the first TNT retrospective only appeared in 2009.

None of this has any bearing on this superb single from Jerry Dove and his Stringbusters, however. Dove was a San Antonio car dealer who led a band on weekend gigs for many years (he had recorded for Everstate back around '49). He is best remembered today for his rather lame attempt at rockabilly ("Pink Bow Tie," also on TNT), but I think he should be remembered for this single. A young Bobby Martin, who later sang with several Alamo City groups, wrote and sang "You're Wasting Your Time." The A-side is the original version of the great ballad "Stand Still," which Tanner wrote, and is also sung nicely by Martin. Wink Lewis and Charlie Walker both covered this without success. This should have been at least a regional hit, but I'm guessing that TNT's promotional budget didn't exceed the cost of an enchilada dinner at Mi Tierra. Billboard gave it a lukewarm review in its May 7, 1955 issue:

The Stringbusters heard here are: Jerry Dove (rhythm guitar), Jimmy Latham (lead guitar), Jack Jackson (fiddle), B.J. Clay (steel guitar), and Pat Patterson (bass). No photos of this band have ever surfaced...but the Internet has been known to work small miracles before, and perhaps one will turn up in cyberspace one day.

Eddie Noack on Allstar 7299

2010-05-31T14:08:00.005-05:00

Eddie Noack - You Can't Keep a Good Man Down / When the Bright Lights Grow Dim (Allstar 7299)

"You Can't Keep a Good Man Down"

"When the Bright Lights Grow Dim"

Recorded at ACA and released in early 1964 (it was reviewed in Billboard on February 27, 1964), "You Can't Keep a Good Man Down" is a solid Buck Owens-styled effort from Noack that once again failed to dent the charts. The flipside is an inferior revival of a tear-jerker he had made with greater effect on Starday.

Walt Breeland's name is seen on the writer's credits of a lot of Houston country singles from the early 1960s (most famously, Willie Nelson's "Family Bible" and "Nite Life"), and he pops up again here and on several other contemporaneous Noack singles. Billboard described Breeland as a "record hustler," and he appears to have been a Jack Rhodes-type character, given co-ownership of songs in exchange for promoting them. It seemed to have worked for Nelson, but did nothing for Noack.

By this time, Noack's stage career was fading fast, and there's no evidence that he continued to perform publicly after moving to Nashville around 1965. Outside of Houston, if he was mentioned at all, it would always be as "songwriter Eddie Noack," instead of singer-performer Eddie Noack. Having to swallow this bitter pill probably contributed to Eddie's self-immolation 14 years later, at age 47.

Eddie Noack c. 1969. Courtesy James Silver Collection.

MIA: Dee Hasley and Eddie Noack in Germany (UPDATE)

2010-05-28T21:47:00.010-05:00

Dee Hasley and the Hoedowners, 1956, NCO Club, poss. Mannheim, Germany. From left: unknown, Anne Schmidt, Dee Hasley, unknown drummer, Eddie Noack, poss. Smokey Paul. Click to enlarge. Courtesy the James Silver Collection.

An Internet search on the name "Dee Hasley" returns numerous references to a woman who runs a Barbeque restaurant and exhibits show dogs, but nothing on the musician of the same name who worked with Eddie Noack both in Germany and Texas during 1956-57. Hasley is also completely absent from country music literature, save for a lone Billboard reference in 1956. Who was he?

Eddie Noack spent two years in the armed forces: October, 1954 to September, 1956, a period that coincided with his Starday era. The final nine months of that time was spent in Germany. Almost nothing is known of this period, but Eddie probably spent more time performing in U.S. military officer's clubs than he did performing maneuvers. The photo above, which surfaced just recently, captures just such a performance. Hank Snow had made Eddie's song "These Hands" a big hit that year, so it's not hard to imagine Hasley introducing Eddie as "the boy who wrote 'These Hands'" to the audience.

The 1950s country music scene in Germany has been poorly documented. As an indication of the shows that went on, Billboard carried this in its July 7, 1956 issue: "Sgt. Red Jones of the American Forces Network (sic -- Armed Forces Network), Frankfurt, Germany, types: 'Good old-fashioned country music is by far the more popular here, as was proven recently when Bill Haney and the Crackerjacks, Chuck Hahn and band, Dee Haseley (sic) and the Hoedowners, and Eddie Noack brought down the house at a three-hour stage show presented recently in Kaiserslautern, Germany.'"

After Hasley was discharged, presumably around the same time as Noack, he moved to Texas with a German wife and started a new band, the Southwesterners. Noack continued to play with this group, as San Antonio musician Ray Szcepanik remembers seeing them play locally, and kept a poster advertising Hasley's band.

Dee Hasley poster, c. 1957. Courtesy Ray Szcepanik Collection.

Hasley apparently never made a record, and I've never heard anyone except Ray mention him. So I'm posting this message hoping that somebody related to Hasley will find it, and help rescue him from complete obscurity.

UPDATE: Norman DeWitt "Dee" Hasley died in Austin April 7, 1990.

Red Hayes on Starday 164

2010-05-23T10:52:00.034-05:00

Red Hayes - A Satisfied Mind / Doggone Woman (Starday 164)

"A Satisfied Mind"

Am I the only person disturbed by the fact that Red Hayes' original version of "A Satisfied Mind" was last reissued when Lyndon Johnson was President? Apparently so. After his Starday single came and went in 1954, it appeared on a couple of various artists albums in the '50s and '60s, and then dropped off the map completely. This is partially due to the fact that it's not rockabilly, or even close to rockabilly, and therefore of no interest to the market driving reissues of '50s music; and partially because of the horrendous mismanagement of the Starday catalogue in the hands of its current Nashville keeper, the infamous used car salesman, Moe Lytle. There was a chance to correct this on a recent reissue of 1954-55 era Starday material, but "A Satisfied Mind" was left off in favor of its throwaway flipside, "Doggone Woman." I'm pretty sure Red Hayes is spinning in his grave.

Joe "Red" Hayes in the late '40s or '50s. Courtesy Kevin Coffey Collection.

This is particularly troubling because I believe that Red's original is the best version of "A Satisfied Mind." When Porter Wagoner covered it (making it a #1 hit in 1955), he introduced the vocal trio arrangement, deliberately trying to make it sound like a gospel quartet. Most subsequent versions have stuck to this idea, but I prefer Hayes's original treatment, sans the trio/quartet. There is a heartfelt simplicity to Red's vocal that I think is absent from all of the more famous renditions.

Adding insult to injury is the circulation of a completely spurious tale that involves Hayes, "A Satisfied Mind," and a UFO abduction. Colin Escott, writing about the song's origins in the recent Bear Family CD "Dim Lights, Thick Smoke, and Hillbilly Music: 1955" (which features Wagoner's version), says that there are "at least two stories" about the song's genesis. "In one, Red Hayes had an encounter with a UFO. A quasi-magnetic force pulled his arm up against the extra-terrestrial object, inflicting a burn, and, after the burn healed, Red realized that the aliens had given him a song by way of compensation."

The "other" story was the one which Hayes himself related to a journalist in 1973: "The song came from my mother. Everything in the song are things I heard her say over the years. I put a lot of thought into the song before I came up with the title. One day my father-in-law asked me who I thought the richest man in the world was, and I mentioned some names. He said, 'You're wrong, it is the man with a satisfied mind.'" Colin concludes by stating, "It's hard to know which version to believe."

No, it's not hard to know which story to believe. The story Hayes himself told is the believable one. The "story" involving a UFO abduction is an imaginative variation on the eternal theme of bullshit tall tales that musicians of less truth than tongue love to circulate among the drunk and the credulous, and should be given about as much credence as some of the more elaborate 9/11 conspiracy theories.

Red Hayes and Johnny Manson in Dallas, March, 1951. An invisible alien from Mars, Xu'chin, stands directly behind them.

Colin speculates that Hayes recorded "A Satisfied Mind" at Jack Rhodes' motel, which is on firmer ground than the UFO story, but it, too, is incorrect. Red cut this at Gold Star in Houston with his old cronies Al Petty (steel), Freddie Frank (rhythm guitar), and Leon Hayes (bass), augmented by Sonny Burns (lead guitar) and an unknown studio pianist. Singer Gene Tabor drove down with the group from Odessa, and recorded his "A Real Gone Jesse (I'm Hot to Trot)" at the same session. (Gene remembered that Eddie Noack was also present, not recording, but observing in Gold Star's control room.)

Jack Rhodes, who wasn't at the session, received co-writer credit on "A Satisfied Mind," and has been referred to as the song's co-author in the literature for the last 55 years. But did Jack, in fact, actually "co-write" it? Probably not. "He didn’t write one word of 'Satisfied Mind,'" Freddie Frank told me in 1999, "but Red was broke, and I think Jack let him have $500." Red's little brother, Kenneth "Little Red" Hayes, agreed, stating in a 1995 interview that "Jack got credit for a lot of songs he didn't write. My brother wrote 'Satisfied Mind' back in about '52. He wrote it in 15 minutes." In his 1973 quote, Red himself gives no indication that Rhodes had any hand in writing the lyrics.

Unfortunately, we don't have Rhodes' side of the story, but it's known that he would often purchase songs from others, as just about every other professional songwriter did at the time. A great deal of unnecessary finger-waving has been expended in modern music journalism toward people who purchased songs in the '50s. There was nothing controversial or underhanded about it most of the time, and it only becomes an issue when the song in question was a hit -- which, most of the time, it wasn't. If Red sold Jack an interest in the song's ownership, he had every right to be co-credited. The writer's credits on records indicate who owned the song, not who wrote it. If only modern music journalists would learn this, we would be spared a lot of nonsense.

Hayes remained a full-time musician the rest of his life, but only put out a few more records as a vocalist. He was touring with Faron Young in England when he died in 1973. He was 47.

Now, will somebody give his original version of "A Satisfied Mind" the proper reissue it deserves?

Danny Ross on Minor 104

2010-05-17T23:31:00.006-05:00

Danny Ross - You're Not in Love / Why Did I Doubt You (Minor 104)

"You're Not in Love"

"Why Did I Doubt You"

Danny Ross's earliest known record was spotlighted back in August, 2009 (heard here). This was his second release, probably recorded at Gold Star in Houston and essentially a Starday record with a different label on it. Why Starday didn't sign this guy, I have no idea. Billboard gave it two thumbs up on September 29, 1956, stating that "You're Not in Love" had "a lot of imagination in treatment" and could "sell handily in its field," but a few local spins was all it got.

*Minor 101 has still yet to be run to earth.

Billboard, September 29, 1956

Bashful Vic on Premium 101

2010-05-16T11:26:00.012-05:00

Bashful Vic (with) Charlie Frost, Glen Barber's Music Masters - Ramblin' Fool / Let Love Show Us How (Premium 101)

"Ramblin' Fool"

"Let Love Show Us How"

It's not often that previously unknown singles on Texas labels from the 78 rpm era turn up these days, but that's what we have here. Bashful Vic Thomas is known for his later "Rock and Roll Tonight" on Premium (heard here), a prime example of a country band thinking that they could jump on the rock and roll bandwagon by simply writing a song that had the words "rock and roll" in the lyrics -- leaving the steel and fiddle intact. I suspect that teenagers at the time weren't impressed, but the honky-tonkers probably thought they were being "hip" by dancing to it.

"Ramblin' Fool" is a Gold Star pressing, dating from around 1952-53. Glen Barber, whose band provides the music here, was probably still a student at Pasadena High School when he cut this. The steel guitarist is "Dusty" Carroll, and the fiddler is Charlie Frost. Musically, this is far from great, but hey, it's a group of teen-agers. Cut them some slack.

Bashful Vic lived up to his name -- I've never heard anyone on the Houston '50s scene mention him at all. After re-cutting "Ramblin' Fool" for a Nebraska label in the late '50s, he disappears from the vinyl map completely.

Thanks to Al Turner for providing the sound files and label scan.