Think of the greats in any musical genre, and you’re usually thinking of a signature sound that gives the artist a distinct presence or personality.

In jazz, it’s the difference between Dexter Gordon’s sly, behind-the-beat phrasing and John Coltrane’s timeless, searching wail.  In blues, T-Bone Walker and Magic Sam shared a common language but still seemed worlds apart, and I’d have a hard time picturing them together on the same stage.

Rare is the artist who dominates two separate genres with two radically different approaches to playing.  Exhibit A: the freakishly talented Miles Davis, who made the transition from peerless balladeer to jazz-funk pioneer.  Exhibit B: Clarence White…

Clarence White?

Yes, White is another one of those criminally ignored figures in music – a former child prodigy who revolutionized bluegrass flatpicking and went on to create a whole new vocabulary for rock guitarists.  This post looks at his unique genius from two different angles.  I’ll let Brother James, who has flatpicked his way through several north Florida bluegrass bands, comment on White’s innovative approach to his acoustic instrument of choice, the Martin D-28.  And the Rubber City’s Dan Auerbach of The Black Keys will talk about White’s other musical legacy – as a rock guitar trailblazer.

For a better appreciation of what Clarence White was able to accomplish, consider an unrivaled virtuoso like Belgian guitarist Django Reinhardt.  As you can hear from this next sample, Reinhardt couldn’t disguise his trademark sound when he made the switch from acoustic to electric guitar.  In fact, he barely altered his touch and delivery.  The sample starts with Django on acoustic and ends with one of his later performances on electric… Night and Day/Django Reinhardt (acoustic/electric)

White, on the other hand, completely transformed his basic style and approach when he moved from acoustic to electric.  In this first sample, a 20-year-old White displays his fully formed mastery of the acoustic guitar… I Am A Pilgrim/The Kentucky Colonels

On this next cut, you’ll hear what sounds like Neil Young’s more proficient cousin rocking out with an amped-up pedal steel… It’s actually White on his “B-Bender” guitar, which was specially rigged with pulleys and levers to bend the B note when he pulled down on the guitar’s neck.  And it’s from a live recording of White with The Byrds, circa 1971: Lover of the Bayou/The Byrds with Clarence White

You can argue about which Clarence you prefer – but there’s no doubt that White advanced the language of his instrument in two very different ways.

A little background… Born in 1944, Clarence White moved with his family from his hometown of Lewiston, Maine, to Burbank, California, when he was 10 years old.  He soon gained a reputation as a jaw-dropping instrumentalist, playing acoustic guitar with his brothers Roland and Eric in a bluegrass outfit called The Three Country Boys.  One early fan was Andy Griffith – that’s right, the Mayberry Man… and the Three Country Boys soon found themselves guesting on one of TV’s highest-rated shows.  Here’s a clip of Clarence and the Boys jamming with Andy:

The Three Country Boys eventually morphed into the Kentucky Colonels, who staked their claim as a groundbreaking and popular act (at least by bluegrass standards… in other words, small clubs filled with 70-80 enthusiastic fans).  The band boasted several top-notch instrumentalists, including the great fiddle player Scotty Stoneman and Clarence’s brother Roland on mandolin.  But aspiring guitar players – bluegrass and otherwise – were completely knocked out by Clarence’s blazing runs on his 1935 Martin D-28.

“The Kentucky Colonels’ ‘Appalachian Swing’ album was already seven years old when I first heard it, and I immediately got obsessed with Clarence’s acoustic style of playing,” James said.  ”It was his idiosyncratic sense of timing that separated him from his mentor, Doc Watson.”

As mandolin legend David Grisman points out (in the liner notes to White’s “33 Acoustic Guitar Instrumentals”): “When we used to do ‘Bury Me Beneath the Willow,’ he would play the guitar part a whole quarter of a measure off.  He was into screwing with time, but in a very accurate way so that you knew what he meant.”

Here’s the tune Grisman is describing… Bury Me Beneath the Willow/Clarence White

Joseph Spence

“One thing that puzzled me about Clarence’s innovation is that it didn’t seem to come from anywhere,” James said.  ”Doc Watson didn’t play like that.  And although it’s often mentioned that he listened to Django Reinhardt, I don’t hear so much of that in his playing.  Then I read a quote from Byrds bassist Chris Hillman saying he ‘probably’ got it from Bahamian guitarist Joseph Spence.  I don’t know if Hillman was speaking from experience, but it makes perfect sense.  Spence’s wildly syncopated playing, with its bizarre, unexpected accents, is very similar to what Clarence was doing.”  Case in point… Don’t Take Everybody To Be Your Friend/Joseph Spence

I think it’s safe to say that Clarence was the very definition of a “musician’s musician.”  In some circles – mainly, bluegrass and alternative country pickers – you can simply say “Clarence” and everyone knows who you’re talking about.  From a performance standpoint, he showed little flash or showmanship.  In fact, his stoic stage presence seemed to say “I’m just the guitar player, here to serve the song.”  And he maintained this stoicism throughout his career, even while playing in front of whacked-out rock fans at the Fillmore.

White began experimenting with the electric guitar during the latter part of his stint with the Kentucky Colonels, and he stuck with it after the band fell apart in 1965.  This led to the next significant stage of Clarence’s career – doing session work for a host of acts that were part of the West Coast’s quickly evolving country music scene.  “Nashville West” was the term used to describe California’s answer to the dominant sound of country music in the early- to mid-Sixties – and it was also the name of a band that White joined to play assorted dives and honky-tonks in El Monte and other towns around Los Angeles.

By then, Bakersfield had become the Western hub of country music – where Merle Haggard and Buck Owens developed a tougher, more visceral alternative to the “countrypolitan” sound that Nashville had perfected.  Owens even made an impression on the Beatles, who covered Act Naturally with a winning vocal by Ringo, and Owens returned the favor by incorporating some Beatle-esque flourishes into his own sound.

White did a fair amount of studio work in Bakersfield, but I wouldn’t mistake him for Roy Nichols – the guitarist of choice for Merle Haggard… If you’re not familiar with the Bakersfield Sound, here’s a textbook example – the biting intro to Merle’s The Bottle Let Me Down (Nichols follows the pedal steel)… The Bottle Let Me Down/Merle Haggard

Although just as far from mid-Sixties Nashville, White’s playing was more open and experimental than Nichols’ hard twang.  This next tune was recorded in 1968 at the El Monte nightclub that gave White’s band its name – it shows just how far outside Clarence was willing to take his sound in a live setting: Ode to Billy Joe/Nashville West

Of course he had to pay the bills, too.  So he logged countless hours doing studio sessions for West Coast artists like Gene Clark and the Gosdin Brothers.  Here’s a number that also was covered by Owens’ guitarist Don Rich… It’s from an uneven but entertaining collection of White’s studio work – ”Tuff and Stringy Sessions: 1966-1968″: Buckaroo/Clarence White

White began playing with The Byrds in 1966, initially in the role of studio mercenary.  In fact, he contributed to three albums – most significantly, adding some fine string-bending to several cuts on the classic “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” – before he was asked to join the band in 1968 following the departure of vocalist Gram Parsons and multi-instrumentalist/original member Chris Hillman (an old friend of White’s).

“For me, it was all about the B-Bender,” said Auerbach.  “No one else had even thought of doing it – taking a Telecaster and making it sound like a pedal steel – until Clarence and Gene Parsons (The Byrds’ drummer) got together.  I think Clarence had the idea and Parsons came up with the functionality, which included using banjo tuners to bend a few other strings.

“At the time, a lot of rockers were moving toward country – and Clarence was already completely immersed in hard country and bluegrass.  He simply took those elements and incorporated them into rock ‘n roll, and it totally blew people’s minds… still does,” Dan added.

“The Byrds Live at the Fillmore West (February 1969)” may not be a favorite among rock critics, but it’s certainly one of Dan’s most treasured discs.  “I could barely listen to studio tracks by The Byrds after hearing ‘Fillmore West,’” Dan says.  “Even Clarence’s studio work sounds too polished compared to the Fillmore stuff.  I think it showcases Clarence’s very best playing on the electric.  Roger McGuinn is basically recycling Dylan on the 12-string – which ain’t bad, because he’s playing solid rhythm.  But Clarence and Parsons are completely locked in and making each other sound better than ever.  Parsons’ playing is muscular, but real country too.  It’s like they were both leading the same revolution, because they came from country but really understood how to play rock ‘n roll.”

Listen to how Clarence plays fills around McGuinn’s vocals in this medley of The Byrds’ hits (first Turn! Turn! Turn!, then Mr. Tamborine Man, then Eight Miles High): Medley: Turn! Turn! Turn/The Byrds with Clarence White

The album moves seamlessly between these rockers and almost hard-core honky tonk, where Clarence and Parsons really get to strut their stuff: Drug Store Truck Drivin’ Man/The Byrds with Clarence White

White played with The Byrds until they broke up in 1973.  But even before he left the band, his playing began to come full circle as he returned to his bluegrass roots.  You can especially hear it in the title song and Bristol Steam Convention Blues from The Byrds’ last album, “Farther Along,” released in 1971.  This next cut shows that White also was no slouch as a singer – he had a distinct and soulful delivery (in a nasal, Dylanesque sort of way) that worked well in harmonies with his bandmates in The Byrds as well as with his brother Roland… Farther Along/The Byrds

Two years later, White recorded a few songs with bluegrass standouts David Grisman (mandolin), Richard Greene (fiddle). Bill Keith (banjo) and Peter Rowan (vocals/guitar).  These recordings, under the name “Muleskinner,” are mostly traditional bluegrass in the Bill Monroe vein.

“I spent a couple of years trying to unlock the secrets of Appalachian Swing when the newly formed Muleskinner band appeared on TV, and I was amazed,” James said.  ”Clarence had refined his style, using a flatpick and two fingers instead of just a flatpick, and playing fewer notes, just the essential ones.  His unique timing was still there, but even more complex and quirky.  It was brilliant… sent me right back to the drawing board.  I can only imagine what he might be doing today.”

James especially likes Clarence’s solo on this straight-ahead bluegrass number from Muleskinner: Dark Hollow/Muleskinner

White left us way too soon.  He was killed by a drunk driver on July 15, 1973, while loading equipment into a van parked outside of a Los Angeles night club.  He’d just finished a reunion gig with his brother Roland and other members of the Kentucky Colonels.

Here’s a little taste of what could have been – a long-lost recording of the White Brothers on tour in Sweden, 1973.  In a way, this mini-tour was a reunion of White’s very first band, The Three Country Boys, as brothers Roland and Eric were part of the lineup billed as “The New Kentucky Colonels” (banjo player Bill Keith made it a quartet).  Full circle indeed… New River Train/The White Brothers: Live in Sweden, 1973

More Clarence on video… Here’s a great artifact from the Sixties – Clarence and The Byrds playing on “Playboy After Dark.”  Dig the black dude boogalooing up front!

And here’s a video from 1969 – from Earl Scruggs’ “Family & Friends Festival of Music” – where Scruggs and his hippie friends eventually get around to playing the same tune:

Time to dig through the old mail bag and respond to a few comments about previous posts… Most of these comments show up on the blog, but a few others take a more direct route – either via email or in conversations with friends and family members.  And, of course, a few are better left unsaid, either because I didn’t understand them or don’t need explicit instructions on how to pound foreign objects into a certain orifice.

If reader comments are any indication, I could have posted many more Christmas favorites on “Those Chimeless Holiday Classics.”  Here’s a couple… Mark from Owensville believes I overlooked Charles Brown’s Merry Christmas Baby with the enduring line “I’m all lit up like a Christmas tree.”  And Bill from St. Augustine is partial to the Blind Boys of Alabama’s “Go Tell It On The Mountain” – one of those projects that pulled together a small army of special guests from every conceivable genre (Bill Clinton???).  I don’t have that one, but I do have a cut from the Blind Boys’ 2001 release, “Spirit of the Century”… What’s Christmas without a song written by Tom Waits?  (The nasty slide is a little gift from David Lindley.) Jesus Gonna Be Here/The Blind Boys of Alabama

The video of Free with a young Paul Rodgers – from “Superhits of the Seventies (and Pass the Sausage)” – seemed to resonate with those of you who grew up listening to that vitally important sub-genre of music known as “stoner rock.”  Dan didn’t (unless you count G Love and Special Sauce), but he prefers another Free/Rodgers video on youtube – Fire and Water…

Many comments about the Wood Brothers cut from “Loaded,” featured on “Tim’s Top Six.”  They truly are a great find and I have to give full credit to Brother James for turning me on to them.  As I mentioned in the post, I was familiar with Chris Woods’ funky bass on cuts by Medeski, Martin and Wood, but I had no idea he had some Stanley Brothers in him too.  The first Wood Brothers release might even be better than the second, if that’s possible… Here’s one of my favorite tunes from “Ways Not To Lose”: Glad/The Wood Brothers

Young Joscha from Germany thought the opening to Storm Warning by Dr. John had an influence on Dan’s Heartbroken, In Disrepair from his 2009 solo release, “Keep it Hid.”  I’ll let you be the judge.  Storm Warning is featured on “New Orleans Nuggets,” and here’s the video for Heartbroken – filmed near Marfa, Texas, with members of Hacienda, who hail from San Antonio… and My Morning Jacket’s Patrick Hallahan, who’s a Louisville boy.

Joscha complained about my poor treatment of his beloved Led Zeppelin in “Superhits.”  But I fully admit to being under the spell of the blimp back in my high school days (hey, I’m from Akron).  By the way, I recently saw Lucinda Williams and her hot-shit band on Austin City Limits… Right in the middle of her tune Joy (from “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road”), they launched into the signature riff from Zep’s Heartbreaker.  It was freakin’ awesome!  Here’s another riff that’s been rattling around in my head for 30-some years… The Ocean/Led Zeppelin

In his comment to ”Little Walter, By the Book,” Jose mentioned that his dad turned him on to Walter by playing him Muddy Waters’ Forty Days and Forty Nights.  Here’s Walter’s scorching harp solo from that number… Forty Days & Forty Nights/Muddy Waters with Little Walter

Finally, Danny Horn liked the cuts featured on “Superhits” but wanted to hear a little more of the late Jesse Ed Davis, the guitarist with the slippery, soulful touch on Taj Mahal’s early albums.  Here’s Jesse Ed stretching out on a cut written by Garth Hudson and Robbie Robertson from The Band and featured on Taj’s 1969 release, ”Giant Step”…  Mister Davis! Bacon Fat/Taj Mahal with Jesse Ed Davis

Brother James returns with more photographs taken during several visits to Cuba over the past decade.  He provides his usual commentary under each photo, and I’ve decided to weigh in with a few of my favorite Cuban songs.

Life in Cuba remains harsh for many who live there – but obviously not nearly as hellish as conditions in Haiti.  Fortunately, the same technology that enables us to share the most mundane details of our daily lives has made it easier than ever to give.  So if you’re not a heartless prick like Rush Limbaugh, text “HAITI” to 90999 to donate $10 to the relief effort.  Or give more by going here.

J.Q.: I took this photo in Habana Vieja – Old Havana… just a group of kids coming home from school on a rainy day.  I was trying to take a picture of this interesting-looking street corner, and the kids came into the frame, playing for the camera.  The red-spotted car turning the corner added another nice element at the last second.

T.Q.: Originally from Santa Clara, pianist Ruben Gonzalez moved to Havana in 1940 and soon became a fixture in the city’s rich music scene.  He retired in 1980 but later returned to playing and recording when Ry Cooder recruited him in 1996 to take part in the Buena Vista Social Club project.  I love the timeless vibe of his solo recordings from the same period – and especially this cut from the slyly titled “Introducing… Ruben Gonzalez.”  He continued to live and perform in Havana until he passed away in 2003 at the age of 84. Mandinga/Ruben Gonzalez

J.Q.: This bar in central Havana opens out onto the street, where I took the picture using a tripod and a touch of flash.  Luckily, no one paid any attention to me.  Everyone seemed alone and lost in their own thoughts.  La Metropolitana has since received a facelift – it’s not nearly as cool today as when I took this shot.

J.Q.: I think this is a bridesmaid with her father and brother, getting ready for a wedding.  Looks like the boy is the ring-bearer – either that or just helping out.  It’s sort of a custom in Cuba for the bridal party to leave the ceremony in an immaculately restored ‘50s car to show off a little bit.  And, as you can tell, they have a great one for the occasion.

T.Q.: In “Cuba, Direct,” James noted that these restored American cars reminded him of the popular Havana band Los Zafiros.  Their sound was a unique mix of doo wop and the surf-influenced guitar of Manuel Galban.  In 2003, Galban won a Grammy for “Mambo Sinuendo,” a collaboration with Ry Cooder that sounds a little more unhinged than you might think.  It’s a playful mix of Latin rhythms and cocktail-lounge exotica, perfect for the bubbling Wurlitzer.  Here’s a tune by mambo king Perez Prado that Link Wray toyed with back in 1958. Patricia/Manuel Galban and Ry Cooder

J.Q.: This is a line of people waiting to get into a store – a common occurrence in Holguin, which is in the northeastern part of Cuba.  They’re trying to get into sort of a Cuban version of the Dollar Store… but with a lot less merchandise.  Customers line up early to get a chance at actually buying something before there’s nothing left to buy.  Cubans who are able to visit the states are always a little overwhelmed by places like Wal-Mart and Best Buy.

T.Q.: Holguin is the birthplace of the late composer and tres player Faustino Oramas, also known as “El Guayabero” (the name of his most famous song).  He was considered the last of the traditional trovadors – Cuban singer-songwriters who primarily played guitar or tres.  Oramas performed until he was 94… He died the next year, in 2007.  One of his compositions, Candela, is a highlight of Buena Vista Social Club.  Here’s another song by Oramas, performed by Social Club member Ibrahim Ferrer and Teresita Garcia Caturia: Marieta/Ibrahim Ferrer

J.Q.: I found these two well-dressed young ladies on the streets of Pinar del Rio, in the western part of Cuba.

J.Q.: This guy’s name is Tony King.  He claimed to be a conga player on some classic Cuban recording sessions.  To prove it, he started drumming on the table along with the music on the jukebox.  I actually was more interested in the guys conversing intently behind him – kind of odd and mysterious… and why are they wearing the same hats?  I took this shot in a bar in Central Havana that doesn’t exactly cater to tourists… I probably wouldn’t have gone in there but the mural caught my eye.

T.Q.: Ti Mon Bo… shorthand for three master percussionists:  Tito Puente, Mongo Santamaria and Willie Bobo.  Only one was from Cuba – conguero Mongo (Tito and Willie grew up in Spanish Harlem).  All three were heavily influenced by the island’s rhythms.  This is simply Latin percussion at its best, from Tito’s 1957 album “Top Percussion”: Ti Mon Bo/Tito Puente, Mongo Santamaria and Willie Bobo

J.Q.: This is a Cuban flamingo group, entertaining at a social function in Baracoa, which is on the far eastern end of Cuba.  They were performing at a despedida, or goodbye party, for our small group of Cuban and American photographers.  We had come together for “Shared Vision” – basically, a cross-cultural photography project documenting life in Baracoa.  I was captivated by the colors and the movement of the skirts.  A bit later, a Cuban woman scolded me for never putting away my camera.

T.Q.: “Cuba, Direct” also featured a cut by bassist/composer Israel “Cachao” Lopez – a formal “danzon” that you’d typically hear at official functions or parties.  Cachao’s nephew, Orlando “Cachaito” (Little Chachao) Lopez, made his mark playing in influential Cuban bands like the Riverside Orchestra and Irakere.  He was another member of Buena Vista Social Club who went on to record under his own name following BVSC’s huge success.  All of these solo projects have their merits, but Cachaito’s is my favorite – more experimental and far-ranging than the rest.  This one gets a reggae-dub treatment and features the legendary Hugh Masekela on flugelhorn.  Cachaito died last year – the sixth original member of BVSC to pass away since its ’96 release. Tumbanga/Orlando “Cachaito” Lopez

J.Q. I caught these guys clowning around with their machetes at a sugar mill near Jovellanos, located in Cuba’s western Matanzas Province.  Basically, the sugar cane goes up a conveyor belt into a machine that strips off the husks, pieces of which are raining down on them.  This debris, called bagazo, is gathered up and burned in big piles to get rid of it.  You can barely see the smoke from one of those burning piles in the background.

T.Q.: One of Cuba’s greatest musical innovators, Arsenio Rodriguez, was from Matanzas Province.  His main instrument was the Cuban tres guitar, which is used to play bass patterns as well as melodic lead lines.  Rodriguez is credited with bringing a stronger African influence to Cuban music – adding congas to give the traditional “son” form a more driving, propulsive rhythm.  He’s also considered the originator of son montuno… Think of a great vocalist like Celia Cruz improvising between the repeated choruses of her backup singers – then throw in hot solos by first-rate musicians on trumpet, piano, percussion, etc.  That’s basically son montuno… which means that a lot of modern salsa and Latin music can be traced back directly to Rodriguez.  Here’s one of his classic recordings: Para Bailar El Montuno/Arsenio Rodriguez

J.Q.: This guy was leading his horses to shore after washing them in Rio Miel in Baracoa.  I had to get into the river to take the shot.  Local legend has it that once you bathe in Rio Miel, you always come back to Baracoa.  I’ve been back twice since.

J.Q.: This is a family of cocoteros – workers who climb trees to harvest coconuts, husk them and then sell the good stuff to the state.  They live near Baracoa… very nice family that I’ve gone back to visit several times.  They always treat me like royalty.  As you can see, they’re just happy to get their photo taken together.  One daughter is hugging the father, and another apparently decided that he shouldn’t have his hat on for the photo.  They’re probably part Taino – Indians who lived in Cuba when Columbus arrived.  It’s said that “son” – the basis of many forms of Latin music, including salsa – originated in this part of the country.

T.Q.: In 2001, Rhino Records released “El Son No Ha Muerto” (The Son Has Not Died), a fine collection of songs featuring the trademark Cuban rhythm.  Here’s one by Cuba’s favorite sonero, Beny More.  It’s a great example of the driving, big band sound that ruled the island in the Fifties. Me Gusta Mas El Son/Beny More

J.Q.: Seems like a good photo to end with… This is the bridge to Boca de Miel – a little fishing town at the mouth of Rio Miel.  I saw this old man walking across the bridge.  Just as I got my camera ready he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.  I think he just wanted to see what I was taking a picture of.

T.Q.: And here’s a good tune to close with – by Eliades Ochoa who, thankfully, is still alive. La Comparsa/Eliades Ochoa

Eliades Ochoa and James Quine,
Santiago de Cuba

Newly promoted to Keyboard Correspondent for Rubber City Review, Brother Jack is back with this look at the wonderful Otis Spann – a true giant of the blues piano…

If you were looking to broaden your musical horizons back in the Sixties, Ann Arbor was a great place to visit.  I was there at the time doing grad study in mathematics at the University of Michigan, but there were plenty of distractions.

Skip James

Ann Arbor was a hotbed of folk music in those days, thanks to places like the Ark Coffeehouse and the Canterbury House.  Blues players were everywhere – especially guitar pickers who played in the style of Mississippi John Hurt and Rev. Gary Davis.  Great performers like David Bromberg would breeze through town on a regular basis. There were “hoots” and jam sessions where you could test you own skills.  Skip James, a true blues legend, played at the Canterbury House once.  What a treat.  He was known for his guitar playing and keening voice, but he also displayed a unique piano style.

I played the acoustic guitar, but piano was my instrument.  Commander Cody was playing locally then, doing his best Jerry Lee Lewis on the ivories.  His act was good and gave me some inspiration, but guitar players ruled.  It was hard to find a piano to play, but there were a few places where I could sneak in and practice.  In my mind, I knew it was possible to get that great blues feel on the piano, but I had no idea how.

I discovered an Otis Spann LP at my favorite record store near the Michigan campus.  The album was in a series called “Archive of Folk Music” and the notes on the back of the album proclaimed that  “folk music cannot be ‘manufactured.’  Most of these efforts are rather slick and facile popularizations of either traditional tunes or ‘composed’ folk tunes.  Though pleasant, these are not folk music.”

This was the philosophy of the times, so I bought the album and quickly found that Otis was my man.  This was deep blues.  Couldn’t get much deeper.  I dropped the needle on vinyl and began trying to uncover the secrets of his playing.  It was a great sound.  The guitarists could have their Blind Blake and Blind Lemon Jefferson and Blind Willie McTell.  I would take Otis Spann.

In keeping with musical trends in the ‘60s, record companies emphasized the folk traditions of the city blues, and Otis was folk, certainly not manufactured.  He learned his craft from the local Mississippi players and from his mentor in Chicago, Big Maceo Merriweather.  He didn’t stray from the three-chord basis of the blues, but he found new inventiveness within it.  He was slick and facile in the best sense of the words, and earned a reputation as the greatest of the Chicago blues piano players.

Otis Spann was born in Mississippi but moved to Chicago about 1946 – part of that influx of workers and musicians from the South, the same one that brought Muddy Waters to the city.  Otis began playing with Muddy in 1951 and remained a steady presence in his band until he was replaced by Pinetop Perkins in 1969.

He came from a tradition where the piano player was king of the juke joint, but adapted well to the city blues where he had to compete with amplified guitars and harmonicas.  He became Muddy’s mainstay.  Muddy gave him some space and, with his powerful attack, Otis drove the band on many of the tunes.   Listen to how he kicks off I Feel Good and how Muddy starts whooping when the rhythm starts cooking. I Feel Good

To show how the style of Otis developed beyond his mentor Big Maceo, I put together a makeshift jam session where Maceo plays the first chorus of Worried Life Blues and Otis plays the second. Worried Life Blues/Big Maceo and Otis Spann

Otis filled the spaces with blues scales and moved easily from the top to the bottom of the keyboard.  He also clearly learned a few things from another great Chicago piano player who came up from the Delta, Sunnyland Slim.

Spann’s version of Worried Life Blues is from a 1963 session in Copenhagen for Storyville records.  Once again, we owe the Brits and Europeans a great debt for preserving our music heritage (all is forgiven, Brits – 1776, Herman’s Hermits, Engelbert Humperdinck and all that).  The Storyville tracks have been assembled under different titles, and can be found on iTunes as Blues Masters, Vol. 10.  Otis played mostly solo on these, and without drums or guitars to compete with him, he opened up to show the breadth of his vocal and piano style.  These are my favorite recordings of Otis Spann.  Hear how the gentle tapping of his foot and his subtle bass line drive the rhythm better than any drummer. Love Love Love

I loved it when Otis played rumbling solos down in the bass, something you rarely hear from other players.  The smoothness of his playing brings to mind only one other person for me:  Jimmy Smith on the organ. T.B. Blues

If you want to play like Otis, there is help.  First, learn how to play the piano.  Next, get the musical transcription of his solo from the song Diving Duck.  This is from an excellent book of transcriptions called “The Best of Blues Piano,” by Todd Lowry, published by Hal Leonard.

Here’s where things get a little more technical than usual for RCR, but I’ll be brief.  Otis is very hard to transcribe.  He didn’t think in terms of three or four notes to the beat, but played however many notes he felt like squeezing in.  Take a look at part of the transcription of what he’s playing with his right hand.  Don’t worry if you can’t read music – you’ll get the basic idea.

Counting 4 bars to the measure, you can see it shows sometimes 7, 8, 9 or 10 notes to the beat and a lot of notes altogether for 9 measures, especially if you include glissandos and tremolos.  Here is what it actually sounded like (only the first part of the solo is notated): Diving Duck

So Otis wasn’t a pianist or composer in the European sense.  He was just playing the blues.  He was the blues.

With his easy rhythm and poignant lyrics, Otis had a unique style.  As opposed to Muddy’s braggadocio, Otis preferred lyrics like “I been walkin’  ‘side the river, just me and myself alone,” or “If you got to leave me, baby, please set me free.”  But he could still barrelhouse with the best.  It’s easy to see why he is called the Sweet Giant of the Blues.

The story of Otis largely follows the story of Muddy, and there are some great anecdotes about Otis in the book “Can’t Be Satisfied, the Life and Times of Muddy Waters,” by Robert Gordon.  (This book is also mentioned in the Oct. 21 RCR blog “Little Walter, By the Book.”)

Booze finally took its toll, and Otis Spann died in 1970.  He was only 40.  Muddy said of Spann, “There is no one left like him who plays real, solid bottom blues like he does.  We’d better raise another before it’s too late.”  Sunnyland Slim, on the other hand, lived and performed until he was 87.  If Otis had taken better care of himself, maybe he’d still be around delivering that solid bottom blues.

Thanks to footage available on youtube (and also the film “Piano Blues” by Clint Eastwood), you can still be astounded by vintage Otis Spann on video.  I can’t help but think, where was iTunes and youtube when I was digging through the Ann Arbor record stores?

A final note… The only person I know of who took lessons from Otis Spann is rock ‘n roll survivor Al Kooper.   In his book “Backstage Passes and Backstabbing Bastards,” he recounts getting several two-hour lessons from Otis in exchange for dinners.   I hope Al will someday tell us what he learned… maybe write another book called “Otis Spann in Six Easy Lessons”?

Several posts ago, we waxed poetic about Cincinnati’s King Records – home to legendary American artists ranging from the Stanley Brothers to James Brown.  But King wasn’t the only act in town.  Here’s part two of the story, a look back at Fraternity Records and “the Wham of that Memphis Man,” Lonnie Mack.  This post also includes a few more quotes from Shad O’Shea, a former Cincinnati record man, radio personality and raconteur who passed away in June of last year.

In the Fifties and Sixties, you had to look real hard in Cincinnati to find evidence of Fraternity Records, other than its occasional presence on the charts.  In fact, the local label probably went unnoticed by thousands of people who slept in the same building – the Sheraton Gibson (now the site of the downtown Westin Hotel).

That’s where Harry Carlson rented out a suite and did business through most of that period.  An aspiring songwriter and former big-band horn player from Nebraska, Carlson had developed relationships over the years with DJs and industry reps around the country.  From his hotel suite, he made deals with both local and national artists, and then jobbed out the actual recording to independent studios – including one in Chicago operated by another big-band veteran.  From there the master tapes were sent back to Room 105 at the Sheraton, where Carlson would listen to them and make the appropriate changes.  He would then send the tapes to a pressing plant in Indianapolis, where RCA took over distribution of the final product nationwide.  In other words, this was the antithesis of the huge King operation.

A good example of the Fraternity approach was in the off-handed way that the biggest chart hit to come out of Cincinnati was handled.  “Fraternity called me up and wanted me to go in and record a couple of songs,” said Lonnie Mack, the influential rock guitarist who lived just across the state line in southeastern Indiana.  “I went ahead and taped them and then left for a tour in Florida.  A friend drove down later and said he’d been listening to Memphis on the radio all the way down.” Memphis/Lonnie Mack

The year was 1963.  The song was an instrumental cover of the mild Chuck Berry hit.  Mack had worked it up as a fast-fingered guitar showcase while performing locally with his band, the Twilighters.  He scored again on Fraternity that same year with another hot instrumental – an original called Wham.  Here’s the unforgettable opening: Wham/Lonnie Mack

Several other Cincinnati and regional artists gained national exposure with hits on Fraternity.  Bobby Bare’s All American Boy made it to Number 1 in 1959, and Bare went on to a successful recording career in country music.  As late as 1967, the Casinos scored a big hit with Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye, recorded at King Studios.  Other acts on the Fraternity label included Jackie Shannon (later Jackie DeShannon), Jimmy Dorsey (who passed away shortly after hitting Number 1 in ’57 with So Rare), Cathy Carr (scoring in ’56 with Ivory Tower), and Dale Wright with the Rock-Its, another Cincinnati act that climbed the carts, with She’s Neat.

Here’s All American Boy, which was recorded as kind of an Elvis parody and originally attributed to Bare’s friend Bill Parsons when Fraternity mislabeled the single: All American Boy/Bobby Bare

Shad O’Shea became part of the Fraternity legend by buying the label from Harry Carlson for $25,000 back in 1975.  “You don’t buy a legend for $1.98,” he added.

Shad O'Shea

A former top-rated DJ in the Sixties, O’Shea recorded a number of novelty singles on the Fraternity label under such dubious nom de plumes as Gonzales Bonaparte, Hy Bush and the Wild Cranberries, and Shad O’Shea and the McHamburger Helpers – local vanity projects that help keep the label alive until it faded away in the 1980s.  He also ran his own independent studio in the Cincinnati area and recorded artists for a number of other labels.

O’Shea felt it was his responsibility to put some life back into pop music.  “Rock and roll today is no fun,” he said back in 1982, when various hair bands were taking themselves way too seriously on the fledgling MTV network.  “It’s overproduced and too sophisticated – people just don’t get excited and stomp their feet anymore.  I’ll take those old records any day.  They were fun, invigorating, innocuous and, above all, exciting.”

The success of King and Fraternity records was directly based on that excitement, which is undeniable when you listen to the singles cut in Cincinnati by Lonnie Mack, Bobby Bare, Little Willie John, James Brown and many others.

That Memphis Man…

In ‘82, I had the good fortune of hunting down Mack at a small club just off Route 50 in Aurora, Indiana.  One door went into the bar, where some serious drinking was taking place, and the other went into the Party Room, where Mack and his band were playing to a fairly sparse crowd.  Cover charge: $1.50.

I was joined by a fellow writer who used the alias Harleigh Marlowe and lived with a stripper who worked the clubs across the river from Cincinnati in Newport, Kentucky (subject for another post?).  I’ll let Marlowe pick it up from there:

Latter-day Lonnie

“We could see a sort of Charlie Daniels-ish figure slide quickly in place behind a mike, buckling on a dusky red Flying V guitar.  He had a big salt-and-pepper beard, an even bigger paunch, a deeply carved cowboy hat with adornments folded in, and levis and cowboy boots with real pointy toes.  Our eyes kept going back to the Flying V, though, mainly due to the authority and power in the blues runs coming out of it.  Make no mistake, that is Lonnie Mack up there, with more rock ‘n roll history in that red guitar of his than any other in the world except, of course, Chuck Berry’s.”

The locals seemed fairly disinterested until Mack launched into his hit, Memphis, which managed to get just about everyone out on the dance floor.  As Marlowe pointed out, “There is a certain respect for the great old songs, even if there is not automatic respect for the great old musicians.”

We were especially impressed with Mack’s voice – a gritty, powerful wonder.  Although we were aware of the “blue-eyed soul” songs he cut with Fraternity – tunes like Why and Satisfied – it still was a revelation hearing him sing up close and in person.  Here’s a fine vocal performance from 1963… Farther On Up The Road/Lonnie Mack

We introduced ourselves to Mack during a break and had a nice chat.  He was gracious and sincere, and seemed to appreciate the fact that we knew more than a few things about his music.  At the time, there were rumors that “personal problems” were holding up his career (we wisely chose to avoid that subject).  Mack mentioned that he’d been doing some work with Ronnie Hawkins in Canada, mostly playing oldies, and that seemed to him like a good place to start things up again.

Lonnie and Stevie Ray

Shortly after our visit, Mack moved to Texas and reconnected with Stevie Ray Vaughan, whose own career was beginning to take off.  Vaughan remained a strong friend and supporter throughout Mack’s comeback, which began with the 1985 release of his first album on Alligator Records, “Strike Like Lightning” (the album features a Mack-Vaughan guitar duet on a remake of Wham, re-titled Double Whammy).

You can find a surprisingly detailed and colorful look at Mack’s career on Wikipedia, of all places.  It includes an interesting account of his presence on The Doors’ “Morrison Hotel” sessions (apparently, he played some, if not all, of the guitar parts on Roadhouse Blues).  He also did a brief stint in a corporate job at Elektra Records, where he produced a gospel version of Let It Be and tried, but failed, to release it before the Beatles’ own version came out.  Mack currently lives in rural Tennessee, where he is reportedly working on a memoir.

Hope you’re doing well, Lonnie… Your Rubber City fan club (including its youngest member, Dan Auerbach) wishes you the best.

For you gear-heads out there… Lonnie Mack got that rich, swirling sound by playing his Gibson Flying V (he had the seventh one ever made) through a Magnatone amp, and using his guitar’s “whammy bar” to subtly bend a few notes for added effect.  Back in the late Fifties, Magnatone began offering the first amps with “true vibrato,” using electronic circuits to create cyclic changes in pitch.  Other amps claimed to offer vibrato but in fact could only muster a tremolo effect (cyclic changes in volume).  Then there was the Leslie speaker system (commonly used with the B3 organ) – sort of a hybrid that produced obvious changes in volume with the unit’s rotating speaker as well as a subtle vibrato through the resulting doppler effect.  That’s as far as I’m willing, or able, to take that technical discussion.

Vibrato vs. tremolo aside, Mack’s sound was truly unique – and he admits to copping it from Robert Ward, who at the time was living and gigging some 50 miles north of Cincinnati in Dayton.  A native of Georgia, Ward formed the Ohio Untouchables (who later became the Ohio Players) in 1960 – three years before Mack’s groundbreaking singles were released on Fraternity.  Ward’s amplifier of choice?  The Magnatone.  Here’s Ward backing a young Wilson Pickett in a tune recorded at Cincinnati’s King Studios in 1962…  I think it’s fairly easy to hear the strong influence that Ward had on Mack: I Found A Love/The Falcons (Wilson Pickett with Robert Ward)

Lonnie Mack on Video… Not a lot to choose from, but the opening to Stop – recorded at Carnegie Hall in 1985 – shows you how Mack worked the whammy bar on his Flying V to add a little more emphasis to his “vibrato-drenched” sound.  It also serves as ample proof of his soulful singing.  Stick with the Dickey Betts interview – Lonnie starts playing about 30 seconds in…

Rock-A-Bop… The androgynous-looking woman with the pompadour on the cover of “All American Rock ‘n’ Roll” is Sparkle Moore, better known to her family in Omaha as Barbara Morgan (a lot of aliases in this post… Mack was born Lonnie McIntosh, and Marlowe’s girlfriend used the less-than-original stage name Pussy Galore).  In case you’re wondering what Sparkle’s 1956 Fraternity single Rock-A-Bop sounds like, here it is… Not what I’d call essential rockabilly, but still entertaining: Rock-A-Bop/Sparkle Moore

Here’s another “Editors’ Pick” from blogcritics.  It asks the important questions: Would Don Draper approve of the Big-O jingle?  And, can one company bring happiness and harmony to our community?

Don Draper: ad genius

Those of us who live in Northeast Ohio often use simple catch-phrases as shorthand for big, sprawling topics.  “The Drive,” “The Fumble” and “The Shot” elicit the usual sad, knowing looks as we reflect on several decades of heartbreak and misery involving our major sports teams.  “Burning river” is used to boil down a host of environmental issues.  And “The Buzzard” gives us a handy “two-fer” – describing an annual sense of renewal in the town of Hinckley (where the turkey vultures return each March) as well as a radio station that played bad rock in the Eighties.

The editorial team here at Rubber City Radio would like to add another catch-phrase to the list – the “Big O.”  And I’m not referring to those crappy commercials that equate sexual fulfillment with the act of shopping online for overstocked merchandise.

I’m talking about the greatest advertising jingle ever used to flog a product.  No, let me rephrase that – used in an attempt to create a new world order, based on one company’s vigilant efforts to bring a little taste of sunshine and happiness to people who desperately needed both.

First, a little background on that company: Lawson’s…  Its humble roots date back to 1939, when one J.J. Lawson opened a small store at his dairy plant in nearby Cuyahoga Falls.  Lawson’s eventually became a chain of convenience stores, mostly in Ohio, that was owned and operated by Consolidated Foods.  Then the corporate picture got a lot murkier, with the typical parade of mergers and acquisitions and name changes (if you want the sordid details, go to Wikipedia).

The thing I like the most about Lawson-Japan is its corporate philosophy (and I’m not making this up): “Happiness and harmony in our community.”  That’s a lot to expect from a convenience store, isn’t it?  But maybe the good folks at Lawson-Japan were inspired by this nugget of wisdom from Don Draper, the creative centerpiece of the show Mad Men: “Advertising is based on one thing: happiness.  And do you know what happiness is?  Happiness is the smell of a new car.  It’s freedom from fear.  It’s a billboard on the side of a road that screams with reassurance that whatever you’re doing is OK.”

Or, a banner in the office that reads “Happiness and harmony in our community.”  But enough with the corporate jibber-jabber.  Let’s get right to the good stuff…  Here’s the mac-daddy of jingles – dramatically embellished in this commercial that seemed to run non-stop on Cleveland TV back in the early Seventies:

Is it true?  Did they really make it up here in 40 hours?  Did one man really sleep while the other one drove?  How fresh was that stuff?  Or, as Draper might ask, does it really matter?  It’s like he told the guys at American Tobacco: we can say whatever we want.

Maybe the more important question is, does it make you happy?  I was with family and friends at a party a while back and we found ourselves reminiscing about the Big-O jingle.  (Here’s another Draperism: “Nostalgia… It’s delicate, but potent.”)  Before long, we were singing the whole damn thing at the top of our lungs – and of course, we knew every precious lyric.

Happiness and harmony, achieved.

I have this theory about the Beach Boys… that people who live in northern, land-locked areas, where it’s brutally cold nearly half of the year, have little patience for their well-crafted odes to the surfer lifestyle.  And this theory has, for the most part, proven true – although it doesn’t begin to explain why people in the Midwest have no problem dressing up like Carmen Miranda to go to Jimmy Buffett concerts.

Great Northern Parrothead

One thing is certain:  There are few greater pleasures in rock ‘n roll than a finely executed surf instrumental.  And if you expand the definition to include “surf-influenced” songs, then you bring into the tent some of the best guitarists of any genre – from Link Wray and Lonnie Mack to Freddie King and Albert Collins.

Sure, there are the classic surf instrumentals that even my mother could reel off – Walk Don’t Run by the Ventures, Telstar by the Tornados, Wipe Out by the Surfaris, Misirlou by Dick Dale and the Del-Tones, Pipeline by the Chantays… all flawless songs that belong in the “Surf Guitar Retrospective: A Half Century of Reverb” at the Smithsonian.

But that’s just the tip of the board (let me shut off this metaphor machine before it spits out “hidden treasures in the sand”).  In fact, modern surf-guitar gems are being cut by the likes of Southern Culture on the Skids, Los Straitjackets and James Wilsey.  And it’s our job here at Rubber City Review to give you the digital warning signs you need before wading into these murky musical waters (where is that goddam switch?).

Of course, there are countless treasures from the heyday of surf guitar, the early Sixties.  Unfortunately, the best collection of Sixties surf instrumentals I ever came across – “Guitar Player Presents Legends of Guitar: Surf, Vol. 1” – has long been out of print, and I’m fairly certain that Rhino Records never got around to issuing Vol. 2.  The beauty of this collection is that it assumes you already have the touchstones like Wipe Out and Telstar and are looking to dig a little deeper.  It’s a great mix of the familiar and obscure, and everything on it is first-rate.  Here’s the track listing (and four samples) in case you want to try to find these tunes online:

1. A Run for Life – Dick Dale
2. Surf Rider – The Lively Ones
3. Beyond – The Chantays
4. Latin’ia – The Sentinels: Latin’ia
5. Baja – The Astronauts
6. Squad Car – Eddie & The Showmen
7. Tidal Wave – The Challengers
8. Tally Ho! – PJ & The Galaxies
9. Diamond Head – The Ventures Diamond Head
10. Soul Surfer – Johnny Fortune Soul Surfer
11. Bombora – The (Original) Surfaris
12. The Jester – Jim Messina & His Jesters
13. Gypsy Surfer – The Avantis
14. Our Favorite Martian – Bobby Fuller & The Fanatics
15. Bustin’ Surfboards – The Tornadoes
16. Point Panic – The Surfaris
17. Mar Gaya – The Fender IV Mar Gaya
18. Fiberglass Jungle – The Crossfires

The more adventurous can check out a five-disc series of surf instrumentals on the Sundazed label – “Lost Legends of Surf Guitar.”  The handy All Music Guide calls it “good, though not nearly as good as the very best ‘60s instrumental surf music anthologies, and can be confidently recommended to surf collectors.”  The “Lost Legends” series makes a distinction between surf and “hot rod” or “drag” tunes, a fine point I’m not sure I can grasp (when I hear tires peeling at the beginning of a song, I know it’s “hot rod”!).  Regardless, the New York-based label is an excellent source of American roots music – from garage/punk and psychedelic to country/rockabilly (including a 3-CD set of Jimmy Bryant – check out our earlier “Speed Demons of the West” post) and blues.  Sundazed also reissues original albums by surf-guitar standouts like The Challengers, The Surfaris, Ronny & the Daytonas and many more.  You can find them here.

Nephew Dan turned me on to this next one – a top-shelf collection of instrumentals recorded by Norman Petty (Buddy Holly’s first manager and producer) in the early-’60s at his studio in Clovis, New Mexico.   “I think of Norman Petty as a southern, white version of Berry Gordy and Motown Studios,” Auerbach said.  “Just like the setup at Motown, Petty was cutting edge and experimental with the recording equipment and techniques.  And he used his own stable of musicians – mostly members of the Fireballs (and their great guitarist George Tomsco) – for a lot of his stuff.”  Although his voice is one of the more recognizable in rock, Auerbach certainly appreciates the appeal of the guitar-based instrumental.  “First of all, it’s not easy to find a good singer – especially if you run a studio in Clovis.  But Petty could create a real band almost instantly with a guitarist who could pick out a few melodies.”

The great irony of the surf influence on “That’s Swift” is that most of Petty’s bands were from New Mexico and West Texas (Wes Dakus and the Rebels came all the way from Canada).  Auerbach sees a connection between Petty’s operation and the Rubber City:  “I bet Clovis is a lot like Akron… I’m sure Petty’s musicians heard a lot of influences, but didn’t see them up close.  They definitely heard the records and saw the pictures, but had to figure out how to do it on their own.”  Here’s one of Dan’s favorites from “That’s Swift”: Sour Biscuits/Wes Dakus and the Rebels

Next-Generation, Post-Neo-Surf/Drag/Hot Rod Guitar-Based Instrumentals…

Surf music didn’t get buried by the Beatles – who, as it turns out, were big fans of Brian Wilson.  But maybe it’s not the right label to describe the best examples of contemporary, surf-influenced songs.  Maybe “reverb-drenched instrumentals”?  Whatever you choose to call the genre, it’s pretty clear that a whole slew of latter-day rock, blues and country pickers owe a huge debt to the first generation of surf guitar slingers – including living legends like Nokie Edwards of The Ventures, who continues to play and record today.

Given the fact that we Americans have a habit of neglecting our most prized musical treasures, it makes perfect sense that one of the leading proponents of modern surf guitar is from Finland: Laika and the Cosmonauts.  Unfortunately, it appears the band’s 22-year career has come to a close.  A shame, really, because these guys seemed to have a knack for reinventing the surf instrumental – throwing in healthy doses of sci-fi, vintage soundtracks and other exotica to create instant classics that defy categories.  Their guitarist, Mikko Lankinen, is no slouch, but he clearly prefers melodic invention over Dale-like shredding.  Here’s a tune from an album released back in 1992, “Instruments of Terror” – still one of my favorite all-instrumental records. Note Crisis/Laika and the Cosmonauts

Even New York City’s post-punk, downtown music scene got in on the act, spawning “neo-surf” combo The Raybeats back in 1979.  The band’s long-gone album from 1983 – “It’s Only a Movie!” – is a curious mix of quirky, synthesized soundscapes and straight-ahead tributes to Booker T and Link Wray.  Guitar Player magazine called it “one of the top 10 instrumental albums of all time”… but it’s difficult to find, and very little has been written about the band or its members (except for former Raybeat and current Straitjacket Amis). It featured a rootsy yet innovative guitarist from Kansas, Jody Harris, who went on to record with The Golden Palominos and former Lou Reed guitarist Robert Quine (he described Harris as “tragically underrated”).  Here’s a tune from “Movie” that belongs in the surf hall of fame, wherever that is… Soul Beat-Intoxica/The Raybeats

They’re the Godfathers of Mexican Surf.  They’ve got a strong fan base in Spain and Russia.  Their annual Christmas Pageant is one of the holiday season’s hottest tickets (if you conveniently ignore some bloated, heavy-metal steamroller).  And their cover of My Heart Will Go On, the love theme from the movie “Titanic,” reportedly had Celine Dion contemplating early retirement.  When it comes to surf-based instrumentals expertly played by grown men in Mexican wrestling outfits, there’s only one band worth talking about: Los Straitjackets.  The fact is, these guys are damn good.  Just ask The Ventures or Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers – or, if you could bring them back from the great beyond, Link Wray and Ronnie Dawson.  This next one sounds like the theme from a long-forgotten TV show… a damn good one at that! Pacifica/Los Straitjackets

If there is such a thing as a hot-rod/hillbilly concept album, it was released in 1995 by Southern Culture on the Skids.  “Dirt Track Date” was a major-label release with a used condom on the cover.  And it sings the praises of the white trash lifestyle with heartfelt songs about Cadillacs (with eight slappin’ pistons under the hood), shiny pants, pointy tipped shoes, fireflies, Tony Joe White, Little Debbie snack crackers, eight-piece boxes of chicken and, of course, hookin’ up at the dirt track races.  But once you get beyond the broad jokes, you quickly realize these three can flat-out play.  Rick Miller’s guitar is almost as greasy as the chicken, and he’s clearly a sucker for an over-fried tube amp.  He also knows how to throw together a catchy instrumental, like this twangy homage to the galley slave… Galley Slave/SCOTS

I guarantee you’ve heard James Wilsey.  Remember that signature, moody lick from Chris Isaak’s huge hit, Wicked Game?  That’s Wilsey.  The former punk-rocker played in Isaak’s band until 1991, when he left to pursue a less-hectic lifestyle – one better suited to the sparse, understated sound of his guitar.  But he’s back with a new band, and he calls his all-instrumental originals “space-age hillbilly stuff, little-haunted-house-on-the-prairie music.”  He sounds like a perfect fusion of Duane Eddy and Link Wray, if you dragged them through the hot Arizona desert at High Noon.  If you’re looking for evidence that the surf-guitar instrumental has evolved over the years, check out this original from Wilsey’s latest, “El Dorado” (released in 2008)… El Dorado/James Wilsey

Quick hits… Not quite surf, but wouldn’t you rather have these guys at your beach party than Frankie and Annette?  (For you young ‘uns, think Carson Daly and whatever bimbo he brings along.)

Here’s a nasty slice of sinister from the late Link Wray – a favorite of directors Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez… Jack the Ripper/Link Wray

The Iceman Picketh – Sounds like the Master of the Telecaster, Albert Collins, had his ear cocked to a few surf records back in the early Sixties… Frosty/Albert Collins

If you’re more familiar with the Grateful Dead’s version (or even the original by Bobbie “Blue” Bland), you need to shake hands with the man from Aurora, Indiana: Lonnie Mack… Turn On Your Love Light/Lonnie Mack

Bonus video from the heyday of surf guitar… Dick Dale and the Del-Tones play their classic Misirlou in the 1963 movie “A Swingin’ Affair.”  I love the bass player (I’m guessing he handled the books for the band), and it’s pretty cool that they let dad play drums: