I used to spend countless hours combing record stores for rare blues and R&B. On one such occasion, I was convinced that the ganja-impaired proprietor was playing one of his favorite albums at 45 RPM instead of 33… and I told him so. He solemnly handed me a curious-looking Japanese import – a compilation of “country and western” tunes that featured a couple of guys named Jimmy Bryant and Speedy West. And I was off on another quest to learn more about the great, forgotten heroes of American music.

Turns out, the record store DJ had it right… It’s just that my ears refused to process the sounds I was hearing as genuine recordings of real musicians playing real instruments in real time, without any studio gimmicks or special effects. Which only gave me greater respect for the unique talents of Bryant and West. How could two guys – one on electric guitar and the other on pedal steel – combine such blazing speed and sheer musicality? Case in point… Stratosphere Boogie

A little background… Guitarist Ivey “Jimmy” Bryant was born in Moultrie, Georgia, in 1925. His father’s modest skills as a sharecropper had little influence on his son – but the elder Bryant made an impression in other areas, especially with his musical ability (he was proficient on several instruments), his bad temper and his love of the bottle.

At the age of 18, the younger Bryant joined the army of General George Patton and was severely injured by a grenade in 1945 during the invasion of Germany. With little to do during his recovery, Bryant used the time to learn how to play guitar and fiddle – and further honed his skills in USO clubs after the war. He eventually moved to Los Angeles to take advantage of the city’s growing reputation as a hub of country and hillbilly music.

Wesley “Speedy” West had a more stable upbringing in Springfield, Missouri, where his father worked at a gospel publishing company and played guitar. Young Wesley learned how to play the Hawaiian guitar at the age of nine and soon earned some notice after winning a prize at a school-sponsored talent contest (he got his nickname from a local DJ). While still in his teens, he worked in a machine gun factory during World War II and eventually started farming and playing local gigs to support his wife, Opal, and son, Donnie. Like Byrant, he felt the lure of California, so he packed up the family and survived a “Grapes of Wrath”-like journey to land in Los Angeles in 1946.

While Bryant was playing in local dives, West was gaining notice among the city’s great western swing bands – and he eventually joined a 23-piece outfit led by Spade Cooley. Already an established name, West met Bryant at one of L.A.’s skid-row music joints in 1948. The two quickly formed a mutual admiration society and began a musical partnership that reached its peak in the studios of L.A.-based Capitol Records.

Given West’s near-reckless approach to the pedal steel guitar, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he recorded with the king of the novelty music craze in the 1940s and early ‘50s, Spike Jones. But the instrumentals that Speedy cut with Jimmy Bryant from 1950 to 1956 on Capitol Records are far more sublime than ridiculous (for the most part) and are widely regarded as little works of art by some of today’s greatest pickers. Speedin’ West

I like to think of the Bryant/West instrumentals as part of a very American take on the famous recordings by legendary Belgian guitarist Django Reinhardt (whose dazzling runs inspired Bryant) and his usual foil, violinist Stephane Grappelli – sort of a Hot Club of L.A. instead of France. Reinhardt and Grappelli were simply burning their way through the show tunes and standards of the era (along with a few fine originals, like Django’s memorable Nuages). If anything, the standard arrangements served as launching pads for all the fireworks that followed – mere excuses for Reinhardt and Grappelli to trade incredible solos that still stand the test of time… Sheik of Araby

Bryant and West gave themselves a little more freedom by creating their own vehicles for improvisation – songs like Frettin’ Fingers, Swingin’ on the Strings and Speedin’ West. Sure, when you strip away the solos, the basic song structures are just as cornball as Dinah and Sweet Georgia Brown. But Bryant/ West give Le Hot Club de France a run for its money on workouts like this one… China Boy

And let’s not forget the many sessions where Bryant and West backed up early-Fifties hit-makers like Tennessee Ernie Ford, Gene Autry, and Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. Before you start scoffing at that short list of Hollywood cowpokes, let me give you some aural evidence that Bryant and West didn’t screw around in the studio – no matter who they were supporting (the first edit is Speedy’s solo, then Jimmy’s)… I’m Hog Tied Over You/Tennessee Ernie Ford & Ella Mae Morse

The advent of rock ‘n roll and other musical trends weren’t kind to Bryant and West. Bryant’s playing always danced on the edge, and he had little patience for following anyone’s direction in the studio or bending to the conventions of Nashville. He recorded a few jazz-based originals before drifting into obscurity in the 1960s and ‘70s. A lifelong smoker, Bryant died of lung cancer in 1980. West kept himself busy with some studio work and eventually took a job in Tulsa as a warehouse manager for Fender Musical Instruments. After suffering a stroke in 1981, he never played again, and finally succumbed to chronic health problems in 2003.

Today, Bryant and West are recognized as pioneers on their respective instruments – with Bryant among the first guitarists to master the Fender Telecaster and West an “early adapter” of the pedal steel. Sadly, only a small handful of their recordings together are available on iTunes, and two exceptional compilations of their Fifties instrumentals – “Stratosphere Boogie” and “Swingin’ on the Strings,” both on the Razor & Tie label – appear to be out of print (someone correct me if I’m wrong). But those CDs are still available on amazon – get ‘em before they’re gone for good!

West and Bryant on the Hometown Jamboree, a country-western show that aired every Saturday night in Los Angeles (1949-1959) on KTLA-TV (turn up the sound on this one).

Mongolia… Mexico… Africa… Scandinavia… Rubber City Review travels the globe to bring you amazing and exotic sounds from far-away lands! From Tuvan throat-singing to Finnish disco, we offer a rare look at native peoples expressing their hopes, their fears, their joys, their tears… So climb aboard our special climate-controlled blimp as we take you on a journey you won’t soon forget, brought to you by Burma Shave: “When super-shaved, remember pard’ – you’ll still get slapped, but not so hard.”

Alright, got that out of my system. Didn’t feel like writing this week, so I was glad when my sister (Madame Auerbach) sent me a video of Mongolian throat singer and horse-hair fiddle player Bukhchuluun Ganburged serving up an otherwordly rendition of an old standard, Waltzing Matilda:

I’ve been on an African jag for a few months, and I keep coming back to Malian master Ali Farka Touré. Here’s a clip from one of his final performances, with fellow Malian Toumani Diabaté on kora and the late Orlando “Cachaito” López on bass. Deep African soul with a taste of Cuba. R.I.P., Ali and Cachaito…

This just in from Twitter: “That’s great, Tim, but when are you going to feature some Mexican surf-rock?” How about the Twin Tones – a band that I know absolutely nothing about, but they sure seem comfortable around some pretty cool vintage gear.

When in doubt, show one of the few existing videos of the world’s greatest Gypsy jazz guitarist, Django Reinhardt – seen here lounging around with his longtime sidekick, violinist Stephane Grappelli and a few sleazeballs… er, fellow Hot Clubbers in a swank hotel before they take the stage at a nearby club.

Let’s close this out with a stirring tribute to white peoples everywhere – from a place that’s got plenty of ‘em, Finland. For this clip, you can blame our West Coast correspondent, Mike Matousek:

But every once in a while, I need to hear the artist straight up, no chaser.

Nothing lays bare a musician’s strengths and weaknesses more than a solo performance. No overblown arrangements to hide behind. No programmed beats or pointless gospel choirs. Just the artist, usually with an instrument of choice – stepping out on the thinnest tightrope imaginable. And several foul-smelling carnies nearby to clean up the mess.

Washington Phillips

Going solo was far more common in the country blues tradition than it is today – partly because it was difficult for highly original artists like Charlie Patton, Robert Johnson, Skip James, Blind Lemon Jefferson and Son House to play with other musicians (not to mention travel together in the pre-WWII south). And the most distinctive country bluesman of all might have been zither-strumming evangelist Washington Phillips.

Here’s a guy who “completists” like me can appreciate… Although the native Texan lived for 73 years, Phillips only recorded 18 songs (16 of which survived) during a two-year period – from 1927 to 1929. So if you pick up a copy of “I Am Born To Preach The Gospel,” you’ve got the whole deal in one package. That’s not to say we could’ve used more of these quirky originals that were built around Phillips’ gospel sermons. This one was covered by guitarist Ry Cooder on his 1971 album “Into The Purple Valley.” It’s an ecumenical plea that seems especially appropriate today: Denomination Blues/Washington Phillips

Bluesman John Lee Hooker might be my favorite solo performer. His earliest recordings have an almost trance-like intensity to them, with one foot in Africa and the other literally pounding out the future of amplified, urban blues. So many great performances to choose from (in a previous post, we included one that may have given birth to the power chord). For my money, Hooker’s best solo stuff was recorded for the Modern label from 1948 to 1954. Occasionally, Eddie Kirkland (who passed away in February) filled in on second guitar. But Hooker did just fine by himself, thank you… Boogie Boogie/John Lee Hooker

They called Etta Baker the Queen of Southern Appalachian Piedmont-style guitarists (that’s a mouthful). And she was a big influence on contemporary artists like Bonnie Raitt and Taj Mahal, who covered this next song on his album “Ooh So Good ‘N’ Blues.” It’s a traditional ballad that Baker rearranged into a brisk finger-pickin’ workout that many guitarists have tried (including yours truly) and few have mastered. Safe to say that Baker’s version remains the gold standard. Railroad Bill/Etta Baker

Big Walter Horton

You don’t often come across a recording session that features non-stop blowing on harmonica, from beginning to end. Thankfully, this one features blues harp virtuoso Big Walter Horton – with minimal backing by Robert Nighthawk on guitar (OK, I cheated a little here). In the early ‘50s, Big Walter recorded for Sam Phillips at Sun Studios in Memphis, where he cut the classic instrumental Easy. Then he moved to Chicago, where he collaborated with Muddy Waters, Jimmy Rogers (Walking By Myself: another classic), Eddie Taylor and Johnny Shines, among others. He even showed up in “The Blues Brothers” movie, playing with John Lee Hooker on Chicago’s Maxwell Street. I have no information on when and where the sessions with Nighthawk were recorded (they were released on “An Offer You Can’t Refuse” along with live cuts by The Paul Butterfield Blues Band) … Anyone? Walter’s Boogie, This Is It/Big Walter Horton

When I think of the lonely, tortured jazz artist, I always go back to the iconic image of Sonny Rollins blowing his horn while strolling on the Williamsburg Bridge, where he reinvented his sound for the groundbreaking album “The Bridge.” But I have an even better example of unadorned jazz sax. It’s by one of Rollins’ mentors, Coleman Hawkins. The Hawk’s big, burly tone was there for virtually every major development in 20^th Century jazz – big band, be bop, post-bop, avant garde (although he didn’t have much affinity for the last category, he gamely went toe-to-toe with a very adventurous Rollins on the album “All The Things You Are”). Here’s Hawk alone with his horn on a majestic tribute to another great artist: Picasso/Coleman Hawkins

Django

Gypsy guitarist Django Reinhardt is best known for his stunning duels with violinist Stephane Grappelli, backed by a swinging bass and a couple of chunking rhythm guitars. It’s also hard to ignore the fact that he played for the Nazis during the French Resistance (even those heartless bastards couldn’t fathom screwing with an otherworldly talent like Django). But let’s not head down that rabbit hole… I’d rather focus on one of his “improvisations” on solo guitar. These performances seem to place his amazing gift in a whole new light. Then again, I’d pay to hear him play scales. Improvisation/Django Reinhardt

Miles Davis practiced his black magic with hand-picked accomplices like John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley, Bill Evans, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Ron Carter, Tony Williams… essentially, the best musicians available. So there’s really no such thing (that I’m aware of) as a truly solo performance by Miles. But once again, I’ll cheat a little bit by singling out the stark opening to Generique – one of 10 compositions by Miles on the soundtrack to the 1958 Louis Malle film “Ascenseur Pour L’Echafaud (Lift to the Scaffold).” It’s an achingly beautiful sound that transcends both the man and his instrument… Proof of a higher force: Generique/Miles Davis

Allen Toussaint

A few posts back, we featured Dr. John’s legendary solo sessions on piano. Now it’s Allen Toussaint’s turn. His name crops up quite a bit in this blog – both as a performer and producer. And when you consider all of the brilliant arrangements he’s done for artists ranging from Lee Dorsey to The Band, it’s easy to forget the guy can captivate an audience with just a piano and a few basic ideas. Here’s a solo performance from “Our New Orleans,” a compilation released in 2005 that also served as a benefit for Katrina relief efforts. It’s a minor-key version of a Crescent City classic that Dr. John also covered in his solo sessions: Tipitina and Me/Allen Toussaint

When my oldest daughter was married in 2008, everything about the experience tested my natural cynicism. I get a little twitchy in churches, but that feeling went away when I walked Meghan down the aisle. I like to critique the sermon, but was too busy admiring the sight of my family and friends in one place. Tuxedos usually give me a rash, but mine felt pretty damn good as I posed for pictures with my wife and the new couple. Of course I started to revert back to wiseass mode at the reception as the drinks flowed and chops were being busted. Then the DJ played this next song, and I started crying like a baby. It’s by a 700-pound man who played a tiny ukulele – and despite that jarring image, it somehow reminds me of everything I love about being a dad. This one goes out to Meghan, David and everyone who joined us for the Big Day in Cincinnati, and to the memory of Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, who passed away at the young age of 38. R.I.P., IZ. Over the Rainbow-What a Wonderful World/Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole

The one-man Son of Dave band… Here’s a guy I found out about through our good friend Rick Saunders at Deep Blues (and brother James). Not only is it a mind-blowing solo performance, it also answers the question posed in our previous post: Has blues music evolved since Guitar Junior taught us how to crawl? If only Doctor Ross had a digital looping delay:

Is there anything scarier than singing a capella? Probably images of the coal miners Hazel Dickens fought for as a singer and activist since the 1960s, when she left her 10 brothers and sisters in West Virginia to join the bluegrass and folk music scene in the D.C. area. Clearly, her heart and soul remained in Appalachia. Dickens passed away in April at the age of 75. R.I.P., Hazel.

In honor of Zimmy’s 70th b-day – from the Rolling Thunder Revue tour. With a guitar, harmonica and a pen, Dylan forever changed the art of performing solo.

Consider this the final installment in our Substance Abuse Trilogy (I’ll blame another brutal winter in the Rubber City):

Athens, Ohio, was an interesting place back in the late-Seventies. I was there earning a Journalism degree from Ohio University after spending a couple of aimless years without a major at Miami University. Nothing against the “Yale of the Midwest”… it was just an unsettling experience going to a school where the kids were more conservative than my own parents.

Athens was another story altogether. At the time, Ohio’s minimum drinking age was 18, and the town had plenty of bars to take advantage of it. In fact, almost every other structure uptown was a bar, and virtually every demographic had its own drinking establishment – hipsters, townies, stoners, nerds, foreign students, East Coasters… I think the handful of jocks who mistakenly enrolled at OU hung out at a wet bar in someone’s basement. Greek life also was an afterthought on a campus that resembled a Gold Rush mining town.

Halloween at Ohio University

My sister Mary lived outside of Athens with her husband, Chuck, in a little town called The Plains… very charming. I’d go there often for wonderful home-cooked meals and some mild ball-busting from Chuck, who seemed to revel in the fact that I was just as scatter-brained as his wife. Chuck’s cousin, Ned, ran the best restaurant in town, Chiccalini’s – sort of a hangout for older transplants from the East Coast (Chuck and Ned were from Teaneck, NJ). One of the bartenders turned me on to the music of Django Reinhardt. I was deeply moved. I even fantasized about putting together my own Hot Club of Athens and playing every week at Ned’s joint, then I realized I’d never be able to play like Django. But I digress…

Amazingly, I managed to maintain a GPA of three-point-something (I was never good at math) – maybe even miraculous when you consider all the distractions uptown and my part-time job at the city’s cultural hub, School Kids Records. It was a step up from my previous gig as a delivery guy for a beer carry-out. That’s right, it was perfectly acceptable to bring cut-rate cases of Busch directly to students who were either too lazy or drunk to make the short walk uptown. I’m surprised they didn’t serve drinks at orientation.

We moved mountains of vinyl at School Kids. But we didn’t sell a lot of records to average students, if it were possible to define such a group at OU. The ones from New York and New Jersey tended to have more disposable income than those of us who were fleeing economic ruin in Northeast Ohio. But the biggest spenders at School Kids, by a large margin, were wily desperadoes from the hills and hollers south of town – the Meigs County Varmints.

Law enforcement was relatively lax in this little corner of Appalachia, where the Varmints cultivated the number one cash crop in Meigs County, marijuana. And they had become quite skilled at using the area’s rugged terrain as cover for their very profitable farming enterprise. A few owned small planes to move product out of state. All of them had big wads of cash, ready to spend at our humble establishment.

One Varmint was a sweet guy who seemed genuinely interested in broadening his taste in music. He popped in the store one day while I was playing the first album by the David Grisman Quintet – an organic melding of bluegrass and gypsy-influenced jazz that showcased Grisman’s prodigious chops on mandolin and the amazing Tony Rice on guitar. Here’s a little taste… Dawg’s Rag/David Grisman Quintet

“What the hell is this and where do I find it,” the Varmint asked, sensing that our broad categories of rock, country, blues and jazz were virtually useless with Grisman. I confessed that I brought it to the store from my own collection, mainly because I was sick of listening to Dan Fogelberg for eight hours straight (back then, big-selling albums were returned in droves for any number of reasons… I had about three crates of Fogelberg at my feet – evidence of the record industry’s eventual demise).

“I’ll buy it from you,” he said, without actually opening the door to any kind of meaningful negotiation. I faced an interesting dilemma – should I do a side deal with a man who probably has several firearms concealed on his person, and thus part with a hard-to-find album I’d grown quite fond of? Or politely tell him that it’s not for sale?

“Sure,” I quickly replied, expecting little in return. He tossed me an extra twenty and thanked me profusely as he took the Quintet and about two dozen other albums with him into the night.

Several months went by before I could find another copy of the album. But I also had a few bucks left over to go next door – the bar on the left, as opposed to the one on the right – and share a round or three with my friends.

A former Varmint?

I often wondered what life was like on Reefer Ranch, with a small Cessna in a nearby field and a few crusty old farmhands sitting around the fire, listening to Grisman and Rice jam on Opus 57 and Swing 51. Maybe they piped the Quintet into the barn, where barefoot women and children packed the final product into massive baggies. Or, they simply flew in Grisman and friends to play at the company picnic.

As I was nearing the end of my time in Athens, the authorities in Meigs County finally decided to get tough with the Varmints. Helicopters with infrared cameras were used to find the larger crops; specially trained dogs were sent into the hills and hollers to track down smaller stashes. A reporter from the Athens Messenger asked my boss at School Kids if “Operation Buzzkill” would have any impact on his business. His response was clear and concise: “Let’s see, you’re taking about $10 million out of the local economy… the next biggest source of revenue is lunch money… what the fuck do you think is going to happen?”

I can’t recall what actually ended up in the paper, but it wasn’t difficult for me to figure out the math on that one.

Today, someone’s selling posters and costumes at the former home of School Kids Records… R.I.P.

David Grisman, Tony Rice and fiddle player Mark O’Connor on video – tearing up a tune from Grisman’s first album…

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:

Turns out, the record store DJ had it right… It’s just that my ears refused to process the sounds I was hearing as genuine recordings of real musicians playing real instruments in real time, without any studio gimmicks or special effects.  Which only gave me greater respect for the unique talents of Bryant and West.  How could two guys – one on electric guitar and the other on pedal steel – combine such blazing speed and sheer musicality?  Case in point… Stratosphere Boogie

A little background… Guitarist Ivey “Jimmy” Bryant was born in Moultrie, Georgia, in 1925.  His father’s modest skills as a sharecropper had little influence on his son – but the elder Bryant made an impression in other areas, especially with his musical ability (he was proficient on several instruments), his bad temper and his love of the bottle.

At the age of 18, the younger Bryant joined the army of General George Patton and was severely injured by a grenade in 1945 during the invasion of Germany.  With little to do during his recovery, Bryant used the time to learn how to play guitar and fiddle – and further honed his skills in USO clubs after the war.  He eventually moved to Los Angeles to take advantage of the city’s growing reputation as a hub of country and hillbilly music.

Wesley “Speedy” West had a more stable upbringing in Springfield, Missouri, where his father worked at a gospel publishing company and played guitar.  Young Wesley learned how to play the Hawaiian guitar at the age of nine and soon earned some notice after winning a prize at a school-sponsored talent contest (he got his nickname from a local DJ).  While still in his teens, he worked in a machine gun factory during World War II and eventually started farming and playing local gigs to support his wife, Opal, and son, Donnie.  Like Byrant, he felt the lure of California, so he packed up the family and survived a “Grapes of Wrath”-like journey to land in Los Angeles in 1946.

While Bryant was playing in local dives, West was gaining notice among the city’s great western swing bands – and he eventually joined a 23-piece outfit led by Spade Cooley.  Already an established name, West met Bryant at one of L.A.’s skid-row music joints in 1948.  The two quickly formed a mutual admiration society and began a musical partnership that reached its peak in the studios of L.A.-based Capitol Records.

Given West’s near-reckless approach to the pedal steel guitar, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he recorded with the king of the novelty music craze in the 1940s and early ‘50s, Spike Jones.  But the instrumentals that Speedy cut with Jimmy Bryant from 1950 to 1956 on Capitol Records are far more sublime than ridiculous (for the most part) and are widely regarded as little works of art by some of today’s greatest pickers. Speedin’ West

I like to think of the Bryant/West instrumentals as part of a very American take on the famous recordings by legendary Belgian guitarist Django Reinhardt (whose dazzling runs inspired Bryant) and his usual foil, violinist Stephane Grappelli – sort of a Hot Club of L.A. instead of France.  Reinhardt and Grappelli were simply burning their way through the show tunes and standards of the era (along with a few fine originals, like Django’s memorable Nuages).  If anything, the standard arrangements served as launching pads for all the fireworks that followed – mere excuses for Reinhardt and Grappelli to trade incredible solos that still stand the test of time… Sheik of Araby

Bryant and West gave themselves a little more freedom by creating their own vehicles for improvisation – songs like Frettin’ Fingers, Swingin’ on the Strings and Speedin’ West.  Sure, when you strip away the solos, the basic song structures are just as cornball as Dinah and Sweet Georgia Brown.  But Bryant/ West give Le Hot Club de France a run for its money on workouts like this one… China Boy

And let’s not forget the many sessions where Bryant and West backed up early-Fifties hit-makers like Tennessee Ernie Ford, Gene Autry, and Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.  Before you start scoffing at that short list of Hollywood cowpokes, let me give you some aural evidence that Bryant and West didn’t screw around in the studio – no matter who they were supporting (the first edit is Speedy’s solo, then Jimmy’s)… I’m Hog Tied Over You/Tennessee Ernie Ford & Ella Mae Morse

The advent of rock ‘n roll and other musical trends weren’t kind to Bryant and West.  Bryant’s playing always danced on the edge, and he had little patience for following anyone’s direction in the studio or bending to the conventions of Nashville.  He recorded a few jazz-based originals before drifting into obscurity in the 1960s and ‘70s.  A lifelong smoker, Bryant died of lung cancer in 1980.  West kept himself busy with some studio work and eventually took a job in Tulsa as a warehouse manager for Fender Musical Instruments.  After suffering a stroke in 1981, he never played again, and finally succumbed to chronic health problems in 2003.

Today, Bryant and West are recognized as pioneers on their respective instruments – with Bryant among the first guitarists to master the Fender Telecaster and West an “early adapter” of the pedal steel.  Sadly, only a small handful of their recordings together are available on iTunes, and two exceptional compilations of their Fifties instrumentals – “Stratosphere Boogie” and “Swingin’ on the Strings,” both on the Razor & Tie label – appear to be out of print (someone correct me if I’m wrong).  But those CDs are still available on amazon – get ‘em before they’re gone for good!

Two fine videos on youtube… The first shows West and Bryant together on the Hometown Jamboree, a country-western show that aired every Saturday night in Los Angeles (1949-1959) on KTLA-TV (turn up the sound on this one).

The second is someone’s loving tribute to The Night Rider — I don’t normally care for these homemade slideshow/video re-creations on youtube, but this one’s pure genius.  It seems to capture the mood of the country, back when Speedy and Jimmy roamed the streets of L.A

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