Nashville’s FrazierBand has what you need with their latest single off of their forthcoming album, Some People Change. “The Rod and The Cain” is the perfect song to crank up with the windows down, the pulsating mandolin overlaid with cool guitar tones. Fronted by acclaimed bluegrass multi-instrumentalist John Frazier (Del McCoury, John Prine, Bela Fleck), the group is finishing up their second studio album with Daniel Rice (Cadillac Sky). Look for the full release this September.

Listen to FrazierBand’s “The Rod and The Cain”

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Kristofferson was the first writer that hit me where I lived. There are precious few others that can turn a phrase like he can. The pictures he paints in language are as real to touch as the table you are sitting at right now. He doesn’t rest on the tried-and-true phrases found in many songs about love,lust and loss- he creates the new ones we all pull from, time and again. Odds are, the versions of his songs that we recognize aren’t the ones he recorded. His string of cuts reads like a roll call at the Country Music and Rock and Roll Halls of Fame, with Janis, Johnny and Roger Miller to name just a few.

Within minutes, it was obvious how strong his impact has been on every generation of the last 50 years, as the Ryman quickly filled to capacity, with ages 18-80 proudly represented. There was not a square inch of seating left when the lights dimmed and the spotlight flicked on, and as Kris began to cross the stage, the audience erupted. For the next two hours, he had us in the palm of his hand, buttressing each song with colloquial quips and stories that kept us laughing between the tears.

It was my dream come true. I will never forget the sound of his voice, or the way he made us feel like we were sitting in his living room, while his whims were taking us across the pages of time. He’s that uncle we all wish we had; the one who raised hell and was intelligent enough to write it down. Because there’s no way we’d have believed him if he didn’t. For an evening, he was family. For an hour, we were friends. For a lifetime, I will keep unwrapping that gift and looking at it, still baffled that I got to receive it.

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My mom and I haven’t had the easiest row to hoe. Girls and their mothers bring out the worst in each other, and we’re no different, but as the years have gone by, and time has mellowed us both, we’ve come to a place of understanding. We understand each other’s faults and frailties, and how they stand in contrast to our strengths and true nature. At one point I realized that being like her wouldn’t be such a bad thing, and rather than write that idea off as a sentimental brain turd, I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget it. My mom is my diamond in the rough.

04 Diamond In The Rough

She came along in a less than perfect world, where the stars still shine on ordinary girls,

With mousy hair and hands that apologize for all the sights that scream between her eyes.

She didn’t take the time to think it through; sometimes, it’s true, you are what you gotta do.

If it was paved in something more than she could see, she’d a missed that turn that drove towards reality and Electronic Cigarette me.

All the things that she can’t change are born on a back bound to break from the weight of her own lack of dignity.

She’s a diamond in the rough and a lady I’d like to be.

A boy was born in 1971, sweet enough to be his mother’s son.

A brother came, then a lover, then a life. Some unseen tears, anger; strife.

I came along as the bridge was swept away. A momentary glimpse at saving grace,

But nothing’s sure, and sure as I stand, she packed her dreams in bags filled with sand and ran.

Now all those years she still regrets gave her a heavy heart she’s unsure how to mend.

She’s wary of that girl she used to be, Lord, she’s a diamond in the rough, but a lady I’d like to be.

And the decades flow beyond the afterglow of a reckoning precluding peace.

I can see her face, it’s with me everyday staring back at me. What a sight to see.

She came along in a less than perfect world, where stars still shine on ordinary girls.

Her days of starting out are at an end, so she laughs and takes reality by the hand again.

Now all those things that we can’t change are the little things that time can’t rearrange.

We’ve come to terms with what life seems to be for that diamond in the rough; that lady I’d like to be.

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Surely, this isn’t the case in every incidence of infidelity. Surely there has been someone who has said, “You know what? You have done me wrong, and you’re secret is out. I’m penis enlargement info not an idiot; I know what you’re doing, but you owe me. You owe me one final chance to love me like you have been loving someone else. You’re gonna do this, just for my sake, and then you will truly feel like shit, and I will have had the final word.”

03 Lay Me Down

Put down your keys and lock the door; you’re not out of cigarettes.

Once upon a time, you were all mine; it’s not my fault I can’t forget.

Lay me down, lay me down

Love me just once like you love her all the time, then we’ll pretend again that you’re not mine.

In places where the whiskey just won’t hit, you’ve traded dignity.

I’m not the girl she seems to be, but you can do this just for me.

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I recorded a country album, and there is no way of getting around that fact. I wrote sad folk songs, and once fleshed out by my very talented and musically diverse band, they turned into sad country songs. I know what you’re thinking:  no, you will never hear them on country radio. Not once do I mention how much I love Johnny, Waylon and Willie. My penchant for drinking Jack Daniels by the gallon and driving the back roads of my hometown is far eclipsed by my very real and tangible love for the occasional nip of Hendrick’s Gin. And fortunately, for the male population of East Nashville, I do not know how to properly wield a baseball bat. I love a well-crafted lyric and a soaring melody. I live for the whine of a steel guitar, and most importantly, in the stories of people just like me.

“Hello Heartache” was my first real crack at writing a song for Buck Owens. His music was swirling around my head at the time, and I wanted to put something down that would be worthy of him picking it up. I think I got close.

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Hello Heartache

“Hello Heartache”

Hello Heartache, my, you’re looking fine; like a tall drink of water Payday Loans that’ll make my throat run dry.

Hello heartache, here we are again; stuck between a breath, gonna turn into a hell of a mess.

I’ve danced with you before, and when the dance was over you left me all alone on the floor.

I know what I’m in for, but I’ll think about it later while we dance a little more.

Hello heartache, tell me where you been? Were you looking for a love and a mother for a new best friend?

Well, I don’t need you when you’re not around, but you find me and my little heart begins to break back down.

I’ve danced with you before, and when the dance was over you left me all alone on the floor.

I know what I’m in for, but I’ll think about it later while we dance a little more.

Goodbye heartache, it’s time for you to go. Don’t forget to take the kisses you been leavin’ at my bedroom door.

Goodbye heartache, I have realized it takes more to make a fool of me than just your pretty, blue eyes.

You’ve dance with me before; you have spun me ’til I’m sick, feeling like I can’t get off the floor.

I know what I’m in for; I’m tired and I’ve decided I don’t wanna dance anymore.

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Let me be frank, my father is not deaf. We don’t communicate through American Sign Language, and our knowledge of hand signals pertain only to those that are used in the most dire of situations (like rush-hour traffic). He simply worked around loud power tools for too long. That being said, after all these years of recording songs and giving him albums, he has yet to understand what the hell I’ve g postmessage propecia guest forum been saying. Luckily for him, I haven’t had much to say…

This marks the first in a series of weekly posts that will list the lyrics to a particular song from my brief catalogue, beginning with my most recent release, October 2012’s Love Letters.

Dad, thanks for continuing to badger me to write these words down.

Trouble Fades

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“Trouble Fades”

You came and went, just like a hit of cocaine, right to my head; just like a firecracker lit in my hands, as trouble fades. Trouble fades away.

Time stands still, as life goes rushing by my bare windowsill; those lifeless hours waiting ’round until my trouble fades. Trouble fades away

The bitter root bears some bitter fruit, and I’ve bitten off more than I can chew as trouble fades; does trouble fade?

Will trouble fade away?

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35 Years of Hearing New Orleans Through The Horns Of The Dirty Dozen Brass Band

New Orleans. The name itself evokes a feeling of mystery and euphoria, wrapped up in endless revelry and strings of colored lights. Known as “The Big Easy”, it is the birthplace of some of America’s most fertile culture, from jambalaya to hot jazz, where everyone is welcome and the first thing they offer you is a cool beverage. Even the funerals are a party, with brass bands ushering the dead into the hereafter, before turning into a second line party down Rampart Street. A rebirth in the popularity of brass bands took hold in the late 70s when a group of young New Orleans musicians came together to form what is now the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. Hot off the release of their twelfth studio album, Twenty Dozen,

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their high-energy live show and genre-bending repertoire have kept both the city and it’s second line grooving for 35 years.

“The slaves got the instruments from when they came back from fighting the Civil War; they had all these instruments”, says Roger Lewis, baritone sax player of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. “People got ahold of the instruments and learned how to play them, and I think that’s how the brass band thing got started.”  Brass bands have been a staple of the New Orleans music scene since the end of the Civil War, providing entertainment in conjunction with local benevolent societies and pleasure clubs. Before the Civil RIghts Act of 1964, benevolent societies were established to help the African-Americans of New Orleans cover healthcare and funeral costs, while also tending to the general well being of the community. A part of this included providing entertainment, via street parades and pleasure clubs. Brass bands lead parades through the streets of town that lasted for hours, while spectators gathered along the sides of the street to sing and dance. The establishment of pleasure clubs brought the party indoors, where people paid yearly dues to come in and get a drink and plate of food, while dancing the night away.

“Now, the Dirty Dozen, back in 1976…Dirty Dozen has a long history; first it was the Original Sixth Ward Dirty Dozen Brass Band, which really, the originator was a guy by the name of Benny Jones”, explains Lewis. Jones, along with Lewis, trumpet player Gregory Davis, trombonist Charles Joseph, Anthony “Tuba Fats” Lacen and Andrew Green began jamming together, often playing gigs at the Dirty Dozen Social and Pleasure Club. It wasn’t until Lewis approached Joseph, while the two were enrolled in some music theory classes, that the final Dirty Dozen line-up would take shape. “I said,‘Man, we always playin’ together, man’. We always playin’ regular gigs, you know, we’ve been in them and what not”, remembers Lewis. “I said, ‘We oughta get together and try to organize this thing, try to get somethin’ happening’, you know? So he said, ‘yeah that sounds like a good idea’, so him and I got together.”

The two gathered some of their friends from around town: Charles’ younger brother, Kirk Joseph, was recruited to play sousaphone. Kirk’s friend, Kevin Harris brought his tenor sax, while Gregory Davis was brought in to play trumpet and sing. The new line-up, along with Lewis and Jones, played it all; they rehearsed everything from traditional brass music to Count Basie, Charlie Parker and even Michael Jackson. They played anything they liked to listen to, working up intricate arrangements of everything from jazz to funk. Each musician brought his background to the mix, and nothing proved to be off limits. With arrangements that were tight as a drum, the band was rehearsing religiously, sometimes all day, everyday.

As they picked up gigs, the Dozen’s popularity around town caught on. Daryl’s gave them their first steady gig, and every week they brought the party, attracting more and more people as time wore on. From there, they moved on to The Glass House, which would prove to be their turning point.

The Glass House was off the beaten path. A small neighborhood dive, it offered patrons a drink and a plate of red beans and rice for a dollar. The price of admission also let them into the best party in town. “We used to have so many people in that place, we used to take chairs and put up in front of us to keep the dancers from running into us”, reminisces Lewis. Not just tourists, but locals and fellow musicians would pack into the little bar, hoping to catch a stray groove. On any given night, you could walk in and rub elbows with Fats Domino, while bumping into Dizzy Gillespie out on the dance floor. Folks in full New Orleans regalia- costumes, silks and feathers- were all there, dancing and enjoying the Crescent City’s easy-going camaraderie.

Though the Dozen were packing the Buy Cialis house every night, their popularity didn’t come without a price. Some members of the community considered it near sacrilege for a brass band to stray from it’s traditional roots. The idea of a second line playing jazz and Fats Domino tunes pitted some of New Orleans’ musical purists against Lewis and his comrades, but as is always the case, things continued to change. Innovators are those who shape the future by re-imagining the past, recreating it for the present. What separated the Dozen from every other band in town was not only their ability to freshen up the second-line tradition, but to pull together every sound that each member brought to the group, whether it be jazz, blues, rock and roll, gospel or caribbean influenced. “Before you know it, people said ‘you all changin’ the music of New Orleans’, not thinkin’ about tryin’ to change anything, just tryin’ to play the music we enjoyed and loved playin’”, says Lewis. Without realizing it, they were creating a whole new sound for New Orleans to call their own, and before long, they were taking it to the world.

Since 1984, The Dozen have gained international acclaim, having appeared on a number of European tours organized by legendary promoter, George Wein. They have wowed audiences throughout the US, touring with bands such as Widespread Panic and The Black Crowes. On top of their rigorous touring schedule, they have also put out numerous albums of original material, along with tribute albums to Jelly Roll Morton (Jelly, 1993) and both Marvin Gaye and the city of New Orleans, in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina (What’s Goin’ On?, 2006). The roster of artists they have worked with over the years attests to their importance in the evolution of popular song: Elvis Costello, The Black Crowes, Dave Bartholomew, and Wynton and Branford Marsalis to name a few. 2012 marks their 35th anniversary as the Dirty Dozen, and their twelfth studio album, aptly titled Twenty Dozen. Though their personnel, which now includes drummer Terrence Higgins and guitarist Kyle Roussel, has changed over the years,  their sound is just as vibrant as it was at their first show.

The first downbeat sets the tone for the entire album, marked by the smash of Higgins’ drum kit. The group launches into an energetic caribbean groove, punctuated by multiple sax and trumpet solos. The second track, “Jook” sets the course further southward, with a driving latin pulse. Lewis, Joseph and Harris dance around the driving melody of Davis’ and Towns’ unison trumpets. Whether it’s original compositions, such as “Git Up” or worked up renditions of old standards, the Dozen bring out the flavor in every ingredient. Their version of Rihanna’s “Please Don’t Stop The Music” is as danceable as the original, and their overall interpretation made it sound like a song never heard before.

Each song is a combination of choices by each member; take Lewis’ melody and add a solo by Davis. Punctuate Kirk’s sousaphone with a counterpoint melody by Efrem. Everything about the album, from the song choices to the construction and flow is a testament to the musicianship of each member and the flow of New Orleans culture. “It’s a little something, you know, then a little something. Pretty much, that’s how the album took shape. We kinda covered all the bases, we got the funk, we got the Caribbean thing happenin’, which is, New Orleans was a meltin’ pot of different cultures.”, explains Roger. “It’s a meltin’ pot of music, it’s a big ol’ musical gumbo, that’s what it really is, you know?”

The Dirty Dozen Brass Band continue to carve a niche for themselves and their city in popular culture. In the 35 years since they got together, similar bands have taken up their mantle, bringing fresh ears and hearts to a form of music that could have simply been relegated to funeral processions and antiquated memories. Thanks to them, bands such as the Soul Rebels and The Rebirth Jazz Band have been able to carry the torch further into the younger generations, while the Youngblood Brass Band have brought the Crescent CIty sound into the heartland of Wisconsin. There’s something about New Orleans that has gotten into the blood of her citizens; the food, the nightlife, the music- it’s contagious. Lewis lays it out like this: “You come here, you eat the food, talkin’ to the locals. Before you know it, you’re listenin’ to the music. Before you know it, the best night life and it’s 24 hours; you can always hear some music, there’s always somethin’ goin’ on. So what happens? You wind up stayin’; you never leave. You’re stuck, like Chuck! This place like a magnet!”

Before you know it, you’re part of the second line. You’ve caught the Dirty Dozen’s groove. You’re part of the New Orleans’ gumbo, so eat up. Lord knows, there’s plenty to go around.

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Accidents happen. Whether it’s a 13-car pileup or a plate of spaghetti all over a nice white carpet, no one escapes this life unscathed. The one similarity that all accidents share is a need for the right conditions: one person not paying attention while they’re texting, another not noticing that skateboard left in the middle of the living room. Sometimes, that most exciting and joyful of all accidents, serendipity, deals a hand even the house didn’t see coming. This year marks the 50th anniversary of the release of Stax Records’  “Green Onions”, a song that helped put a company, a genre and a culture into the ears of an audience, hungry for a new, yet familiar groove to call their own.

In the summer of 1962, conditions were ripe for a breakthrough at Stax. The release of, and subsequent success of “Last Night” in 1961, had brought the fledgling studio into the national spotlight, followed by William Bell’s first charting single, “You Don’t Miss Your Water” by early 1962. Things were picking up, with a batch of musicians that would soon become the nexus of the Stax sound, backing up everyone who walked through the door. “I was called down to Stax”, says bassist Lewie Steinberg. “They said, ‘We got a session we wanna cut on a country-western artist, name of Billy Riley’. I think it was Billy Riley. We sat in there and we fumbled around him, and fumbled around him, and it just wasn’t workin’”. Rather than waste what was left of the session after Riley left, Steinberg, along with Al Jackson Jr., Booker T. Jones and Steve Cropper began jamming.

“Now, the studio time was already paid for, so we took a little break, and came back in there”, continues Steinberg. “We were just sittin’ around and I told Al and Booker, I said, ‘Tell you what let’s do, while we just sittin’ up here killin’ time, let’s play some blues’. I says, ‘play us some good old-fashioned blues’. And that’s when we played “Behave Yourself”. Hearing something he liked, Jim Stewart, Stax co-founder and head engineer at the time, began to roll tape.”We didn’t even know he was recording it”, said Steve Cropper, in Rob Bowman’s book, Soulsville U.S.A: The Story of Stax Records. After the guys finished their second run through, he called them into the control room to listen to the finished product. Sensing a hit, Stewart sent them back into the studio to cut a B-side. What ensued is nothing short of a miracle.

Tim Sampson, Communications Director at the Stax Museum and Soulsville Foundation, outlines what happened next: “They had recorded it, and Jim Stewart liked it, but he told them he couldn’t release a 45 with only one song on it; they needed something on the other side. So, they started playing on a riff that Booker T. Jones had written not long before that. They just did it, recorded it, gave it a name”. Originally christened “Funky Onions” by Steinberg, Estelle Axton, co-founder of Stax and head of the adjoining Satellite Record Shop, put her foot down. “Miss Axton said, ‘Now Lewie, you know we can’t put that out like that, ‘funky’. You know you can’t put that’’, Steinberg reminisces. “The public wasn’t ready for that then. So, she changed it to ‘Green Onions’”.

As musicians know, not every song you put out is as good as it could be, but when it is, there’s no doubt. Cropper and the rest of the guys knew that the second cut of that session was far more important than the original blues cut. Stewart wasn’t convinced that “Green Onions” should be the A-side, but on Tuesday morning, Cropper took it down to Reuben Washington at WLOK to give it a listen. One spin on the turntable lit the phones up, and they didn’t stop. Back at Satellite, they couldn’t pick up the phone fast enough: people wanted to know where to find what they just heard on the radio!

Stax put the single out on their subsidiary label, Volt, and “Green Onions” was released as Volt 102, b/w “Behave Yourself”. In an effort to spread the word beyond Memphis, Cropper hit the road and handed out promotional copies to every radio station within a 200 mile radius. Soon enough, they caught the attention of Jerry Wexler at Atlantic Records, Stax’ distribution partner. Due to the recent successes on the Stax label, he recommended pulling “Green Onions” from Volt and reissuing it on Stax. On August 4, 1962, Stax and Atlantic took out an ad in Billboard Magazine, in support of Stax 127, “Green Onions”, which went on to reach number one on the Billboard R&B chart and number three on the pop chart. By the end of 1962, “Green Onions” was coasting on sales of 700,000 copies.

Despite being labeled as “serendipitous” by everyone involved, there is more to the story than that. Accidents always have a back story; there are always factors that play into the outcome of any situation. First of all, the musicianship that had evolved in Memphis, was of such a rare caliber that it made the creative process feel as natural as breathing. Booker T. was a musical genius, having picked up and mastered guitar, bass, organ, piano, baritone saxophone and trombone by the age of 17. He could regularly be found in the Satellite record shop, listening in to what was happening in the studio. When he wasn’t there, he was playing in either Willie Mitchell’s or Ben Branch’s bands around Memphis. Alongside Booker T. were two of Memphis’ finest and most sought after rhythm players: drummer Al Jackson Jr. and bassist Lewie Steinberg. Both Jackson and Steinberg came from whole families full of musical progeny. Steinberg, in particular, came from a long line of talent, starting with his father

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aladdins gold online casino flash play, who held the piano chair at PeeWee’s Saloon, on Beale Street. The elder Steinberg was the piano player when W.C. Handy, the “Father Of The Blues” wrote his famous “Memphis Blues” and “St. Louis Blues”, right there in the bar. Lewie’s sister Nan, along with his brothers Luther, Morris and Wilbur, all played with greats such as Cab Calloway, Lionel Hampton and Fats Waller. Steinberg himself was well-known around Memphis as a go-to bass player, being one of the first in Memphis to pick up electric bass, and playing with such notable acts as Phineus Newborn and Rufus Thomas, among others. Steve Cropper had been around Stax since the beginning, becoming Stewart’s right-hand man in the studio. Cropper took over A/R duties and took part in almost every recording Stax put out before 1970, as either an engineer, player or both. The combination of these four forces may have been accidental, but the combined chops each brought to the studio accounted for years of precision mastery, allowing each of them to know how the other would move.

Second, the cultural conditions were prime for reaching an expanded audience. 1962 found America in the throughs of the Civil Rights movement: sit-ins and church bombings. Rock and roll and grabbed it’s youth culture by the throat and teens had the buying power to make it last. New dances were being created everyday on national television to keep teens going for their wallets. The backbeat was king, with Memphis as it’s gilded palace, and while Memphis continued doing what it had done in it’s clubs all along, more and more people were itching for it on the radio, color line be damned. Yet, despite the color blindness of the studio atmosphere, it was still too taboo for bands to integrate on the bandstand. According to Steinberg, “You could cut a session in a day, and the same guys could be, you know.  And you playin’ across town somewhere, I couldn’t come sit in with you. I couldn’t play with you”. One can look at the success of “Green Onions”, and the ensuing successes of Booker T and The MGs, as one more step in the undoing of segregation. By 1965, the Civil Rights Bill did away with legal public separation, allowing members of the musical community to take what they were creating in the studio live to the masses. “Without them even knowing it at the time, it was a pretty big step in the civil rights movement”, adds Sampson. “Booker T. and the MGs were integrated, and Memphis at the time was so segregated, there were a lot of places they couldn’t go together. They couldn’t go to the zoo together, they couldn’t eat at the same places together, they couldn’t stay at the same hotels, but inside Stax Records they were a family. I think the fact that this integrated band had a million-selling hit was something that would have reverberations years later, and still today”.

Finally, there’s something oddly familiar about the underlying riff. It’s been said that there’s nothing new under the sun. Culture is always feeding off of sources, both foreign and familiar, putting new spins on old ideas. In the process of researching this article, I found myself in Memphis, at the Stax Museum. I picked up a copy of Green Onions on vinyl, admittedly having never listened to the entire album. I got home and threw it on the turntable to find what came out of the speakers was not what I had been expecting. What I heard was a chipmunk-esque organ, squealing over a bass line thumping at breakneck speed. Upon further inspection, I realized that I had the speed of my turntable cranked up to 45RPM, instead of the necessary 33RPM speed used to cut the album. I kept listening. In fact, I flipped the needle back and listened again. There was something so familiar about what I was hearing: I’ve heard that bass line somewhere else, but where? It wasn’t on a record; maybe it was in a movie, or on TV; I’m still not sure. I invite feedback on this point, for anyone who wants to try an experiment of their own, but I digress. The point is, I bet I’m not the only one to pick up on that. Once I put the record on at the right speed, I could still hear traces of that vaguely familiar groove, echoed in Cropper’s snarling guitar tone and subtly rocking back and forth between Jackson’s ride cymbal. People are drawn to the familiar, and if I caught onto it 50 years after the fact, imagine what it sounded like to the kids hearing it for the first time, in real time.

The events that transpired at Stax on that summer day in 1962 began as nothing more than four men doing what they do best: playing music. They held no allusions of grandeur; they were killing time. And why not? It was one more opportunity to develop a melodic idea, one more chance to play a lick that had been nagging at the back of someone’s mind, one more excuse to stick around just a little bit longer. The thing about   a good song is that you can’t predict when and where it will happen, but when the conditions are right, it only takes one to change the course of history. “It doesn’t take but one”, adds Steinberg, “the right one. You know, it’s a miracle and a blessing, that you can take a song that can last over fifty years and still sound as good today as it did then”.

Further Reading

Bowman, Rob, Soulsville U.S.A.: The Story of Stax Records, Schirmer Trade Books, New Tork, 1997

Guralnik, Peter, Sweet Soul Music: Rhythm and Blues and the Southern Dream of Freedom, Back Bay Books, New York, 1986, pp. 112-128.

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Band of Gypsies bass player, Billy Cox. Every big name of the day passed through these doors, located all along Jefferson Street and Fourth Avenue, and every night was nothing but hot tunes and good times. “Nashville was one of the best; there were some of the best bands. Johnny Jones and the King Casuals was the best band here. There was a band at The New Era, The Interiors, which was a great band. Then you had a band at the Stealaway, then you had a band at the Del Morocco and [Jimi] Hendrix played at the Del Morocco. He was in the house band at the Del Morocco and when we went traveling with Jimmy Church, we played the Del Morocco, we played The Stealaway or we played The New Era”, remembers Frank Howard, Nashville banker and former lead singer of Frank Howard and The Commanders. Howard got his start singing in vocal groups on Jefferson Street, eventually joining up with Charlie Fite and Herschel Carter to form The Commanders. They held court every Wednesday night at Club Stealaway, while also touring with both Jimmy Church and Johnny Jones. Eventually, The Commanders began cutting their own records. “Just Like Him”, a tune written by Bob Riley, was brought to the attention of Hoss Allen, who fell in love with the cut. He took over as manager for The Commanders, becoming their producer, putting out their records on his own record label, Hermitage and later onto Dot Records. The boys recorded at all the major studios in town, including Starday-King Records, The Quonset Hut and Nashboro Records.

Though all of the DJs loved the music, Hoss and John R. were especially involved in the community of musicians that they were promoting. Hoss could be found at any one of Nashville’s clubs on any given night, while also producing multiple Nashville acts and taking them out on the road. Howard and Allen became good friends, and through Allen, Howard’s career bloomed. “I went on tours with Hoss; promotional tours.”, said Howard. “The first time I met Otis Redding, we were on tour. We left from Atlanta and were going down to Florida. We stopped in Macon, GA, at Phil Walden’s office. We were in a mobile home and I stayed on the mobile home. Hoss said, ‘Come in, I got somebody I want you to meet’. There was this long hall and he told me to go down that hall to the last door on the right. I went down there and Otis Redding was in there, and it just blew my mind. He was one of my favorite artists.”. John R. was instrumental in the southern soul scene of the late 60s and early 70s, becoming A&R man for Nashville’s Sound Stage 7 Records, the soul division of Monument Records. He worked with many local Nashville artists, such as Joe Simon, managing them, producing their records and then putting them on the radio.

WLAC was just as instrumental in breaking the careers of national artists, as it was in fostering the careers of Nashville’s talent. John R. and Hoss Allen are directly responsible for breaking James Brown’s first single “Please, Please, Please”, while Gene Nobles is credited with launching the careers of Little Richard, Chuck Berry and Fats Domino. They were also the first to give substantial air time to B.B. King’s breakout single, “3 O’Clock Blues”.

The success of WLAC stretched passed the bounds of radio waves. With the advent of new technology, WLAC parleyed it’s radio-dial clout into the television stratosphere. Beginning in 1964, Night Train To Nashville became the first television show to feature all black artists and music, showcasing Nashville’s local talent. In 1966, Allen created and hosted The!!!!Beat, similar show that was broadcast in color. For many WLAC listeners, this was the first time they had ever seen the face of one of their beloved voices. The fact that this voice was coming out of a white man was astounding.

From the beginning, Nobles, Hoss and John R. all used the same slang their artists and listeners used. They sounded like a group of black men playing black music, and they were able to connect with their predominantly black audience. When people found out they were all middle-aged white men, they were completely caught off guard. Recalls Howard, “I got to meet Hoss Allen and I was so in shock when I met him and John R.. I was so in shock because I had listened to these guys, as a kid in Pulaski, TN, and I moved to Nashville when I was eight or nine. The whole time I was under the impression that these guys were black, you know?”. In an era of unprecedented racial unrest, when the tides of time were violently turning, it seems impossible that these men could become so loved and involved with a community that under any other circumstance was blocked off to them. In reality, it’s not that hard to understand; they saw a need around them, the need for an outlet, and they decided to fill it. Adds Gray, “I think a lot of the racial barriers were tested on the airwaves, and ultimately, I think the people fast online payday loans that were tuning into WLAC, black or white, loved the music and they loved the DJs for playing the music.”. In an interesting twist, Don Whitehead, news anchor and the one on-air personality who was assumed to be white, was the only black person on staff at WLAC.

Fifty-thousand watts, flying at light-speed through the air, covers a lot of ground. Not only were the people of Nashville tuned in every night, but kids across the country were glued to their transistor radios as well, often bearing a beating from Mom and Dad as punishment. Though they had no intention of changing the world, the men at WLAC helped usher in the age of rock n’ roll, despite their refusal to play it on their own signal. From New York to Chicago, Mississippi to North Carolina and even on to Jamaica and Iceland, rhythm and blues was pounding into the brains of rock’s first generation of players, and providing the fuel for such notable personalities as Alan Freed and Wolfman Jack. Tracy Nelson, grammy-nominated blues singer, remembers tuning into WLAC every night. “As you would imagine, I was from a very white, middle class, Norwegian family. So, when I first heard that music, and I’ve said this before, it was like something had beamed in from Mars: I had never heard anything like it, and it just captured me immediately. Then I began listening as much as I could, and going from there and listening to other stuff too. Finding people who were interested in some of that music and learning from them. It was just a joyous, eye-opening experience. It was listening to music for pure pleasure, and it was amazing. It just totally took me away.”. After walking in on her brother listening to a gospel program, she began listening nightly, both at home and in the car. Though her parents wildly objected to Elvis Presley, they never batted an eye at Tracy’s love of R&B. While taking guitar lessons in high school, she got turned onto old blues artists such as Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith, which followed a natural progression to R&B, soul music and the like. She began singing professionally with a local R&B band, and over time, developed her own voice as a blues powerhouse. “I got more wrapped up in that and started recognizing it as a form, and that’s kind of what stayed with me”, says Nelson. “I mean that’s, to this day, kind of how I still think of myself, as a knock-off, early R&B artist.”.

Frank Howard had similar experiences growing up, as did the members of his current band, The Valentines, who hail from all across the country. “It [WLAC] reached in places where nobody else was reaching. We’ve got an all-white band now, and those guys are in their fifties and sixties. Those guys talk about, even now, how they used to slip and listen to WLAC, because they wasn’t allowed to listen to that music. As a young boy, I wasn’t allowed to listen, because they played a lot of blues back then, Johnny Ace and B.B. King, they played a lot of blues. As I remember, I was listening to a Johnny Ace’s song called “I Look At The Face Of The Clock On The Wall”. It’s a beautiful song, and my dad said, ‘I don’t want to hear you listenin’ to that no more’. He listened to it, but he didn’t want us to listen to it.”.

When R&B was hot, WLAC was at the center of it, but as time passed, things changed. Nashville had a great independent scene, with many small record labels to bolster it’s talent, but there was neither one major label, nor one dominant “Nashville” sound. Memphis had Stax and Detroit had Motown, but Nashville had a lot of different sounds that never completely gelled together. Over time, the small labels and management companies were bought up by the larger ones, taking away some of the power of small labels and radio stations. The urban renewal projects of the 1950s brought an inglorious end to clubs such as The Bijou and The New Era, while the construction of I-40 in the late 1960s demolished what was left of the club scene on Jefferson Street. With no outlet to perform and no labels to record their music, the large acts quit coming to town and the smaller ones went about their daily lives, as if it had never happened at all. The dawn of disco brought about the demise of live bands, when club owners realized that they could pay one guy to spin records, as opposed to five guys playing the music live.

Eventually, the sun went down on WLAC’s heyday. Once the R&B format caught on, stations all over the country were scrambling to get their own local flavor, reducing the need for WLAC’s vast reach. Their own format changed in the early 1970s to a Top 40 playlist, which didn’t last long. By 1980, WLAC had switched to a talk-format, though Hoss Allen continued broadcasting his Sunday morning gospel shows through the next few years. Gene Nobles, John R. and Herman Grizzard all eventually left, being fed up with the changes that had been made. Gone were the days of Randy’s Record Shop and “White Rose Petroleum Jelly” ads. The colorful characters that helped define a movement all signed off, one by one. Though they weren’t the only station to broadcast R&B throughout the 50s and 60s, they were the only ones who could reach outside their own neighborhood to do it. WLAC brought a niche market to the masses, spawning a thousand copy-cats, while doing their part to pass on an art-form they thought to be culturally significant. What they were able to do with fifty-thousand watts was no less than remarkable.

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“Previous to 1946, WLAC was just a typical, CBS network radio station.”, says Michael Gray, museum editor at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum and co-curator of the Hall’s 2004-2005 exhibit, Night Train To Nashville: Music City Rhythm and Blues 1945-1970. “It didn’t have anything that really distinguished it from other stations around the country. It was when they started playing the black music at night, that they are remembered for today”. It all began late one evening, in 1946. The story goes that a group of black college students, from either Fisk or Tennessee State Universities, paid night DJ Gene Nobles a visit, toting a box of their own personal R&B records. When they asked, “Would you play some of our music?”, Nobles obliged them, and the rest is history.

During daytime hours, WLAC aired everything from soap operas to local news and big band music. R&B programming kicked off at 8pm every night, with each of the four overnight DJs: Gene Nobles, John “John R.” Richbourg, Bill “Hoss” Allen and Herman Grizzard. Each DJ brought his own passion to the microphone and had the freedom to play whatever they wanted, while also catering to their mainly black audience.

Having began his career as a carnival barker, Nobles worked his way around radio stations throughout his home state of Arkansas, before settling in at WLAC in 1943. By 1946, he was interspersing black gospel selections with some of the top big band hits of the day. The more requests he got, the more gospel he played, and before long, he was the first DJ at WLAC playing gospel and rhythm and blues exclusively. John R., though not the first, became the most well known of the night crew. His instantly recognizable voice boomed out over the airwaves every night with, “This is John R., way down south in Dixie”, as a clarion call to turn the dial up. Musicians traveling along the Chitlin’ Circuit always had their dials on 1510AM, hoping to hear their latest single. High school kids were tucked into bed with their teddy bears and transistor radios, hoping that Dad wouldn’t walk in and hear the blasphemous noise coming from beneath their pillows. Even DJs from other stations around the country would listen to costco propecia

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John R., as his show was usually going on while they were driving home from work. Hoss Allen began as a fill-in DJ, eventually taking over Nobles’ 10:15pm slot when Gene left. Out of all the DJs, Hoss was known to have the greatest passion for what he played. Over the years, he hosted multiple gospel shows, and along with John R., had his hands in multiple Nashville record labels and other artist management duties. His gospel programming continued on into the 1980s, despite format changes that occurred.

While they were plugging music, they were also pushing products. Sponsors who serviced black communities were buying up air-time, in turn financing the continued success of WLAC. “Collectively, they were pitchmen”, says Gray. “You can’t forget that they were selling stuff. They loved the music, but more than anything, they were also selling stuff”. One minute you’d hear a jingle for White Rose Petroleum Jelly, followed by mail-in offers for one-hundred “live baby chicks” and “swinging soul medallions”. Even artists got in on the act, with Little Richard hocking Royal Crown Hair Dressing, saying “I goes for the girls with the Royal Crown look, mmmMMM!”.

Along with the station’s various product sponsors were the record stores that individually sponsored each show. Every night, Gene Nobles’ shows were brought to listeners by Randy’s Record Shop, out of Gallatin, TN, beginning in the late 1940s. Owner Randy Wood turned his appliance business into a booming record industry, when sales of the demonstration records he kept on-hand for his record player sales, began outselling his record players. At the suggestion of a customer, Randy approached Gene about partnering up to sell the records Nobles’ was spinning. “Imagine it’s the late 40s, you’re hearing these great black records and the whole time, Gene Nobles is saying, ‘And you can order that from Randy’s Record Shop in Gallatin,TN’. There’s people all over the country that, if you say Gallatin,TN, they’ll remember it. They were selling the records by mail order. Locals could walk in and buy them too, but mainly, their business was mail order.”, adds Gray. The success of Randy’s mail-order business provided enough income to start up one of Nashville’s most important independent record labels, Dot Records. While Gene was plugging Randy’s Record Shop, John R. was pointing people towards Ernie’s Record Mart, in downtown Nashville. Ernie’s formula was similar to Randy’s, having a mail-order business that eventually spawned multiple small record labels, starting with Nashboro Records, in 1951. Since Nashboro was primarily a gospel label, Ernie started Excello Records to service his R&B artists in 1952. Excello cut such important singles as the original version of “Baby Let’s Play House”, by Arthur Gunner. The following year, Elvis picked up the single and took it all the way up the Billboard charts. These record shops, with their satellite record labels became the foundation for Nashville’s music industry, successfully doing everything that RCA, Columbia and Decca Records would later do, but doing it first.

(End of Part 1)

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