Power Pickers of the '60's

Today, July 22, is Bobby Sherman’s birthday. Bobby was a late ’60’s/early ’70’s teenybopper idol who had a number of  hits,  including “La La La,”  probably  released in late ’69. We recorded the trax for it on Sept. 19 of that year at Columbia Studios (my journal has the words “Metro Media” penned in next to the name of the studio, but I don’t know what it means.  Maybe Jason Odd does). Other than that session,  the mix of which left no trace of my rhythm acoustic guitar playing to  go on the record itself,  I have no relationship with Bobby Sherman and never did. I wish I could tell you who was on the session, but in those days I was not an historian, just a struggling session man. Plus, I was prob.  hammered, as usual.

Anyway,  it’s time for some more Jimmie Rodgers stuff. These are scenes, one worked into dialog, the other waiting to be, that were not yet included in the script outline, but I thought would yield good action and/or dialog and/or character development, once they were turned into screenplay matter.

Exchanges with and about Ralph Peer, Victor A&R man

Jimmie Rodgers is in a small recording “situation” in June of 1931. It’s the old church Victor used for a studio in the Camden. The church is dark inside, except for an intimate glow where the musicians and recordists have located, in the center of the main worship hall. The pews were long ago removed.

Camera starts with wide-angle, all-inclusive shot of whole room from elevation. Sound of the session in progress starts very faint on track, slowly gets louder as camera gradually zooms in. It is a kickass rendition of one the blue yodels, and as camera gets closer and sound louder, the pulse of the track, and Jimmie’s performance in response to it, is hot. All the musicians and recordists feel the beat and the confidence of the music. Including one man who seems to be rocking out in spite of himself. He’s a little stiff about it, but is clearly enjoying it.

The piece ends, the music is over. One of the recordists signals Jimmie and the band for a long second of quiet that they will put at the end of the recording. Everybody knows this is the take to go with.

The recordist indicates the silence is over, and Jimmie and the musicians congratulate each other on a good performance, talk about it lovingly to each other. Jimmie slowly makes his way out of the studio and into the (glassed-off) area where the engineers and the man are, walking through all the other musicians as he does. Except for Jimmie, all the musicians are black.

JR: What do you think, Ralph?

Ralph Peer: What do I think Jimmie? You know what I think without even asking me. It was a very good take. Best one of the day. And it’s a real good arrangement. Different from what you usually do, just like promised it’s be. But…

JR: But what, Ralph?

RP: You know “but what” Jimmie.

JR: Well, now, I’m not sure I do.

RP: Jimmie, we’ve talked about this. A lot. I can’t tell if you understand what I’m trying to say or not. I’m not sure you’re even listening to me.

JR: Humor me. Tell me again.

RP: Oh, let’s just forget it. We don’t list the musicians on the label, anyway. Maybe I’m making too much of it muself. I–

JR: Oh. You mean the colored musicians on the recording?

RP: Jimmie, don’t play naïve with me. It doewsn’t fit you.

JR: Ralph, I know the musical background fits for my songs. And like you say, we’re not going to put the names of the players on the label, so who cares what color they are. I don’t care. You don’t care. Mr. Victor, he don';t really care. So who are we protecting?

RP: Well, first of all, I’m not 100% sure the Victor company doesn’t care who their artists record with. I’m just saying, you’re asking for trouble when you have Niggers in the band. Look, Jimmie, you know how much I like Nigger music. Hell, I’m going down to Atlanta next week just to record–

JR: I do know that, Ralph. I do. But what I can';t figure out is why if they can play the music, and nobody’s gonna see em, what’s wrong with having ’em play we me, on muy records? What difference is it going to make to anyone?

RP: [Long beat] Jimmie, I can';t relly tell you what difference it’s going to make. I’M Just saying coloreds are not like us. They have…a different way of living. Some people don’t like that difference. A lot of folks–your fans, Jimmie–feel they lose some jobs because the Niggers’ll work for less money than we do.

JR: And do some jobs we don’t want to do. Like all the “Georges” on the Pullman cars, like plowing a field by hand. Like picking cotton…

RP: …Like accompanying you. Some of those jobs they’re taking are jobds that could go to our musicians…

JR: You mean white musicians.

RP: Jimmie, if Clayton McMichen finds out you recorded with Niggers, he won’t play with you any more. You understand that?

JR: [beat] So what do you propose, Mister recording director? Throwing these takes out and starting all over again?

RP: [beat] No, not exactly, Jimmie. But, we do have their arrangements recorded. There’s no reason why we couldn’t have Clayton and the Burke Brothers learn them, and then you’d record the sides with them. It’d be the same music, and everyone would be happy.

JR: Almost everyone.

RP: Whay do you mean, Jimmie?

JR: Well, I don';t want to sound boastful, Ralph, but I think Earl and his boys really were proud to record with me. I think they’d b e very disappointed if they were’nt on the record they helped me arrange.

RP: Well, Jimmie, it’s not like we won’t pay ’em. They’ll make over $75 a man. Jesus, that’s more money than any of ’em’ll make in a–

JR: I know you’ll pay ’em Ralph. I rtrust you that way. I just think…well, somehow, it doesn’t seem fair for them to have done all this work, and expect to have something thye could take home, show their families and friends they played with the singing Brakeman on a national record, and now all they’ll have to show for it is as musch money as they woud’ve gotten choppin’ cotton for a couple of weeks.

RP: [beat] Well, what do you want to do Jimmioe? I gave you a good alternative plan for your backup band. You havre to decide if you want to take it or not. You know what I think. But your contract with us says only that you’ll write, prepare and perform x number of songs x times a year. I can’t make you do anything, as long as you live uyp to your end of the bargain. [beat] So, what do you want to do?

RP: Take all the time you want, Jimmie. Hell, take lunch and dinner; we’re not recording again ’til tomorrow. I just hope you make the right decision.

JR: Me too, Ralph. Me too.

(Same scene as recalled by Ralph Peer in an interview 30 years later.)

RP: (Chuckling)…didn’t always know what the implications of his actions were. He wasn’t dumb. Jimmie was actually pretty clever, considering he didn’t have anything but a uyear or two of public education. But Jimmie…all he wanted to do was make friends. Didn’t much matter how he did it. Tho’ thank God one of the ways was with his music. You know, the recordings, the tours, the “impromptu” sitdowns. Wherever he was, he just wanted to be surrounded by people that loved him. Note that I’m saying they would surround HIM. That’s important. He loved people, but he did want to be the center of attention. Nothinhg wrong with that; that’s what every good entertainer has to want, or he woun;t be worth a damn to himself or anyone. You know, I remembver one time he–

Interviewer: But do you recall anything about that session, you know, the one in LouisVille, in June? I mean, about how he seemed to feel about keeping the Negro players as his backup band, or–

RP: Well, see, that’s what I’m trying to tell you about. Now, Jimmie didn’t care much about the, how would you say, the “imponderables” of the recording business. If it sounded good when we cut it, why then, that’s what he wanted to issue. Didn’t matter what we called it, didn;’t matter who played on it. Now, he understood he had to get writing credit. That he understood, thanks to me. But you know, until I showed him he couldn’t get any publixhing royalties unless he was the writer of the songs he recortded, he didn’t care. I think maybe that’s where some of the, uh, Nigra influence came in. I think he heard Nigra fellas playing and singing in the yards, you know, the railroad yards where they’d all stay over until the next connection, and he knew it was kind of catchy and mournful at the same time, and he wanted the sound for himself, and he didn’t see why he couldn’t just ghet the boys who played it to play for him.

But yes, to answer your question, he did seem to have some concern for the colored boys’ feelings. But not like your current-day integrationists, your peace marchers and your intermarriage people. I don;’t think he would have been happy at all to see Kathryun–his daughter, you know– marry a colored boy. No, he wouldn’t have gone that far.

But when it cam to the music, his music, he was color-blind. and it was hell on the rest of us. You can say he was ahead of his time, socially, I mean, but I don’t think it was that at all. it was the music, plain and simple. If he could get an alligator to plkay guitar the way he wanted it, or fill in a good washtub bass part or a big jug, why he wouldn’t care who was playing. But he wasn’t a freedom busrider. What do you call it? A civil rights activist? No way.

Int: What actually happened to the recordings from that session? The ones that had the black sidemen? Do you recall?

RP: Do I recall? Yessir, I recall. Jimmie told me later that day, after the session was over and the colored boys had gone, that it’d be alright with him to have some of our boys–

Int: You mean white musicians?

RP: Well, whatever. Actually, there was a Hawaiian player in there somewhere, a lap-slide guitar player, I don’t actually remember exactly when, tho’ I could look it up if you wanted. But yes, to answer your question, he agreed to let some white musicicans learn the parts from the colored boys’ recorded arrangements, and he’d sing along with them, with the white versions. You call them “covers” now. That’s thanks to me, too. I made up that exprtession, “covers.”

But he insisted that we issue the ones he liked the best, the versions he preferred, colored players or white players. [silence]

Int: So…

RP: So, we got the Burkes and McMichen and Joe Sdchmuck, and they listened to the arrangements Jimmie had done woth the colored bouys, and learned them well. They were all adept ;players. I thought they did real well. But…the fiddle on the clarinet part just didn’t please Jimmie for a low-down blues–that’s what he called songs like My Good Gal’s Gone Blues–“low-down.” That was his term for it. Anyway, the fiddle just didn’t go with the words, at least that’s what Jimmie said. And also the real bass, the concert bass, just didn’t sound the same as the jug. [musing resentfully] That damn jug. I hated that jug. To me, that’s what made it sound so Nigra. The jug.

Int: So you went with the black version of My Good Gal’s Gone Blues and What’s ‘It? when you issued the records?

RP: [beat] We issued Jimmie singing with the Nigra players, yes.

Mfx: Funky, driving jug band recording fades back up; maybe camera pulls back from cu of session it had originally zoomed into.

Same scene from standpoint of aging black musician being interviewed, ca. 1970.

Musician (Morgan Freeman?): Do I think it made a difference to Jimmie whether we were included or not in the recording? (chuckles).Now, you talkin’ ’bout the music or our feelings? ‘Cause if you be asking’ ’bout the music, shit, you be on a fool’s mission. The music was elementary to Jimmie Rodgers. Elementary, see. The music always come first. whatever be the best music, that be what Jimmie Rodgers wanted on his recortds. He take what he could ghet, see, what ever was the best around at the moment he was recortding. But if something was better than something else–you understand what I’m talking about?–,if something be better than something else, Jimmie always take the winner. Once he heard what the song could sound like with good musicians, musicians with the “feeling”–you understand what I’m saying here?–when he could hear the “feeling” in the music we playing, he don';t wanta go backward. He want to keep that music with the feeling. [maybe this guy plays a lick or two on guitar–electric!–or mouth harp, amplified].

Int: And what about your heart? And the other black musicians? Do you think that mattered to him? I mean not the music, but your feelings, how you took it that some of the recording people didn’t want you to play on his records no matter how good it sounded. Did he care?

Mus’n: Well, now, I’m no mind-reader, you understand. And I just knew the man for a few days, you know, not like we grew up in the same county or anything. But I’ll tell you this: When he was in the recording [booth] arguing with Mr. Peer, I had to kind of walk through them all, ’cause I had to take a pee and the toilet was you had to walk through where the recording equipment was to get to it, I saw and heard Jimmie Rodgers arguing vociferously with Mr. Peer. Vo-ciferously. And Mr. Peer, he didn’t look all that happy ’bout the way things seemed to be going for him, and whatever he was trying to hget Jimmie to do. And Jimmie, he looked pretty worked up. I don’t know what he was saying when I didn’t hear him, but I know when I did hear him, he was asking Mr. Peer what difference it made if they weren’t going to put the names of the players on the label. He was saying what does it matter, long as the music was good?

Int: So you’re saying he really didn’t care that much about the muscicians, he just cared–

Musc’n: Well, now, whoa just a bit, Mr. Folklorist/Civil Rights man. that’s not exactly what I said. What I said was he seemed to be fighting hard for the music to be right, no matter who played it. When you ask me how he felt as a man, inside hisself, I have to tell you this: there was another guy in the band, Earl MacDonald, he played the jug. You know what that is, the jug, right? Anyway he played the jug, and he was really good, a virtuAHso, you understand what I’m saying? he could make that jug talk, and still keep the rhythm for everyone else in the band if they lost it, say.

But see, Earl–he’s the one that booked me onto the recording session–Earl knew Jimmie a long time. Earl knew Jimmie from the yards, that’s where they met, in the yuards, the rr yards, and they’d see each other all the time, on the different runs, doin’ different work, of course–colored folks and white folks didn’t do the same kind of work on the roads as each other–, but they seed each other all the time, ahd sort of followed each others’ like careers when they got around each other, or heard from other [rr workers] and asked after each other.

And anyway, what Earl said, was he didh;t ever see Jimmie mad as he seemed to be that day arguing with Mr. Peer. In fact, Earl say Jimmie had a reputation for being just as easy going like most other people in the south. You know, we just don’t get as “up tight” as you people do. Earl, he say Jimmie was campaign shoutin’ in that control booth, and it seemed to be about what’s fair and not fair as much as anything else. Earl say Jimmie tell Mr. Peer, “These boys have worked hard for me for the best part of a week, on these arrangements”–and we had, too. He got that right– “and,” Earl say Jimmie say, “it’s not fair they shouldn’t be able to play on the record, just because they was colored. Esp. since no one listening to the record was going to even see ’em.”

Earl say Jimmie was a friend to the colored man. That he helped the colored man out whenever he could, but most especially in getting the colored man noticed for his musibility, if you understand what I’m saying.

Int: But Mr. Peer said he’d be glad to pay you guys for your services. He wasn';t trying to rip you off financially.

Mus’n: That’s right. Mr. Peer say he pay all us boys for our trouble. Decent money, too. Almost a hundred dollars apiece. [beat] And you know what Earl say Jimmie Rodgers say to Mr. Peer when he say that?

Int: No, I don’t.

Musn: Well, I don’t think I can say it on this tape recording you’re making. I think you better turn it off, first.

Int: Well, I’ll tell you what: it’s my tape and my tape recorder, and no ones’s going to hear this that I don’t want to hear it. What’d Jimmie say to Peer?

Mus: [beat]. He said, “Fuck you. These are my musicians, and Ill record with ’em if I want to.” That’s what he said, “Fuck you.” Earl like to died when Jimmie said that to Mr. Peer. And then Jimmie took four crisp new $100 bills out of his wallet and pushed them at Mr. Peer. “Here’s your outlay for the first session, Ralph.” Then, so everybody could hear, you know, all us colored guys in the recording studio and all the recording engineers and Mr. Peer, he says real loud, like someone just got the faith or something, “Day after tomorrow, everybody. Ten AM sharp.” That’s what he said. I heard him myself. “Everybody be here day after tomorrow”–that would be a Wednesday as I recollect–“at ten o’clock in the morning.” And then he said, “And whoever’s bringing the hootch, don’t forget it this time.” Honest to God, that’s what he said.

[If this guy had picked up a guitar or harp and hit a lick or two during the interview, I think we go out on some good, raunchy Chicago R&B, ala Howlin’ Wolf or Muddy Waters, etc., and make that connection]

JUG JOINT

Smalltown RR crossing at night. Bell clangs, red lights blink, white crossingarm falls into position. Train rounds a last curve before coming into view, approaches slowly, brakes hissing and squealing. There is no reason for it to stop here, and somehow it knows it.

High atop one of the boxcars a man with a lantern traces an arms-length circle in front of him, like the outline of a shield, then pumps the lantern straight up and down. He does this every few seconds as the train gets closer and closer to the crossing. On the fourth repeat of the pattern another lantern, just outside a small shack up the track, is waved straight up and down. A whistle moans one long, three short tones and the train slows down some more. It comes into the tiny station at maybe a fast walk.

Boxcar rider scurries down the steel ladder that runs up the side of the boxcar, right next to the open doors where three men crouch. The man on the ladder climbs down to the men in the doorway and talks to them.

JR: OKAY, GENNEMENS, THIS IS IT.

One of the men jumps from slowly moving train, trots a couple of steps to equalize his own speed with that of the train. The other two men are right behind him. When the boxcar man is sure the other two are free of the tracks, he signals one more time to the Stationmaster, who is now about a hundred yards up the track. He signals back. A moment later, the whistle blows and the train starts to pick up speed, the whoofing and clacking of the engine and wheels gradually drowning everything else out as it struggles to get to a speed it is more comfortable with. The three men walk toward the small shack and the Stationmaster.

JR [to Stationmaster]: OBLIGED, SAMPSON. [Hands lantern to Stationmaster]

Stnmstr: GLAD TO HE’P, JIMMIE. [Takes lantern from Jimmie, gives the two black men the once-over, shrugs, turns back to Jimmie. WHEN YOU THINK Y’ALL BE BACK?

JR: HARD TO SAY, SAMPSON. DEPENDS ON HOW LUCKY WE GET.

Stnmstr: WELL, WE GOT THE 11:45 AND THE 1:13…

Arnel: LAWD, I HOPE WE BE LUCKIER THAN THAT.

Stnmster: TELL YOU WHAT, MISTER RODGERS: THE SILVER ROCKET’LL BE COMIN’ THRU AT 5:46 IN THE MORNING. WHY DON’T I JUST ROLL IT ONTO THAT SIDETRACK AND HOLD IT FOR YOU ‘TIL YOU GET HERE? I DON’T THINK THE OTHER PASSENGERS WOULD MIND ALL THAT MUCH, DO YOU ?

JR: WHY, THANK YOU, SAMPSON. THAT’S VERY KIND OF YOU.

Stnmstr: OH, THINK NOTHING OF IT, MISTER RODGERS.

JR: THINK NOTHING OF WHAT, SAMPSON? OH, AND DON’T FORGET SAMPSON: TWO MINUTE EGGS. LAST TIME THEY WERE SO HARD I THOUGHT COOK  FORGOT TO TAKE ‘EM OUT OF THE SHELLS.

Stnmstr: NO, THAT WAS ME, JIMMIE. HAD ‘EM MADE UP SPECIALLY MADE  FOR YOU.

JR gives famous “thumbs up” gesture to Stationmaster. Both men laugh.

Stnmstr: WELL, WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR, JIMMIE?

Wave to each other. Jimmie and the three other men start walking along the road that crosses the tracks.

JR: WHOA, I’M HET UP, ARNEL. AREN’T YOU, OR ARE YOU TOO COOL? HOW FAR IS THIS PLACE?

Arnel: WELL, LESSEE. YOU GOT A COMPASS AND SLIDE-RULE?

Jukie: SHIT, MAN, IT’S COLORED TOWN. WHEN’S THE LAST TIME YOU SEEN COLORED TOWN MORE THAN TWO BLOCKS AWAY FROM THE RAILROAD  TRACKS?

Arnel: ANYWAY, YOU BE HEARING IT BEFORE YOU SEE IT.

At that moment a noisy, ragged jalopy turns the corner into the street they’re walking along and pulls up beside them. One of the guys leans out the front window and greets them.

Rider: HEY! ARNEL! WHATCHA DOIN’, BABY? HOW’S LIFE AMONG THE EM-PLOYED?

The jalopy pulls over, Arnel walks to the curb and chats with the people in it. In a second the rope that is holding both doors closed is unlooped, and Arnel is motioning Jimmie and Jukie to get in.

JR: YOU SURE YOU GOT ROOM?

Driver: SHIT, MAN, WE GOT ROOM FOR A WHALE IN THIS THING.

Arnel: GOOD, CAUSE WE GOT A WHALE IN OUR PARTY. JIMMIE, JUKIE, GET  YOUR ASSES IN HERE.

Everyone piles in, and the jalopy chugs off.

[They find a parking place and the seven men pile out and start walking down the street. It’s a down-at-the-heels neighborhood, with few lights and fewer neon signs. Just over the threshold of hearing there is a pumping pulse, audible only as a low, single note line. Gradually, as the men get closer to its source, the line is joined by other, less elemental sounds. Band instruments!

The six black guys are reserved and poised as the excitement builds, but Jimmie’s having trouble containing himself. He looks at Arnel, who just keeps looking cool and purposeful as he and the other guys step thru a battered, mud-silled doorway. The door is open, and music fills the room. It’s a jug band, and they’re cooking (see Minglewood Blues in Smith collection). Inside the Club it’s a casual atmosphere, with some people dancing, some drinking at a ratty bar, some playing cards. There’s a pool table across the room from the jug band, and some sharply dressed Negro men are standing around it. There are hookers in evidence, and Arnel and Jukie move directly toward a couple of them. But Jimmie just stares at the band, transfixed by the chugging rhythm of the orchestra and naked rawness of the vocalist’s delivery.

“DON’T YOU NEVER LET ONNNNNE…WOMAN RULE YOUR MIND.

DON’T YOU NEVER LET ONNNNNE…WOMAN RULE YOUR MIND.

‘CAUSE SHE KEEP YOU WORRIED, TROUBLED ALL THE TIME.”

Gradually, some of the bar patrons become more attentive to the music. Sly observations and comments are made.

Crowd: YOU SAY IT, BROTHER, YOU SAY THE TRUTH. LAWD, YES. HE BE  SAYING THE REAL THING, YOU BELIEVE IT, ETC.

One voice, young, female and earnest, stands out amidst the general murmuring.

Thelma: BULLLLL-SHIT!

Crowd: WHOOOOEEEE! UH OH. NOW YOU DONE IT, GUS. ETC.

Vocalist: “YOU BE A MARRIED WOMAAAN…COME SEE ME SOMETIME

YOU BE A MARRIED WOMAAAN…YOU COME SEE ME SOMETIME

YOU BE A SINGLE WOMAN…I’LL SEE YOU BY AN’ BY.”

Thelma: YOU BE LYIN’ LIKE A ROPE, GUS. YOU A SNAKE.

Gus (the vocalist) laughs and sings another verse, then tells the band to comp while he and Thelma do the Dozens. They’re good at it. It’s a real show. Then, finally…

Gus: YOU BE SUCH AN AUTHORITY ON MATTERS OF THE HEART, WHY’NT YOU  GET YOUR BLACK ASS AND TITTIES OVER HERE AND SING THE SONG FOR ME? COME ON, THELMA, GET ON OVER HERE.

Crowd: YEAH, GO ON, THELMA. WHOOOEEE, THELMA GONNA TELL IT LIKE IT IS.

From someplace in the shadows of the dim room, comes the owner of the voice mouthin’ like Rev. Al Sharpton [I HOPE YOU GOT IN-SURANCE, GUS, ‘CAUSE I’M GONNA HURT YOU, YOU UNDERSTAND? I’M GONNA CUT YOU A NEW ASSHOLE, ‘CAUSE THE ONE YOU GOT, ETC. ETC.] When she finally gets into lights near the “stage” she is revealed as a young black woman, pouting and attractive, with a lewd smile. She walks over to the slightly raised platform where the band is playing, steps onto it, gives Gus a scornful onceover, and starts to sing.

Thelma: “I SEE YOU DON’T NEVER BRING YO’ BLACK SNAKE HOME

NO, YOU DON’T NEVER, EVER BRING YO’ BLACK SNAKE HOME

‘CAUSE I GOT ME A HACKSAW GONNA MAKE THAT SERPENT MOAN

The crowd hoots and hollers, and Thelma sings a couple more verses. Then Gus sings a couple more verses, before he motions to the Band to go into stop-time.

Gus: “YOU KNOW YOU–MESS WITH MY VIPER

HE GONNA GET SORE

HE GONNA BITE YO’ LITTLE COOKIE ‘TIL YOU CAN’T STAND IT NO MORE

SUCK THE MILK FROM YO’ MILK COW

TAKE THE HONEY FROM YO’ BEES

LEAVE YOU CRAWLIN’ ROUND MY BEDSIDE

SAYIN’ ‘MERCY, MERCY, PLEASE.’

[Hoots and hollers from audience]

Thelma: “YOU KNOW YOU–BRING THAT BLACK SNAKE NEAR ME HE GONNA GET STUNG

GONNA TIE HIS LITTLE BLACK CIGAR INTO A LITTLE BLACK SNAKE BUN

PULL HIS EYEBALLS THROUGH HIS ASSHOLE SQUEEZE HIS RATTLES ‘TIL THEY SQUIRM

‘CAUSE THIS BLACK SNAKE YOU BE TALKIN’ ‘BOUT

AIN’T NOTHIN’ BUT A LITTLE BROWN WORM

[Chorus-not written]

Jimmie’s glued to the to the performance coming off the humble little stage–and to at least one of the performers; so much so he doesn’t see or hear Arnel sidle up to him.

Arnel: HEY, BOY, WHAT YOU LOOKIN’ AT?

JR [surprised]: I…UH…WELL, I…

Arnel: HEY, I THOUGHT YOU JUST HERE FOR THE MUSIC.

JR: WELL, YEAH, I AM. BUT I LIKE WHERE ITS COMING FROM, TOO.

Arnel: WELL, SHIT, I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE LIKE THAT. JEEZ, THAT CLARINET PLAYER LOVES BOYS LIKE YOU. SHIT, I CAN–

JR: HEY, THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT! LISTEN, ARNEL–

Arnel: I KNOW WHAT YOU MEANT, MAN. BUT A INTRODUCTION TO THELMA GONNA COST YOU.

JR: DON’T FOOL AROUND, ARNEL.

Arnel grabs a pack of Old Golds Jimmie’s been carrying in an inside pocket of his jacket, takes him by the arm and hauls him over to the bar, where Thelma is. She is surrounded by admirers, but acknowledges Arnel. They exchange a few words, have a couple of laughs, then he pulls Jimmie up to the bar.

Arnel: THELMA, YOU GOT AN ADMIRER, HERE. MUSICIAN, TOO. PRETTY GOOD GUITAR PLAYER. I’D LIKE YOU TO MEET MY CO-WORKER AND FRIEND, MR. JAMES F. RODGERS. THE “F” IS FOR “FOOL.”

JR: I’M VERY PLEASED TO MEET YOU, THELMA. I…I DON’T THINK I’VE EVER HEARD A WOMAN…UH…DELIVER A LYRIC LIKE THAT.

Thelma: THANK YOU, MR. RODGERS. BUT YOU SHOULD KNOW RIGHT AWAY, I DON’T DELIVER.

Bar people: UH OOHHHH. THELMA BE TALKIN’ HER JIVE, ETC.

JR: WELL, THAT WORKS OUT FINE FOR ME; I’M STRICTLY A TAKE-OUT MAN, MYSELF. [Pulls a flask from inside pocket of his jacket.]

Bar People: WHOOOEEEE. NOW WE ALL IN TROUBLE, ETC.

JR [to Thelma]: BUY YOU A DRINK?

Shawn Elliott with then-girlfriend Donna Murphy and my son, Max,  ca. 1988.

Distinguished stage, film and tv actor and close friend Shawn Elliott has finally returned to his  Upper West Side digs after a week-long stay at Lenox Hill Hospital for colon blockage and related abdominal problems.  Though Elliott’s name is not a household word,  you’d probably recognize him for his portrayals of a judge and other characters in Law & Order and as a character actor in other tv venues.

Elliott’s intestinal problems, nagging him for the better part of this year, were finally cleared up after a long, uncomfortable week in the hospital, where doctors and surgeons kept a not-close-enough, in my opinion, watch over his condition and the progress, or lack of it, of their measures to ease the blockage. My wife and I visited him several times before some of the medicos’ voodoo kicked in and he was able to return home to wife Donna Murphy and five-year old daughter, Darmia. Shawn is a devoted family man and was overjoyed to get back to his household.

Besides the tv characterizations Shawn has had a noteworthy career starting in the ‘Sixties, with a cover of the reggae hit Shame and Scandal in Family that climbed the  charts  (Jason Odd, do you happen to know exactly how far up?) and got him going as a singer.  He won raves in the Off Broadway revue  “Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris,” adding acting to music for a dual metier.

Shawn has appeared in many films, including Miguel Pinero’s  Short Eyes,  the Robert Young-directed thriller, Caught, and Crossover Dreams, a salsa musical with Reuben Blades. Fans know him as a featured stage actor in the Broadway productions of City of Angels and Cyrano, where he played opposite Frank Langella. His recent portrayal of the central character in the Off Broadway show Einstein’s Gift won critical reviews. His work usually does.

In October he directed and performed in Begonya Plaza’s play,  Teresa’s Ecstasy,  “a mystical journey of change and defiance as two opposing sexually charged forces look at love, politics and religion,” produced at the INTAR  Rehearsal Studios on West 52nd Street. The work is planned to go into production later this year.

*                      *                       *                        *                         *                     *                       *                    *

Following is what seems to be a sort of script-outline for the film The Jimmie Rodgers Story with some scenes and dialog written,  some indicated TK and some noted q.v., i.e.,  already written but not included in the outline. I’m putting the outline in today, with some notes to the writer, as one long run-on sentence of a script, and add the q.v.’s in subsequent posts. Give ya a little something to look forward to.

THE JIMMIE ROGERS STORY by Allan Ross

PROLOGUE  (Included in second-to-last post,   “Clarence White, What He Knew, etc.”)

SCENE I – Contemporary Nashville Session (Included in previous post,  “Greg n’ Al’s Run for the Border(s)”)

SCENE II – Audio: YO-DE-LAY-HEE-OOO (Not written)

Sfx: Vocal synthesized and processed, expanded into “surround-sound” mix. Blues licks et al and percussion added. Crescendo to peak, then diminuendo all instmts & vocal except percussion on Wynton Marsalis “BIG TRAIN” figure (Ba-dum ba-dum… Ba-dum ba-dum…).

– Fade to –

SCENE III – Funeral Cortege (Not written)

Passing countryside (credits?) POV from inside special RR viewing car. Countryside changes as train goes from NY to Meridien. People gradually appear along tracks, mourning and otherwise paying respects. By the time train stops in Meridien, people (white, black, city-types, country-types) are in number and we can see individual faces.

SCENE IV – End of Journey (Not written)

Train comes slowly to stop. Hands and forearms reach into car and gently unload casket. Hushed voices. Casket clears doors of car. In a moment, the open slider door is closed, but not before we see Parnell, a black man in his mid-thirties, in middle distance holding something we can’t quite make out and looking on at procession.

– Fade to –

SCENE V – Jimmie Rodgers’ Last Recording Session

1930’s recording studio, POV control booth. Four men stand hunched over sound equipment, gazing apprehensively at figure on other side of soundproof glass.

JR (singing, heard thru small speaker in control booth):

“WHEN YOU SEE A SPIDER,

CLIMBIN’ UP A WALL…”

Ralph Peer (in control booth): THIS ONE’S GONNA GO RIGHT TO THE

WIRE, BOYS.

Engineer (to self): C’MON, JIMMIE, C’MON.

– Cut to –

Studio, MCU of JR singing w/guitar, sound now live and full.

JR: “WHEN YOU SEE A SPIDER,

CLIMBIN’ UP A LONESOME WALL,

YOU CAN TELL THE WORLD,

HE’S GONNA GET HIS ASHES HAULED.

YO-DE-LAYEE, -AYEE, -AYEEEE.”

Performance ends and last chord fills recording studio. JR’s eyes shut tight, face contorts, shoulders hunch and heave in silent convulsions.

– Cut to –

Control booth. Last chord still ringing, but thru monitor again. Otherwise, no sound in booth. Final chord rings a long time as each man in booth goes thru his own personal anxiety symptoms (e.g., Peer looks at clock on wall, Engr. stares at vu meters, plate-cutter stares at engineer, etc.). Finally, Engr. nods to Peer. Peer’s shoulders slump and his chin momentarily rests on his chest. He leans forward toward talkback mic next to Engr., who flicks it on.

Peer: WE GOT IT, JIMMIE.

Control Booth (gen’l): YEA! YEAH, JIMMIE, YOU GOT IT MAN! ETC.

But JR doesn’t seem to hear, possibly because of soundproofing, but mainly, it turns out, because he’s being wracked and wrenched by a coughing fit that convulses his whole body. Two male attendants and a woman rush into studio, but there’s not much they can do when they get to his side, except stand there helplessly looking on. Finally, the seizure abates enough for them to help him stand. In the meantime, the clapping in the booth dies down as Peer and the technicians start to go about their business of turning the performance into a record.

– Cut to –

SCENE V(a): Jimmie’s Dressing Room.

Jimmie is helped onto bed, sits on edge slumping and panting from the coughing seizure. He is all but motionless except for the heaving of his body as he tries to breathe.

Sfx: Clapping from control booth becomes echo-y and ethereal. Synthesized yodel from Scene 2 is reprised briefly.

– Dissolve to –

SCENE VI: Backstage at the Earle (five years earlier)

(Soundtrack cross-fades up to) Wild clapping, whooping, calls for “more” from audience out front as small knot of people gather around a younger and much healthier-looking JR backstage, congratulating and patting him on the back, etc. JR enjoys the adulation, tho’ with occasional wistful glances into middle distance.

Stage hands start to close the theatre for the night.

JR (to entourage): THANKS, EVERYBODY, ‘PPRECIATE IT, etc. HEY, WHY DON’T YOU GUYS GO ON AHEAD? I’LL BE ALONG IN A FEW MINUTES.

Elmo (man in entourage): THE “RED CABOOSE,” JIMMIE?

JR: THE SAME ONE, ELMO. THEY’RE HOLDING A TABLE FOR ME.

Elmo (as if rehearsed): HOW LONG THEY BEEN HOLDIN’ IT, JIMMIE.

JR: ALL NIGHT, ELMO.

Elmo: BOY, I BET THEY’RE TIRED.

JR: BET YOU’RE RIGHT, ELMO. WHYN’T YOU TELL ‘EM TO SET IT DOWN, AND THEN YOU DO THE SAME YOURSELVES.

Elmo: YOU BET, BOSS.

JR: AND ASK FOR “DOM.”

Elmo: “DOM” WHO, JIMMIE?

JR: DOM PERIGNON, ELMO. DON’T YOU KNOW THAT BY NOW? AND SAVE A SIP FOR ME; SINGIN’S THIRSTY WORK. I’M GONNA TALK TO MY BOYS, HERE [indicates stagehands], FOR A FEW MINUTES, THEN I’LL CATCH UP TO YOU. G’WAN, NOW, GET OUTTA HERE.

Entourage: SEE YA LATER, J.R., HURRY ON UP, NOW JIMMIE, etc.

– Exeunt Entourage –

Two stagehands pick up a big, quilted furniture blanket, snap it straight between them and lay it, tentlike, over piano. Jimmie watches absently, coughing lightly into his hand.

– Dissolve to –

SCENE VII – Sheets into Tents [q.v. but needs rewrite].

Two boys in their mid-teens, one black and one white, pinning a bedsheet into place as the last panel of a homemade bigtop. It’s the young Jimmie and Parnell.

Parnell: YOU THINK PEOPLE ARE REALLY GONNA COME, JIMMIE?

JR: LIKE MOTHS TO A FLAME, PARNELL, LIKE MOTHS TO A FLAME. C’MON, WE GOTTA GET GOING. YOU’RE MASTER OF CEREMONIES, TONIGHT.

Parnell: NOTHIN’ DOIN’, JIMMIE. THAT’S YOUR JOB.

JR: PARNELL, YOU GOTTA START GETTIN’ SOME EXPERIENCE IN THE

DIFFERENT ROLES.

[They go back and forth for a while. Finally, Jimmie says “Match! Even!” and throws out two fingers. Parnell throws out three. Jimmie will be MC. He smiles, shrugs his shoulders and curls his index finger down so that only his middle digit sticka up at Parnell. They both laugh, and make one more sign to each other, a secret one just between the two of them. Then they run into the tent to get into costume.

Almost no one comes and the show is a complete flop. Just before they decide to strike the “tent,” the sky darkens, wind blows up and flattens it. At the same time there is the sound of a lonesome train whistle blowing not far away, carried even closer by the low pressure of the weather. The sound of the train itself gets closer.

– Cut or dissolve to –

SCENE VIII – Aunt Dora’s (to be written)

Middle aged, kindly woman looks at muddied and probably ruined sheets.

Dora: I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO BE AN ENTERTAINER, JIMMIE,

BUT… etc. etc.

Jimmie hugs Aunt Dora and agrees to quit pipe dreaming. But we see in his face over her shoulder that he is mentally crossing his fingers when he makes this promise.

Dora (to camera): Y’KNOW, JIMMIE ALWAYS HAD THESE BIG PLANS TO MAKE

A NAME FOR HIMSELF, BUT WE WERE LIVING IN TOUGH TIMES, ETC. ETC.

– Cut to –

Scene IX – Tent Rep Show (to be written)

Actress weeps melodramatically. Jimmie, several years older than in last scene, watches appreciatively. The drama ends and the [intermission] band plays. (This might be a white string band, and may even be the reason he’s at show in the first place.)

– Fade to –

Scene X Trainz-a-poppin’

Train footage and lots of music as RR guys are shown going high in bad weather, working the brakes, scampering over cars and up and down ladders at night, etc. (May be an interesting time to show what contribution Blacks made to the trains running well, on time, and luxuriously. [“Oh George, would you plump up my pillow for me, and then get me a glass of water? Step lively now, George,” etc, “George,” as in George Pullman, being the generic name for all black train valets.])

– Resolve to –

Scene XI(a) Jimmie in Train Yard (not written)

Last train in Scene X rolls into roundhouse yard in Durham. Weary, begrimed man climbs down boxcar ladder, walks heavily across yard, stops at caboose to drop off something, picks up lunchpale at roundhouse. Couple of light exchanges with other workers. Continues diagonally across yard toward a neat row of small cottages. Just as he reaches them he hears a distant, raucous noise from somewhere toward the far end of the yard. He stops in front of one of the little bungalows, looks back and forth from it to where the sound seems to be coming from, then changes course and walks toward hubbub. We see it is coming from the long, unpainted barracks that serve as the dormitory for colored workers. Jimmie reaches the weatherbeaten wooden shack, pauses at door, then lifts the 2×4 across it and walks in.

Scene XI(b) “The Lounge” (not written)

Sees Parnell talking with short, dark-skinned man while he absently noodles on old guitar. Jimmie and Parnell acknowledge each other almost imperceptibly across the noisy, smoke-filled room. After a few seconds chatting up the other men in the dorm, Jimmie makes his way over to Parnell. The two have some quick repartee, for the “fans,” Jimmie would say, then gets down to the always uncomfortable business of borrowing someone’s musical instrument. Jimmie has an “audition set” to play that night, and he recently pawned his guitar.

It’s been a rough year for Jimmie, cold, with little RR work. He hasn’t been able to send any money home, even did a little hospital time [coughs], but assures Parnell it’s nothing serious.

He borrows the guitar, agrees to return it to the club where Parnell’s playing that night. He thanks him, takes the guitar and leaves.

[Parnell may turn to camera and comment on JR’s talent (or, what Parnell feels is lack of it.]

– Cut to –

Scene XII – Hambly’s Lodge (white folks’ bar) [not written]

JR and band playing. Camera slowly isolates on Jimmie. His singing and playing are heartfelt and slightly melancholy. He’s been in some heavy weather over the last few years, and the easy strength and directness of his performance reflect this, even if one in the tiny audience gives a shit. After this song he turns to his sidemen, mumbles something, and walks off the six-inch high platform that serves as a bandstand. As he goes out the door to return the guitar to Parnell, his sidemen start to play “Lookin’ for a New Mama Blues.” We hear it fade into the distance as Jimmie walks away.

– Cut to –

Scene XIII – JUG JOINT/RAVEN’S REST [q.v.]

There is a black band playing on stage. A thin, light-skinned man with a pencil mustache is playing trumpet, Parnell is on banjo, and the rhythm section is cooking behind them. They’re playing “Lookin’ for a New Mama Blues,” same piece Jimmie’s sidemen were playing when he left Hambly’s, and although the melody and construction are the same, that’s about all that is. The difference between the white band’s version and the black group’s is all too apparent. In a word, one is jazzy and the other isn’t.

Thelma and Jimmie spend some time getting to re-know each other. They remember each other from early in their childhoods when she came down from Harlem to spend a summer with her cousin, Parnell.

She is an exotic, light-skinned Afro cast in the style of the time, i.e., late flapper. He learns that she is following a music/show business career up north, and things are starting to get going for her. She’s got some gigs in the black clubs in Harlem, Philadelphia, Newark, and sometimes goes on the chitlin’ circuit. That’s why she’s here, seeing Parnell; she had a job in Atlanta, and had a few days layover before returning to the Apple.

She asks how it’s going with him, he says “great,” but they both know he’s lying. They are comfortable with each other. They talk easily and familiarly with apparent mutual fondness and respect. They acknowledge what each has gone thru and will probably continue to have to go thru. They marvel at how different and similar they can be at the same time, and get to talking about genealogy, and esp. genealogy in the South. Altho’ they haven’t seen each other in 14 years, electricity arcs between them.

– Cut to –

SCENE XIV – A Railroader’s Life (not written)

Interior of one-room flat. The furniture is spare, the room is grimly plain. JR is in bed with a relapse of his lung problems, and Carrie is trying to minister to him and getting nothing but resistance. He is stubborn to the point of pig-headedness about needing to go back to work, no matter that he is coughing and feverish. Furthermore, no woman’s going to tell him what to do.

He leaps out of bed, grabs his engineers’ hat and light denim jacket and heads for door. At the last second he catches sight of his worried three-year-old(?) daughter, Anita, and, melting, embraces her. After they mumble daddy-daughter things for a few seconds he turns to Carrie and reminds her, almost tearfully, that he hasn’t worked in three weeks, there’s no money coming in, etc. They make up, he gets some heavier clothes on him, and leaves. It’s a bittersweet moment. Carrie waves him down the street, then turns to camera.

Carrie (to camera): HOW HE LOVED THAT BABY. I SWEAR, HE WOULD HAVE SHOVELED COAL WITH HIS TONGUE IF SHE’D OF ASKED HIM. JIMMIE ALWAYS TRIED HARD TO BE A GOOD PROVIDER TO US, WORKIN’ ON THE RAILS AND SUCH. BUT HE ALWAYS SEEMED TO BE, I DON’T KNOW, DISTRACTED OR SOMETHING BY WANTING TO BE IN “THE BUSINESS.” HE DIDN’T SAY “SHOW BUSINESS,” JUST “THE BUSINESS,” AS IF THE WORK OTHER PEOPLE DID WAS SOMETHING BESIDES BUSINESS.

I’LL TELL YOU ONE THING. I DON’T THINK HE EVER APPRECIATED THE CONTRIBUTION I MADE TO HIS CAREER. WE MUSTA LIVED IN EVERY ROAD CAMP FROM ATLANTA TO ALBUQUERQUE, AND NONE OF ‘EM FOR MORE THAN SEVEN DAYS AT A TIME. I LEARNED TO PACK UP AN ENTIRE HOUSEHOLD AND BE ON THE ROAD IN LESS THAN AN HOUR. DON’T TELL ME ABOUT “BUSINESS.” I KNOW ALL ABOUT IT.

ANYWAY, JIMMIE CAME BACK LATER THAT DAY. HIS EYES WERE BRIGHT–I DON’T HOW MUCH OF THAT WAS THE FEVER OR EXCITEMENT AT GETTING WORK. HE HAD A JOB, ALRIGHT. HE ALSO HAD THE BURKE BROTHERS AND THEIR BANJOS AND UKELELES OR WHATEVER THEY PLAYED ON WITH HIM. HE SAID THE JOB WAS IN ASHEVILLE, AND 45 MINUTES LATER THE FIVE OF US WERE ON THE ROAD DRIVING HELL-FOR-LEATHER (EXCUSE MY FRENCH) FOR THE NEXT TWELVE HOURS STRAIGHT. WE HARDLY EVEN STOPPED TO…RELIEVE OURSELVES, IF YOU GET MY MEANING. I COULDN’T UNDERSTAND WHY JIMMIE WAS SO ANXIOUS TO RIDE STEEL. BEING A BRAKEMAN’S JUST ABOUT THE HARDEST JOB IN THE WORLD. I GOT MY ANSWER WHEN WE GOT TO ASHEVILLE.

Sfx: Audio of the Peaboe Sisters’ radio audition slowly fading up in BG.

– Cut to –

SCENE XV – WWNC AUDITION

At end of scene Peer turns to JR and the others…

Peer: CAN YOU GUYS BE IN NEW JERSEY BY TUESDAY OF NEXT

WEEK?

Later, JR and Carrie in one room apt. in town.

JR: LOOKS LIKE WE’RE FINALLY ON OUR WAY, COOKIE. SEE? THAT WASN’T TOO HARD, WAS IT?

[Fade as he starts a monster, prolonged coughing fit]

– Dissolve to –

SCENE XVI(a) – Carrie in Diner (not written)

Carrie is hanging up waitress’ apron and saying goodbyes to fellow workers.

– Cut or dissolve to –

SCENE XVI(b) – Invisible Royalty Check

Carrie walks into their grim New Jersey apt. to find Jimmie just getting off the phone, and looking a bit guilty or ashamed. They have an exchange about no money coming in (from him) except a discouragingly small royalty check from his first recordings months before, in Asheville. Finally, he says he’s decided to do something about it. He calls (or seems to call) Peer, and announces he’s coming up to the city on the 12:35, and will see Peer then. Hurriedly packs a few things in a small canvas duffel bag, puts his guitar in the case, and tells Carrie he’s going to do whatever it takes to make this thing work, and that he will see her in a day or so. Kisses her and Anita and leaves.

SCENE XVI(c) – Jimmie on Train to NY (not written)

Train montage and music.

– Cut or dissolve to –

SCENE XVII – PEER’S OFFICE – See OBERSCENE

Peer sets up meeting w/Oberstein for following day.

– Cut or dissolve to –

SCENE XVIII – Tryst with Thelma (not written)

SCENE XIX – OBERSCENE (cont’d)

SCENE XX – Camden Recording Session – [q.v.]

SCENE XXI – Thelma’s Apartment, New York – (not written)

Jimmie plays a test pressing from the session for her. She loves it, but, knowing the risks he is taking by recording with colored folks, tells him to go slow, not get himself in trouble. He tells her he is running out of time. And notices that she might be in trouble herself when they embrace and he sees tracks on her arm. When they unclench she asks him if he’s coming to see her show that nite, and he says he wouldn’t miss it for anything. She is glad, pours him a drink, and tells him to wait while she adjusts her makeup. She returns in a few minutes, comes back with eyes sparkling a little too brightly, spirits a little too high.

– Cut or dissolve to –

SCENE XXII – Club Nocturne, Harlem – (Not written)

He sees her act, and it’s smashing. Jazzy, hip, exciting. Towards the end, in an unannounced tribute to him, she does a little bit of yodeling and the crowd is delighted. She lools directly at him, at his table, when she does. Later, he goes away with many ideas for his own music. One riff in particular remains stuck in his unconscious, and we fade out on it.

– Cut or dissolve to –

SCENE XXIII – Fancy Recording Session – (Not written)

Peer walks into recording studio. It’s empty except for Jimmie and open instrument cases all over, music stands and folding chairs haphazardly placed around the floor. The sidemen are out on a “five.” Peer walks around, as if attending to small chores while Jimmie pretends to concentrate on some music on a stand in front of him. Finally, they shy up to each other, exchange a few words, Ralph mumbling something about why he was late. Jimmie tells the recordist to play the test pressing for the producer. He tells the engineer…

JR: …UH, START AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SECOND CHORUS, WOULD YOU? YOU KNOW WHERE I MEAN.

The recordist nods, and starts the record in the middle, fading up the sound like a pro. They all listen ’til the end of the performance.

Peer: YOU CHANGED THE ENTIRE CHORUS ON THE SECOND “GO ‘ROUND?”

JR: YEAH. I THOUGHT IT NEEDED A LITTLE SOMETHING TO GO OUT ON, YOU KNOW?

Peer: YOU’RE RIGHT, IT DID. SOUNDS A LOT BETTER NOW.

Just then Jimmie is called outside the control room. He excuses himself to Ralph and leaves, coughing.

Peer (to camera): EVER SINCE THOSE LOUISVILLE SESSIONS, YOU KNOW, WHERE WE CROSSED HORNS ON THE PERSONNEL, I’VE GIVEN JIMMIE HIS HEAD WITH PLAYERS, CHARTS…HELL, ALL THE MUSIC, WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO IT. I DON’T KNOW…HE BREAKS ALL THE RULES: CAN’T READ MUSIC, CAN’T COUNT, BRINGS IN WHATEVER INSTRUMENTATION HE WANTS. WRITES THE SONGS WITH HIS SISTER-IN-LAW THE NIGHT BEFORE THE SESSION… BUT WE’RE SELLING A HELLUVA LOT OF RECORDS.

Players troop back from their “five.” They run down the next chart a few times, then do a take. This is a big session, with eight players, individual mics for each player, a recording booth for Jimmie. He’s in the big time, and revels in it. He sings his ass off on Blue Yodel #7 for Ralph, and Ralph smiles appreciatively, a big sign of approval for him.

JR and Band: “I WAS A STRANGER, PASSING THRU YOUR TOWN,

I WAS A STRANGER, PASSING THRU YOUR TOWN,

WHEN I ASKED YOU A FAVOR, GOOD GAL YOU TURNED

ME DOWN

…

I LIKE MISSISSIPPI, FOOL ABOUT TENNESSEE

I LIKE MISSISSIPPI, FOOL ABOUT TENNESSEE

BUT THESE TEXAS WOMEN, ‘BOUT GOT THE BEST OF ME.

YODE-LAY-EE, LAY-EE, LAY-EEEE.”

Audio: Reprise yodel with effects and echo.

YODE-LAY-EE, LAY-EE, LAY-EEEE.

SCENE ??? – TORN TWENTY

SCENE ??? – GENE AUSTIN’S YACHT

SCENE XXIV – PEACHTREE HALL (q.v.)

SCENE XXV- ENTER: THE MOVIES (q.v.)

SCENE XXVI – BACKSTAGE AT THE PALACE (q.v.)

SCENE XXVII – RODGERS & ROGERS (q.v.)

SCENE XXVIII – ON THE ROAD AGAIN (q.v.)

Greg & Al at Borders – June 26

Don’t know why I hide almost all my current, mid-2010, real-time performing efforts under a bushel, but I  do. Here’s one I almost forgot.

Greg Connors and I played a gig two Saturday nites ago at the Borders in Mt. Kisco to a small but enthusiastic audience. It wasn’t our very first performance together but the first  one on command,  in that Greg was asked by Borders to perform and then called me to play with him.

It turned out to be a musically rich nite, two sets well played, as they should have been what with our many rehearsals, including the one here that included Full Moon Flashlight. I also wood-shedded a lot on my own when Greg wasn’t looking.  But it paid off. We hit our marks crisply, as if we’d been playing together for awhile, but with spontaneity and a sense of discovery that, as I was later  told, seemed to keep me on my toes,  as if alert to Greg’s penchant for on-site  stylistic variations and arrangement initiatives.  The performance seemed to more than satisfy an appreciative audience. The sets included, but were not limited to the following pieces, almost all of them originals by Greg:

Day Inn Day Out

Full Moon Flashlight (Title song from Greg’s last CD)

She’s Talented

I’m a Masakist (sic)

Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen)

Where is My Windfall

Enemy of a Whole

Pretend

Long Way to Atlanta (Words: Greg, Music: Al)

Cocaine Blues

We’ll be playing there again on the last Saturday of this month (July). The actual date? You do the math.

More on the Jimmie Rogers screenplay from ten years ago.

SCENE I  (assuming scene in previous post, with Jason and his garage band, is back-story introductory material).

_________________________________

Much intercutting between Nashville recording studio and JR’s RR funeral cortege.

Soundtrack is Nashville recording studio in pre-take moments, musicians bantering and trading licks. Prob. two electric guitars, one acoustic guitar, steel guitar, keyboard, electic bass, fiddle, drums, percussion. Most of the players can’t see each other because they are sitting between head-high baffles, but they hear each others’ instruments and voices via a rough mix in their headsets. And that’s what we hear, too, as the camera cuts or pans from one musician to the other, each player in his own splendid isolation, always at a remove from direct visual contact with everyone else, but nevertheless hard-wired into each other by the babel coming thru the ‘phones.

At first the licks and chatter are random, as they tune, adjust sound levels, talk to the engineer, etc. But you can hear they are responsive to each other’s noodlings and begin to copy and trade fragments of what each other is playing. Gradually, two musical “voices” emerge louder and more present in the mix, and we realize the two are having a little musical showdown.

They trade with and mock each other musically and seem to be well matched in technique and musicality… until one of them plays something that they (and we) hear as being subtly but clearly different in tonality than what they’d been playing up ’til then. The mood of the music has changed. It’s going in another direction. The second musician follows it for a while, they continue to trade licks, but eventually the first musician, the mood-changer, proves to be more of a master of this style than the other guy, and the latter drops out of the contest.

There’s laughter, light applause and comments from the other musicians, who’d stopped their own tuning and noodling, to listen.

[J: Here is where I know we have to do some recording studio research, because I can’t quite get the pitch of Nasville studio musician banter. In the meantime, this is the idea, altho’ drawn neither long nor finely enough.]

Somebody–could be any one of the disembodied instrumentalists–says something.

Voice 1: HEY, BUBBA, THAT’S SOME TAN YOU GOT YOUR ASS THERE.

Other voices [in mock Black dialect]: YEAH! SHEEIT, MAN.

GET DOWN, MAN. YO’ MAMA. CHILL, DUDE. HURT YOURSELF, etc.

Voice 1: [good naturedly]: MAN, YOU CAN’T PICK THAT SHIT HERE!

Voice 2: YEAH! WHATCHA DOIN, MAN?

Voice 3: AW, HE’S JUST BEIN’ POLITICALLY KO-RECT, MAN. YOU

GOT ANYTHING WRONG WITH SOMEONE BEING POLITICALLY KO-RECT,

OR DO I HAVE TO REPORT YOUR ASS TO THE NAACP OR SOMETHING.

Everybody: LAUGHTER.

New Voice: NAACP AND JESSE JACKSON CAN’T HELP YOU HERE, MAN.

Efx: Voices are silent, but musical noodling and control booth

sounds hover in BG]

Voice 3 [beat]: UH HUH. WHY YOU SAY THAT, BOY?

New Voice: ‘CAUSE IT AIN’T COLORED, THAT’S WHY, BOY.

Voice 3: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

New Voice. THE LICK, MAN. IT AIN’T SOUL.

Voice 3: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, ROLLING STONE? THEN IT’S FUNK. OR

HIP-HOP. OR WHATEVER IT’S CALLED THIS MORNING.

New Voice: IT AIN’T CALLED ANYTHING.

Voice 2: THEN WHERE’D IT COME FROM? WHERE’D YOU GET IT, BOY.

Voice 3: WATCH OUT WHO YOU CALLIN’ “BOY,” BOY.

Voice 2: THEN TELL ME WHERE YOU GOT IT?

New Voice [beat]: JIMMY RODGERS.

[Voices silent, studio sounds hum in BG]

Voice 2: RIGHT, MAN. JIMMY RODGERS, THE YODELIN’ CLOCKMAKER.

Everybody: Hoots, hollers and yodels, self-consciously talk to

each other in hillbilly lingo, play some corny licks

for emphasis.

[It dies down.]

New Voice: YOU ASKED ME, I TOLD YOU.

Efx: Several voices continue to diss JR, but always with an

undertone of embarrassment at what they, as professional country pickers, know is the real truth–that JR invented the music they make their livings playing, and that he’d added content to other kinds of music, and made sure lots and lots of people heard him, whatever he was doing.

In the meantime, on the soundtrack we have begun isolating a lick in an old JR recording and matching it with what the first musician was doing. Eventually, the two licks come into registration, perhaps signaling a take is about to start. [That would be the super-hot Dolly Parton performance of “T-for-Tennessee” you’re going to get for us.]

But…not before the camera, in its continued panning and/or cutting from musician to musician, reveals that the player of the lick (who is NOT the guy that verbally defends JR) is black. In fact, several of the players in the studio today are Black.

The music coming from this mixed group is molten. The excitement of the groove they’ve slipped into makes ethnomusicological observations irrelevant.

We can fade out of this scene and into the next one, or stay to the end of the take, and go someplace with a casual discussion that leads to JR’S impact on ALL American vernacular music after 1935, or…?