Elvis’ bonus songs

From my collection of Elvis movie soundtrack albums. These contain bonus songs.

There were certainly plenty of gold records and chart-toppers, but there could have been more. Many other songs Elvis Presley recorded had hit potential had they not been relegated as bonus material on his movie soundtrack albums. When the films Loving You, Spinout, Clambake, Speedway and others came up short of material to fill a twelve-inch 33 & 1/3 RPM vinyl record, some gems were tucked away behind the songs actually used in the movies so the record company could distribute another 12-song Elvis album to his loyal fans. Had these songs been whole-heartedly promoted as singles (a few were released on 45 RPM),  Elvis’ mid-sixties chart hits would have been more numerous and  substantive than some of the records RCA Victor released by the singer between Return to Sender (1962) and If I Can Dream (1968).

As a lifelong Presley fan, I have fond memories of watching his movies and being thoroughly entertained. My favorite is King Creole, set and filmed on location in New Orleans with a dynamite cast that included Walter Matthau, Carolyn Jones, Dean Jagger and Vic Morrow. The music was up to par with Elvis’ abilities and there was plenty of it, no need for filler on that soundtrack disc. Other early films that brought out Presley’s acting and singing talent were Jailhouse Rock, Loving You and Wild in the Country.

Unfortunately, in many subsequent movies, Elvis’ acting and singing were under-utilized. Forgettable story lines and songs written to match them or inserted because they had already been recorded helped categorize the “Elvis Movie.” Travelogues with bikini-clad babes in colorful settings featuring Elvis, rockin’, rollin’ and romancin’ his way through them.

Clambake(d)

Bonus songs on the Clambake soundtrack included Guitar Man and Big Boss Man

As a student at the University of Mississippi in the 1970s, I wrote a term paper on Elvis movies. I found a review of Clambake, a film set in Florida starring Elvis as a singin’, swingin’ water ski instructor who also drove speedboats. The reviewer noted that at the end of the film, Elvis drove off with Shelly Fabares in a convertible with the mountains in the background. The beautiful, famous Florida Mountains. That scene was obviously filmed in California. Having viewed Clambake recently, it appears to me that all scenes in which Elvis actually appeared could have been shot on the West Coast.

Included on the Clambake soundtrack album, however, are two of my favorite Elvis performances labeled “bonus songs.” He covered country guitar great Jerry Reed’s Guitar Man for the first time (it was later a cornerstone in what became his 1968 Comeback TV special) and the blues classic Big Boss Man, composed by Luther Dixon and Al Smith and popularized by  Jimmy Reed.   Big Boss Man was also adapted for the TV special. Unlike the movie songs, these bring Elvis back to his country, rock and blues roots. They were delivered so naturally and sounded, well, like Elvis.

Elvis sang Dylan in the sixties (and nobody was notified)

Elvis sang Bob Dylan’s Tomorrow is a Long Time, added as filler on the Spinout album

Similarly, the Spinout album, from a 1966 movie where Elvis played (you guessed it) a singing race car driver, produced Presley’s outstanding rendition of Bob Dylan’s Tomorrow is a Long Time. If RCA had left the soundtrack on the shelf and promoted that song with the angle, “Elvis Sings Dylan,” I believe it could have propelled the star’s comeback two years before the 1968 TV show.

In the following decade, RCA released an edited version of Elvis singing Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright as an album track on a project simply titled, Elvis. The version sounds like Presley was jamming with his band in the studio and happened upon a song he liked. The released version is only about two minutes long while the complete track lasts much longer. As with the release of the Spinout album containing Tomorrow is a Long Time, the album came  at a time between hits. This time, after Suspicious Minds and Burning Love and a few years before Moody Blue and his posthumous single, a live cover of Frank Sinatra’s My Way. Again, an “Elvis Sings Dylan” promotional effort might have resulted in a high charting single.

Aside from my opinion that the bonus songs would have been hits, they would have also shown the world where Elvis really was, musically, beyond the soundtracks and non-movie singles. He released some great songs as singles in the mid-sixties, no doubt. Among them are Crying in the Chapel and Devil in Disguise. The bonus songs, however, as well-promoted singles, would have really enhanced Elvis Presley’s better-known body of work.

Text and photos of album covers from Les Kerr’s collection copyright 2016/2022.

Click here for Contributor and other Les Kerr CDs, Tour Dates, Videos and more!

All because of Elvis…

Our name in lights! TraveLodge Motel, Pascagoula, MS 1974

In 1956, Heartbreak Hotel by Elvis Presley was released. That’s also the year I was born. I have heard Elvis music all my life. When I was nine years old, while visiting my grandparents in Jackson, Tennessee, I saw him on the big screen for the first time at the Malco Theater in a movie called “Tickle Me.” That did it. Seeing him in a “Rock and Rollicking Storm,” as the movie poster proclaimed, was enough to make Elvis the person I aspired most to be.

In the 1960s, my family and I lived in Jackson, Mississippi and Elvis churned out several movies each year. I saw all of them many times over. Back then, at the Lamar, Paramount and Capri theaters, you could pay the fifty-five cent admission fee once and sit through as many screenings as you wanted. With each Elvis movie, from the marginal to the magnificent, I became more enamored with the image of the star. Who could beat a life of traveling, singing and always ending up with the prettiest girl in the picture?

But it was September 14, 1970 that absolutely changed my life. We had moved from Jackson to Pascagoula, Mississippi on the Gulf Coast, not far from Mobile, Alabama.  To my absolute delight, Elvis was going on tour again for the first time in a decade and Mobile was on the itinerary. Mom got tickets for me and my across-the-street neighbor Monte Childress to go and see the King in concert. Elvis was thin, agile, charming on stage and sang his heart out at the Mobile Municipal Auditorium that night.

I did it his way

1970 was also the year I began teaching myself how to play the guitar, as many of us did in Pascagoula High School. From the ninth grade until I was a senior, I tried to perfect every Elvis nuance, learn every song and even his famous scarf-throwing technique. Other classmates learned songs by contemporary artists of the day – James Taylor, Cat Stevens, John Denver, and Janis Joplin. But I threw in with Elvis, occasionally adding songs by Johnny Cash, Neil Diamond and Kris Kristofferson.

With other good friends who enjoyed music, my first band was born: Les Kerr & The Blue Suede Band. We played talent shows, pep rallies, Junior Civitan meetings and wherever we could get people to listen to us play Heartbreak Hotel, Don’t Be Cruel and Burning Love. Bandmember Garry Downs’ mother made a shirt with a very high collar for me to emulate tall collars on Elvis’ jumpsuits. I still have it. It’s lime-green (it was the 70s) with a subtle floral design. It went well with my scarves.

1972 w/Garry Downs & Butch Thompson, Jr. Civitan party

We really thought we had hit the big time when we appeared on “Pas-Point Spotlight,” a 15-minute TV show broadcast on Saturdays on WLOX TV in Biloxi. Many of our high school

Doing my best moves at a pep rally, 1973

friends watched me curl my lip, grab the microphone and wink at the camera as we sang Can’t Help Falling in Love to the local TV audience.

Good Rockin’ Tonight

I saw Elvis in concert two more times in Mobile  in 1973 and 1975. While he gained weight over those years, he never lost the magic he had with an audience or his magnificent voice. The tickets from those  concerts are among my most prized possessions, as is one unused ticket for an Elvis Presley concert scheduled for August 28, 1977 in the Mid-South Coliseum in Memphis, Tennessee. I had bought that ticket while in college at the University of Mississippi in Oxford, not far from Memphis, and it broke my heart and the hearts of many around the world when  he died before that show could go on.

Tickets for the three Elvis performances I saw and one for the scheduled Memphis show he never got to play.

In college, I got into bluegrass and the great singer-songwriter boom that was taking place. Then blues, New Orleans music and my own songwriting. However, I don’t think there are any pop, rock or country singers of my generation who were not influenced by Elvis’ performing style in some way, whether they admit it or not.

If I can dream…

I did get to live a dream from my “Elvis years” thirty years later in Nashville. The Jordanaires, the vocal group who sang on so many Elvis records and appeared with him on the Ed Sullivan Show and other historic performances joined me in the recording studio.   They were nice enough to sing on four songs of mine for my Christmas on the Coast CD, including the title song, which is about Pascagoula.  They more than lived up to my expectations as vocalists and as gentlemen.

Recording with The Jordanaires, 2002

Before you’ve “left the building…”

If I could say one thing to Elvis today, it would be something he said himself many times: Thank you. Thank you very much.

Al Parker & Phil Howell “bop-bopping” while I sing lead, Beta Follies, 1972

Copyright 2011, 2020 Les Kerr

Visit Les Kerr’s web site at www.leskerr.com

From the Tallahatchie Bridge to the company store

 

 

The Tallahatchie Bridge

Today is “the third of June,” and since I am not in the Delta, I can’t tell you if it is sleepy or dusty this year. Most likely, it is both. But I can tell you that each year on that date, the song that begins by telling us what day a famous, fictitious mystery occurred runs through my mind like the river that created the fertile soil perfect for growing cotton in my home state, Mississippi. Ode to Billy Joe conjures fond memories of seeing the songwriter who made it famous, Bobbie Gentry, in concert, while the song was still high on the charts.

 

As I have written before, Jackson, Mississippi has always been a city that appreciates the arts. During the 1960s, when I lived there as a boy, my mother made sure to take me to as many concerts as possible. She took me to see everyone from Carl and Pearl Butler and the Wilburn Brothers to Andy Griffith, Dinah Shore, Bob Hope, Jack Benny and Andy Williams.

This album played on this “hi-fi” many times.

Among my fondest memories was the concert at the Mississippi Coliseum that featured one of my heroes, Tennessee Ernie Ford. I still have our old Sixteen Tons “thirty-three,” (as my mom called LP vinyl records) which has a crack in it from all the times we played it in our house. In looking at it now, I realize that in addition to the Merle Travis-penned title song and Woody Guthrie’s Philadelphia Lawyer, several of the other songs were written by Ford, including my second favorite on that album, Shotgun Boogie.

Opening act

Bobbie Gentry was Tennessee Ernie’s opening act. Ode to Billie Joe had recently been released and she was the toast of Mississippi (and the rest of the country). This was an extra treat for us in Jackson since her song brought something about Mississippi to the national stage besides civil rights conflicts. Her literate, well-written and superbly performed record produced smiles and positive energy about our state around the world.

She wore a baby blue pant suit and delighted the audience with her kind words about Mississippi and other musical references including the song Mississippi Delta, the flip side of Ode to Billy Joe. Years later, when a movie based on her hit was released, she told Johnny Carson that Mississippi Delta was originally the “A” side of the record but “Billy Joe” ran away with programmers’ and audiences’ hearts.

In addition to the songs she had recorded, Gentry sang the first song she ever wrote. It was about her dog, “Sergeant.” I especially liked that one because I also had a dog named Sergeant. I’ll always remember the lyrics to her song:
“Sergeant, Sergeant, Sergeant, Sergeant, my dog Sergeant is a good dog.”

And then, she sang “THE song.” Sitting on a wooden stool playing a classical guitar, she played Ode to Billie Joe to several thousand mesmerized fans. I probably don’t need to tell you that she received a standing ovation. Bobbie Gentry singing Ode to Billie Joe in Mississippi. What a moment.

The importance of being Ernie

Other artists may have been hesitant to follow such a performance but if Tennessee Ernie Ford was nervous, he never showed it. He confidently walked on stage holding something I had never seen before – a wireless microphone. It had a little antenna that transmitted his voice to the sound system. “Neat,” I remember thinking. His opening number was Chuck Berry’s upbeat song, Memphis, Tennessee, and the “ol’ pea-picker” proceeded to charm an audience that had already witnessed greatness just a few minutes earlier.

When Sixteen Tons arrived on the set list, Ford started by snapping his fingers and asking the audience to snap, too. The coliseum has a total capacity of about 10,000. It was fairly full that day, and that show might have been a sell-out. That many people snapping their fingers in time with Ernie was impressive. From the first snap to the last “owe my soul,” the lyric that slows down, we stayed with him. As the standing ovation began, Ford said, “I could have used y’all on the record!” More thunderous applause.

From the Tallahatchie Bridge to the Company Store, all of us who were there were transported from Jackson to the Delta and the coal mines for a couple of hours of pure enjoyment. When times like that happen, the magic of music and the good will it can provide become tangible. As do the vivid memories years later for music lovers like me.

Text and photo copyright 2015 by Les Kerr. Click here to visit Les Kerr’s web site for CDs, Tour Dates, Videos and more!

Originally published June 4, 2015

Moon River, My Mama and Me

My mother never smoked cigarettes during the day. But after my daddy died in 1963, every night after I went to bed, she would fix a drink (Kentucky Gentleman bourbon and water), fire up a Kool Menthol and listen to records. I was six years old when Daddy died and I remember well going to sleep to the sounds of her favorite music for almost the next six years when she married my step-father.

My mother loved this old record player. It was a big part of her life and mine.

Frank Sinatra, Nat “King” Cole, pianist Roger Williams, Al Hirt, and Pete Fountain were usual suspects on her old RCA Hi-Fi. The automatic record changer allowed several 33⅓ vinyl albums to play and drop while the music never stopped. The only performer who made Mom’s playlist every night was Andy Williams. His renditions of Moon River, Canadian Sunset, Dear Heart and Love is a Many Splendored Thing are forever etched in my mind because I heard them as I drifted off to sleep for so many years.

Two Drifters

Sometimes the fondest of memories come from the hardest of times. I don’t know if I ever felt closer to my mother than I did during the years right after my father’s death. It was just the two of us and she did her level best to entertain me. She loved music and made sure to expose as much of it to me as she could. One way was to let me watch the variety television shows of the 1960s with her. I would ask to stay up “until the next commercial” during the Perry Como, Red Skelton or Hollywood Palace shows. She would raise her eyebrows and say, “Well, okay, but just one more.” Sometimes that “one more” would be the end of the show. Then, after I went to bed, the black and white TV went off and the Kools and the old RCA Hi-Fi went on.

Like his records, Andy Williams’ weekly TV show was a special favorite for us. We watched the Osmond Brothers sing with Andy when there were only four of them. I remember that when young Donny joined his brothers in the act, Andy joked to the TV audience, “Before long, they’ll come in a handy six-pack.” Soon, there was Marie. The shows featured special guests, sometimes Andy’s brothers with whom he began his singing career and his beautiful wife with the French accent and name, Claudine Longet. The Christmas episode was always a favorite.

Andy Williams and Henry Mancini In Concert!

Though many people think of Jackson, Mississippi, where we lived then, in terms of racial strife and unrest during the civil rights-era sixties, they haven’t a clue of the great art and culture the city offered during those dramatic times. My mother took me to see live performances by Andy Griffith, Dinah Shore, Jack Benny, Bob Hope and even Henry Fonda, who presented a dramatic reading during the annual arts festival.

We both enjoyed all of those legends but for my mother, they paled in comparison to Andy Williams. He performed with Henry Mancini and his orchestra at the then new Mississippi Coliseum. Mancini opened the show with a full hour of his music played by a superb group of musicians.

After intermission, the moment Mom and I anxiously anticipated arrived – Andy Williams in person! With Henry Mancini! The Jackson audience gave the singer an enthusiastic welcome. I remember one of his stage jokes. Videotape was relatively new and he quipped, “Someone asked me how I could be on tour and be doing my show from Hollywood at the same time. I told them, ‘I’m actually live in Hollywood now – what you’re watching here is on tape!’” Huge laugh. His voice, his songs were flawless. The audience flowed with him at every bend like Moon River – wherever he was going, we were going his way. Mom often remembered that evening and talked about it occasionally until she died in 1992.

The same rainbow’s end

I have never been a cigarette smoker but the smell of one freshly lit has always been pleasant to me. Perhaps, in the recesses of my mind, memories of my mother lighting up at night return. In 2012 on the morning I learned that Andy Williams died, I stopped what I was doing and played Mom’s old copy of his record Moon River & Other Great Movie Themes. I was alone in my house. When the music began to play, I swear I could smell a fresh Kool Menthol and smoke from a newly-extinguished Diamond Strike-Anywhere match.

Text and photo copyright 2012 Les Kerr. Click to Learn More about Les order t-shirts and CDs and follow on Facebook and Twitter!

The last of the lipstick shirts

 

Attrition. That’s how I’ve dealt with letting go of inanimate objects I’ve had since Gail died six years ago. With everything from dish towels to plants she took care of that I never seemed skilled enough to properly nourish, when it was time to let each one go, I did so. Reluctantly enough, I threw them out. I’ve replaced a few pillowcases, although some of the old ones that are still around are getting threadbare and they are daring me to cut them up into dust rags.

A few months after she died, at the suggestion of a good friend, I moved her clothes out of our, now my, master bedroom closet into the guest room closet. After a couple of months getting used to not seeing them and, I suppose, giving them the opportunity to get used to not being near our bedroom, I took them to a consignment store. They were either sold or donated to clothes closets for needy women. That was fine with me because I knew Gail would be happy that the blouses, jeans, dresses and shoes would be used by someone who needed them.

Regarding my own clothes, it became surprisingly difficult to let go of them without thinking of the times she might have surprised me with them or where I had worn them when we had been together. The collars of old shirts began to unravel, and jeans and khakis started to look like they were sprouting cotton fringe at the hem. They became my knock-around clothes to wear on weekends or when I didn’t need to leave the house. I wore them around the house and outside doing things to the point that they were not in good enough shape for any charity. They finally made it to the trash.

Lipstick Shirts

About ten years ago, Gail washed a load of our clothes without realizing that she had left a lipstick in one of her pockets. All the clothes came out of the dryer with tiny red spots on them. She was mortified and apologized profusely and quite unnecessarily for the little red spots on several of my shirts. To me, the spots were hardly noticeable, and we began laughing about them and calling them my “lipstick” shirts.

The shirts were in fine shape and I continued to wear them. Once at a restaurant, a lunch partner stopped in mid-sentence with a horrified look on his face and said, “I’m so sorry! I accidentally squirted ketchup on your shirt.” I told him the red spots were on it when I had arrived. We laughed, as Gail and I did that night when I told her what had happened.

Now, there is one lipstick shirt left. It has been worn and washed so much the spots are practically gone. But the button-down collar and cuffs are embarrassingly frayed and the blue Oxford sleeves have split from the elbow to the wrist. The last time I wore it and washed it was months ago. I know it is time to throw it away.  But I can’t bring myself to let it go. Seeing it brings tears of joy and sorrow at the same time.

Keep the change

Gail always used to kid me about resisting change. Her death was a change I couldn’t stop or change but I’ve done my best to adapt to the way my life is now. I’ve evolved emotionally, personally and professionally as well as I could while doing my best to keep things that have seemed to bring some normalcy to my life. My world, as everyone’s does, is constantly changing. The world has changed immeasurably in the last few months and shows no signs of stopping. And there’s one lipstick shirt left in my closet. Damn.

Text and photo copyright 2020

www.leskerr.com

All because of Elvis…

Our name in lights! TraveLodge Motel, Pascagoula, MS 1974

In 1956, Heartbreak Hotel by Elvis Presley was released. That’s also the year I was born. I have heard Elvis music all my life. When I was nine years old, while visiting my grandparents in Jackson, Tennessee, I saw him on the big screen for the first time at the Malco Theater in a movie called “Tickle Me.” That did it. Seeing him in a “Rock and Rollicking Storm,” as the movie poster proclaimed, was enough to make Elvis the person I aspired most to be.

In the 1960s, my family and I lived in Jackson, Mississippi and Elvis churned out several movies each year. I saw all of them many times over. Back then, at the Lamar, Paramount and Capri theaters, you could pay the fifty-five cent admission fee once and sit through as many screenings as you wanted. With each Elvis movie, from the marginal to the magnificent, I became more enamored with the image of the star. Who could beat a life of traveling, singing and always ending up with the prettiest girl in the picture?

But it was September 14, 1970 that absolutely changed my life. We had moved from Jackson to Pascagoula, Mississippi on the Gulf Coast, not far from Mobile, Alabama.  To my absolute delight, Elvis was going on tour again for the first time in a decade and Mobile was on the itinerary. Mom got tickets for me and my across-the-street neighbor Monte Childress to go and see the King in concert. Elvis was thin, agile, charming on stage and sang his heart out at the Mobile Municipal Auditorium that night.

I did it his way

1970 was also the year I began teaching myself how to play the guitar, as many of us did in Pascagoula High School. From the ninth grade until I was a senior, I tried to perfect every Elvis nuance, learn every song and even his famous scarf-throwing technique. Other classmates learned songs by contemporary artists of the day – James Taylor, Cat Stevens, John Denver, and Janis Joplin. But I threw in with Elvis, occasionally adding songs by Johnny Cash, Neil Diamond and Kris Kristofferson.

With other good friends who enjoyed music, my first band was born: Les Kerr & The Blue Suede Band. We played talent shows, pep rallies, Junior Civitan meetings and wherever we could get people to listen to us play Heartbreak Hotel, Don’t Be Cruel and Burning Love. Bandmember Garry Downs’ mother made a shirt with a very high collar for me to emulate tall collars on Elvis’ jumpsuits. I still have it. It’s lime-green (it was the 70s) with a subtle floral design. It went well with my scarves.

1972 w/Garry Downs & Butch Thompson, Jr. Civitan party

We really thought we had hit the big time when we appeared on “Pas-Point Spotlight,” a 15-minute TV show broadcast on Saturdays on WLOX TV in Biloxi. Many of our high school

Doing my best moves at a pep rally, 1973

friends watched me curl my lip, grab the microphone and wink at the camera as we sang Can’t Help Falling in Love to the local TV audience.

Good Rockin’ Tonight

I saw Elvis in concert two more times in Mobile  in 1973 and 1975. While he gained weight over those years, he never lost the magic he had with an audience or his magnificent voice. The tickets from those  concerts are among my most prized possessions, as is one unused ticket for an Elvis Presley concert scheduled for August 28, 1977 in the Mid-South Coliseum in Memphis, Tennessee. I had bought that ticket while in college at the University of Mississippi in Oxford, not far from Memphis, and it broke my heart and the hearts of many around the world when  he died before that show could go on.

Tickets for the three Elvis performances I saw and one for the scheduled Memphis show he never got to play.

In college, I got into bluegrass and the great singer-songwriter boom that was taking place. Then blues, New Orleans music and my own songwriting. However, I don’t think there are any pop, rock or country singers of my generation who were not influenced by Elvis’ performing style in some way, whether they admit it or not.

If I can dream…

I did get to live a dream from my “Elvis years” thirty years later in Nashville. The Jordanaires, the vocal group who sang on so many Elvis records and appeared with him on the Ed Sullivan Show and other historic performances joined me in the recording studio.   They were nice enough to sing on four songs of mine for my Christmas on the Coast CD, including the title song, which is about Pascagoula.  They more than lived up to my expectations as vocalists and as gentlemen.

Recording with The Jordanaires, 2002

Before you’ve “left the building…”

If I could say one thing to Elvis today, it would be something he said himself many times: Thank you. Thank you very much.

Al Parker & Phil Howell “bop-bopping” while I sing lead, Beta Follies, 1972

Copyright 2011, 2020 Les Kerr

Visit Les Kerr’s web site at www.leskerr.com

The Why

The Christmas story is beautiful, meaningful, sacred and true. It tells how Jesus came into this earth, becoming God and man at once. Luke told us how it happened and what was to become of the Christ child.

But I believe the best description of why it happened was recounted by John in his description of Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus years after His birth. In two verses, John, in chapter three of the book in the Bible that bears his name, gives the most succinct and definitive meaning of Christmas. He best describes “the why,” with the words that follow:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.” John 3:16,17, King James version, the Bible.

Thank the Lord and Merry Christmas.

Text and photo copyright 2019 Les Kerr.

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Chris Gantry, Douglas Corner Cafe, Nashville, April 2019

My first awareness of Chris Gantry came when I heard his name in the spoken word introduction of Kris Kristofferson’s song The Pilgrim: Chapter 33 in 1971. Iwas a high school student who played guitar and had become fascinated with songwriting. I hung on the words of my heroes, including those of Kristofferson. As I practically memorized the album notes, I read that Chris Gantry had also played guitar on the record. “He must really be something, to be the subject of a Kristofferson song and to play on the record,” I thought. As I continued to follow songwriting, Chris Gantry’s name was one I heard frequently in the 1970s as part of the new cutting edge realism movement sweeping Nashville.

Years later, after I moved to Nashville, I saw Chris Gantry on the stage of the Ryman Auditorium. With Kristofferson. On two different occasions. Chris was introduced as a special guest each time and once recited a poem instead of singing a song. “That was bold,” I thought. I began to listen to Gantry’s music, past and current. He is a man who doesn’t bow to trends.

In 2019, I finally met him at a small place he was playing in Gallatin, Tennessee. I told him my story of learning about him via “The Pilgrim.” He has probably heard the same story from others many times but he politely listened. Then I asked him to play the song. Chris declined, saying that he would be uncomfortable playing a song written about him. When I told him I learned it in 1971 and still played it, he handed me his guitar and said, “Go ahead.” There I was in a situation that I could only have dreamed of years before. Playing Chris Gantry’s guitar, singing a song written about him, and having him join in on the chorus, which he did. What a moment. Then, he asked me to play one of my own songs. Up until then, I had been joyfully excited. Now, I was nervous. When I finished, I handed his guitar back to him and he told me he enjoyed my song. To call that a personal highlight would be an understatement.

As time has gone on, I have watched and listened to his music many times. His song, The Ghost of Music Row is a testament to his determination to stay true to himself. Always choosing the course his soul guides him to steer, Chris Gantry follows his art. Or does it follow him?

Text and photos copyright 2019 by Les Kerr

Accidental poet

Maple Leaf Rag: A New Orleans Poetry Anthology – 40th Anniversary Edition

As a songwriter, I hardly ever think of the words I write being presented without music to accompany them. But every now and then, someone else sees value in my words without having music attached. It is an honor to me when that happens.

Several decades ago, Everette Maddox, a legendary New Orleans poet and character, and I became friends. He invited me to perform my original songs at his weekly poetry reading at the Maple Leaf Bar in New Orleans. That was the beginning of some beautiful friendships that I am proud to maintain today. After Everette died, Nancy Harris took the helm of the weekly reading. A fine poet herself, Nancy has extended the courtesy of an invitation to sing at the readings for many years.

A few years ago, John Travis, another New Orleans friend, asked me if he could include a few of my lyrics in Maple Leaf Rag: A New Orleans Poetry Anthology, a periodic book he publishes. I was honored and immediately said, “Yes!” Now, two of my song lyrics will be included in the 40^th Anniversary Edition of Maple Leaf Rag. Again, I am surprised and proud that John thinks enough of these words to include them without the music attached.

Here are the two pieces: Below the Level of the Sea, inspired by New Orleans, itself, and Inspiration and Bar Scotch, whose inspiration was Everette Maddox. Song links are also included, in case you’d like to hear them, as well.

Thanks for reading and listening. As for me, I’ll keep on writing.

Below the Level of the Sea

The Maple Leaf Bar is down on Oak Street                                                                                         That always seemed ironic to me                                                                                               ‘Cause there ain’t no “Oak Leaf Bar” over on Maple                                                                   But I guess that’s just the way it’s meant to be                                                                                  This is a crazy, mixed-up town; the dead are buried above the ground                                  And a funeral is a party, yessiree                                                                                                    You may have lost a life-long pal but soon you’re struttin’ down Canal                                       You know, we do it all Below the Level of the Sea

Tennessee Williams used to live here                                                                                               He rode that streetcar named Desire to irony                                                                          ‘Cause there ain’t no “Louisiana Williams” living up in Memphis                                           But I guess that’s just the way it’s meant to be                                                                           This really is a writer’s town – you live your life and you write it down                                     Your story’s sticky like the humidity                                                                                         You’re just living what you think and it all comes out in the ink                                            And you know we do it all Below the Level of the Sea

From the River to the Garden District, dramas do unfold                                                     Those crawfish-eating lawyers use Napoleonic Code                                                               Well-bred New Orleans debutantes can stand you on you ear                                                  Just like those little Cajun girls raised on Dixie beer

Carrollton Station ain’t no roundhouse                                                                                         But this lonesome streetcar’s here to get some juice                                                                 Just like a streetcar, I have found out                                                                                          That rollin’ with the flow ain’t running loose                                                                               Oh, I may never settle down but she’s my Lady, she’s my town                                                     Her rhythm and her blues are part of me                                                                                    And when those saints go marching in, you’ll see this lonesome boy again                                And I know we’ll do it all Below the Level of the Sea                                                                       I want to be back down in New Orleans                                                                                   ‘Cause those saints go marching in Below the Level of the Sea

Words and Music ©1988 Les Kerr O.N.U. Music (ASCAP)                                                  Click to hear musical version

Inspiration and Bar Scotch

He could read for umpteen hours, summoning his powers                                                        To conjure up the syllables that kept us all enthralled                                                                    Words were his best friends; they were with him at the end                                                      When he said, “He was a mess,” was how he’d like to be recalled

On that barstool toward the right at the Maple Leaf each night                                                 He quoted Twain and Shakespeare verbatim, as we watched                                                        New Orleans royalty, the King of Irony                                                                                  Eighty-proof poetry                                                                                                                 Inspiration and Bar Scotch

A distinguished man of letters, I’ve never seen one better                                                         He could climb out of his mind and into yours on just a phrase                                            From New Yorker magazine to the streets of New Orleans                                                           He chose drinking and strong thinking as the way to spend his days

It wasn’t just the words, but the way he used to say ‘em                                                          That brought you in to know the joke on life that he was playin’

By the time I came to know him the seeds that he’d been sowing                                          Had rooted deep and deadly and spread with kudzu haste                                                      Still, out of the dark shot his bright creative spark                                                                   With his pen, he proved his life was no American waste

On that barstool toward the right at the Maple Leaf each night                                                He quoted Twain and Shakespeare verbatim, as we watched                                                         New Orleans royalty, the King of Irony                                                                                   Eighty-proof poetry                                                                                                              Inspiration and Bar Scotch                                                                                                          Words and Music ©2015 Les Kerr O.N.U. Music (ASCAP)                                                  Click to hear musical version

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Text and images copyright 2019

 

He was a “char-actuh” – remembering Dr. John

Dr. John exits waving to a crowd on its feet. Photo copyright 2013, 2019 Les Kerr

About 5:15 Thursday afternoon, June 6, 2019, I was listening to Nashville’s fine Americana radio station WMOT FM and noticed that a Dr. John song was playing. I’ve heard Dr. John on that station many times before and was happy to hear him again. Then, a second song by that piano man with the gravelly voice was played and, by the third one, I began to get a sad feeling. Three songs by the Good Doctor might signal some bad news. Afternoon announcer and station program director Jessie Scott confirmed my fears after the third song played. Dr. John, aka Mac Rebennack, had died.

Those of us who grew up in Pascagoula, Mississippi in the 1970s listened to a lot of AM radio from New Orleans. The rock giant, WTIX (The Mighty 690!) was our go-to signal for what the nation was listening to on the Top 40 charts. Admirably, WTIX was also very loyal to the great musicians of New Orleans, including Dr. John. After Stevie Wonder’s current hit played, the next song would just as likely be one by The Meters or Dr. John. When Dr. John’s Right Place, Wrong Time became a national hit, we felt like our musical tastes had been validated. Everyone cheered for him with that far-out phrase of the seventies, “Right On, Doctor John!”

I have always been a music fan and I love to attend concerts. Seeing Dr. John on stage was an eye-opening (and ear-opening) moment for me. As I began to set my sights on singing, playing and writing for a living, I began to observe Dr. John’s stage shows as a student. I realized what a wizard he was at weaving incredible musicianship in with unbelievable showmanship. The Doctor could cure whatever ailed anyone in the audience as he drew upon his rich knowledge and experience of New Orleans’ musical history, prescribing some of his own contemporary funk as part of the remedy. Among the best places I ever saw Dr. John in concert was in New Orleans at the Jazz and Heritage Festival. He was at home there literally and figuratively.

Another fine show was in Nashville in the 1990s. He was on a bill with Little Feat and B.B. King. It was a magical evening from start to finish.

In his own parlance, he was a “char-acter,” a charmer, a big ball of talent and a sincere entertainer. By sincere entertainer, I mean that he treated his audience with respect. He always assumed, wisely, that we knew what he was about and he never talked down to those of us watching him play.

My favorite rendition of the New Orleans classic Iko Iko is by Dr. John. But of his original songs, One 2 A.M. Too Many, written with legendary songsmith Doc Pomus, paints a picture so real, it’s obvious he had lived some of that gritty story himself during his legendary wild years of decades ago. For me, it’s the highlight of his 2001 Creole Moon album, and among the best of his entire repertoire.

In 2013, Dr. John was interviewed at the Country Music Hall of Fame. I attended and wrote the following account of his conversation. If you would like to read about that great conversation between him and Nick Spitzer, keep reading.

Beyond that, I’ll just say, Rest in peace, Dr. John, and “Jockimo Fe Na Nay.”

“Doctor” Dr. John in Nashville, 2013

Dr. John plays as interviewer Nick Spitzer watches

It must have been the right time. I was definitely in the right place. Dr. John entered the Country Music Hall of Fame’s Ford Theater for a one-hour interview and performance in conjunction with the Americana Music Association Conference in Nashville September 19, 2013. He was greeted with a standing ovation by those of us in the packed theater as he walked in with interviewer Nick Spitzer, host of American Routes, a radio show that emanates each week from New Orleans, Dr. John’s hometown. The night before, the good Doctor, aka Mac Rebennack, had been presented the Americana Music Association’s Lifetime Achievement Award for Performance. If you have ever seen him perform, you know he deserves that accolade.

In the Ford Theater’s green room, where Dr. John had been prior to the interview, are Hatch Show Prints commemorating others who have been the subjects of similar programs. There are posters featuring legends including The Jordanaires and Kris Kristofferson. When Dr. John began to speak, he seemed to be in awe that he was in the same company as guitarist James Burton and banjo innovator Earl Scruggs. “I would see dem cats on the road off and on when we played on the ‘Chitlin’ Circuit,’ and the ‘Bucket of Blood Circuit’ years ago.” He did clarify that the Bucket of Blood Circuit was not as dangerous as the Chitlin’ Circuit, despite its name.

Name that tunesmith

Spitzer asked the gumbo-rhythm guru if he preferred to be addressed as Dr. John, Mac, or something else. Dr. John replied that he had been called a lot of names in his life, some he wouldn’t want to mention in public, drawing empathetic laughter from the crowd. In May, he was awarded an honorary doctorate of fine arts by Tulane University, which prompted Spitzer to ask if he should now be called “’Doctor’ Dr. John.” The answer, with a chuckle, was, “You ain’t the first cat to lay dat ‘Doctor’ Dr. John bidness on me since it happened.”

In addition to Dr. John, Tulane bestowed honorary doctorates to the accomplished New Orleans composer, arranger and performer Allen Toussaint and Natasha Trethewey, Poet Laureate of the United States.

Hello Dalai

And His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet, was awarded an honorary doctorate of humane letters. The doctorates were presented at Tulane’s graduation ceremony and the Dalai Lama was the keynote speaker.

“I don’t think the Dalai Lama understood my ‘New Orleans-ese,’” said Dr. John. “His ‘interpretator’ axed me, ‘are you alright?’ when I was talking to him.

“I thought, ‘das pretty cool, bein’ interpretator for the Dalai Lama!’”

T-Boned

When the talk got around to music, Spitzer asked the Grammy winner about his beginnings. Dr. John’s first instrument was guitar. He took lessons as a child from a teacher he referred to as “Papoose” and played on his first recording session at age fourteen. His style was so influenced by blues great T-Bone Walker, he got the nickname “Little Bone.” “I never really cared for that,” he said.

Working sessions with Frankie Ford, Art Neville, Danny Barker, Huey Piano Smith and other New Orleans legends, he got a good music education, starting in the 1950s. It was Barker, he said, who taught him “ho’-house versions” of certain songs that he later cleaned up to record himself. As Dr. John began to play piano, he met Professor Longhair.

“Fess had his own terminology for how he played,” he said. “When I axed him how he did something on the keyboard, he would say, ‘Man, das a double-crossover,’ or ‘I’m jus’ doin’ overs and unders.’ He made up his own names for all dat.”

Spitzer then asked Dr. John to play a little of Professor Longhair’s piano style. “This isn’t too early in the day to play Professor Longhair, is it,” the interviewer asked. “Well,” replied man nicknamed the Night Tripper, “I’m a ‘night people,’ myself, but I think I can play it o.k.”

And he did play it o.k., to say the least. As the last note of a “double-crossover” rang, the hour was over and Dr. John exited, just as he had entered, to a standing ovation.

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Text and photos copyright 2013, 2019 by Les Kerr

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