The Jesters (Memphis), "Cadillac Man" c/w "My Babe," Sun 400 (rel. 2/1966)
In 1966, Memphis was one of the hottest places in America, music-wise. With labels such as Stax, Volt and Hi in the charts (the pop charts, even!) and major Black performers part of the public consciousness, the imprint that began this musical revolution--Sun--was teetering on its last legs. Divested of all its original rock 'n' roll, blues and country acts, and making do on a diminished budget, Sun was a small family-run imprint with little reach outside its region.
Its new releases were seldom reviewed or noted outside the Deep South. Some older music fans might have wondered where that yellow-and-brown label got to. (Or off-white and black, if you have the promotional pressings.) Sam Phillips worked his butt off for 15 years, changed the sound of American music and felt exhausted by it all. He thought he might get into real estate. He liked selling--especially the pitch, at which he excelled. Sam had the gift of gab.
Some of the duties of running Sun now fell on his son Knox's shoulders. Sam still had involvement with certain artists, including a pair of regional garage groups the label released in its final days. Randy and The Radiants had two singles which Sam produced alongside the final issue of Johnny Cash material from Phillips' tape vaults and a reissue of a 1955 novelty by white singer Smokey Joe Baugh, which may have been brought back due to its ska-friendly rhythms. Phillips also developed a latter-day white-guy-sings-the-blues act in Billy Adams, whose records are interesting but their ground had been well-covered by many performers.
The Jesters have the distinction of being the last rock 'n' roll group on Sun Records. They were a local band who had Sam's youngest son Jerry Phillips amongst their members. (In the photo above, Jerry is at far left, in tie and vest. He casts a doubtful glance at Eddie Robertson.)
Sam liked the group save for lead vocalist Tommy Minga. He felt the singer lacked the proper spark to get good results. So, sneaky Sam asked the rest of the group to drop by his recently-built, more modern recording facility. "Don't tell Tommy," he insisted. Lead guitarist Teddy Paige called a friend, pianist and record producer Jim Dickinson, and asked him to sit in as vocalist for this secret session.
The group had one of Minga's unusual songs, "Cadillac Man," on tap, along with a cover of the bar-band staple "My Babe." This would be Dickinson's introduction to Sam Phillips. He was a little intimidated; in his own words:
"I felt the hand of a master. I looked into black pools of madness in Sam's eyes and I saw the same thing Elvis and Howlin' Wolf saw."
Dickinson recalled singing the band original off lyrics scrawled on notebook paper. He hadn't counted on doing a lead vocal, and his uncertainty informed a crazed-sounding performance. Dickinson sounds like he's come off a night of hard drinking and needs medical attention. The feeling, though...it summons the spirit of a decade earlier and reminds me of Sonny Burgess' unhinged vocals on his five releases for Sun and Phillips International.
It may take a couple of plays to suss out what he's going on about, but the results are fascinating. We get a guitar solo that, alas, fades out but sends this wild ride home. Recorded January 22, 1966, it saw release on February 1st and went nowhere, local sales nonwithstanding. Given the label's scaled-down approach, I don't imagine the promo copies--all hand-stamped with a red star on the plug side by Sun's secretary--number more than 300; the retail issue might be around that number.
Its new releases were seldom reviewed or noted outside the Deep South. Some older music fans might have wondered where that yellow-and-brown label got to. (Or off-white and black, if you have the promotional pressings.) Sam Phillips worked his butt off for 15 years, changed the sound of American music and felt exhausted by it all. He thought he might get into real estate. He liked selling--especially the pitch, at which he excelled. Sam had the gift of gab.
Some of the duties of running Sun now fell on his son Knox's shoulders. Sam still had involvement with certain artists, including a pair of regional garage groups the label released in its final days. Randy and The Radiants had two singles which Sam produced alongside the final issue of Johnny Cash material from Phillips' tape vaults and a reissue of a 1955 novelty by white singer Smokey Joe Baugh, which may have been brought back due to its ska-friendly rhythms. Phillips also developed a latter-day white-guy-sings-the-blues act in Billy Adams, whose records are interesting but their ground had been well-covered by many performers.
The Jesters have the distinction of being the last rock 'n' roll group on Sun Records. They were a local band who had Sam's youngest son Jerry Phillips amongst their members. (In the photo above, Jerry is at far left, in tie and vest. He casts a doubtful glance at Eddie Robertson.)
Sam liked the group save for lead vocalist Tommy Minga. He felt the singer lacked the proper spark to get good results. So, sneaky Sam asked the rest of the group to drop by his recently-built, more modern recording facility. "Don't tell Tommy," he insisted. Lead guitarist Teddy Paige called a friend, pianist and record producer Jim Dickinson, and asked him to sit in as vocalist for this secret session.
The group had one of Minga's unusual songs, "Cadillac Man," on tap, along with a cover of the bar-band staple "My Babe." This would be Dickinson's introduction to Sam Phillips. He was a little intimidated; in his own words:
"I felt the hand of a master. I looked into black pools of madness in Sam's eyes and I saw the same thing Elvis and Howlin' Wolf saw."
Dickinson recalled singing the band original off lyrics scrawled on notebook paper. He hadn't counted on doing a lead vocal, and his uncertainty informed a crazed-sounding performance. Dickinson sounds like he's come off a night of hard drinking and needs medical attention. The feeling, though...it summons the spirit of a decade earlier and reminds me of Sonny Burgess' unhinged vocals on his five releases for Sun and Phillips International.
It may take a couple of plays to suss out what he's going on about, but the results are fascinating. We get a guitar solo that, alas, fades out but sends this wild ride home. Recorded January 22, 1966, it saw release on February 1st and went nowhere, local sales nonwithstanding. Given the label's scaled-down approach, I don't imagine the promo copies--all hand-stamped with a red star on the plug side by Sun's secretary--number more than 300; the retail issue might be around that number.
There are more cover versions of "My Babe" than I can count. Dickinson and The Jesters sound more confident on this blues standard. This could be any number of British beat groups or US garage combos, and most of them would be grateful for a vocalist of Dickinson's caliber. He feels this song, rather than regurgitates it, and lead guitarist Paige has a more forceful presence.
You know the song by heart--it's hard not to--and it's refreshing to hear it sung with such purpose and presence. The Jesters, in this ad hoc shadow version, resemble the sound of Tex-Mex rocker Sam the Sham qnd The Pharoahs, who were burning up the pop charts in 1965 and '66. There but for fortune...
You know the song by heart--it's hard not to--and it's refreshing to hear it sung with such purpose and presence. The Jesters, in this ad hoc shadow version, resemble the sound of Tex-Mex rocker Sam the Sham qnd The Pharoahs, who were burning up the pop charts in 1965 and '66. There but for fortune...
I'm off on a record safari today, and hope to find some new goodies to play for you soon. Wish me luck!
Tomorrow: Surfin' Saturday (Club) with The Surfmen, who deliver two tuff instrumental goodies via a 1962 Titan Records platter.
Fun to hear these for the first time--thanks, Frank! I read a little about Jerry Phillips in the Guralnik Sam Phillips book...his attire in the photo above reminds of the very early Rolling Stones outfits in promo shots. I wonder if the Jesters and others involved with these recordings were possibly fans of Dylan's 1965 LPs 'Bringing It All Back Home" and "Highway 61 Revisited." To my ear the first track above has a little of that feel happening.
ReplyDeleteThat seems quite likely re the Dylan influence. That was inescapable for young musicians of the day, and the woozy narrative does feel Dylanesque. It's not sung in a Dylan impersonation, for which I give them 50 bonus points. Glad you enjoyed hearing these two rare tracks!
DeleteThese guys really rocked. I'm hearing The Kingsman and The Standells (and these modern days Jack White) in these guys. They really had an authentic garage blues sound. A shame they didn't go on to greater hits and heights. To Dean's point—as Don McLean sang in "American Pie" a few years later, his jester was of course Bob Dylan who, like a Jester, mocked the emerging pretty-boy image (insert audio of Beatles' fans ecstatic screaming in Shea Stadium) in of rock 'n roll—hence The Jesters' name is more than probable a nod to him. Or maybe they liked Danny Kaye movies? Hmmm...it's a possibility.
ReplyDelete