(This is the latest in a series of holiday postings. Back to normal business soon.)
Sun Studio–Whole Lotta Shakin’
Sun Studio must be the most famous recording studio in music. I have seen it on countless documentaries and so it felt slightly surreal to be driving up to that famous yellow guitar on the corner. It is visible from a long way off, like a big, musical lighthouse in an otherwise non-descript neighbourhood, which is exactly as it should be.
During its 1950s heyday, Sun produced the body of music that became the soundtrack of the decade (and the diner soundtrack for all time): Ike Turner, Roy Orbison, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, and of course The King all recorded iconic records there. Reading between the lines, Sun’s founder Sam Phillips was quite a domineering figure and most of his talented charges quickly became frustrated by the stylistic restrictions he imposed. Consequently, they didn’t stick around long after they had a few hits under their belts. But Phillips did have a firm idea of the sound he wanted, and he pushed everybody to record in that direction: a fast, country and blues infused style that became known as rockabilly. The song was always first for Phillips, and the singer second, even with Elvis. But Phillips’ approach worked so who could blame him?
Considering the perky, upbeat nature of most of Sun’s recordings, our guide would certainly have met with Phillips’ approval–she was lively, funny, and passionate about the music. The tour was quite detailed but always interesting and enhanced by plenty of music. One thing that I didn’t know was that BB King and Howlin’ Wolf were both recorded by Sun for records released on other labels (Chess, in the case of the Wolf). It was also news to me that Ike Turner had recorded the influential Rocket 88 at Sun. Listening to this and Howlin’ Wolf’s The Wolf is at Your Door, on the studio’s superb sound system would make the hairs on the back of a dead man’s neck stand up: a wonderful moment. Our guide told us that HW’s recordings were the work of which Sam Phillips was most proud, and you can hear why.
There was, of course, plenty also about Elvis here and it was surprising to hear just how young he was when he started out; apparently he was only 18 the first time he wandered into the studio to pay the few dollars to record a song for his Mother (yes, he paid them). It is not difficult to imagine how the somewhat matronly looking secretary who made the recording for him was charmed and passed it on to SP. The song was pure slush (“My happiness”) and the Boss Man was not impressed, but Elvis continued to hang around the studio and eventually got the opportunity to record again. You know the rest.
Stax–Soulsville USA
As if one absurdly influential recording studio is not enough for Memphis, this city is also home to Stax (or the Stax Museum these days).
As a reminder, Stax produced music that was smoother than Bing Crosby, warmer than Beale Street on a lazy August afternoon, and better for the spirit than coming home to the aroma of roast chicken and gravy on a winter’s night. Consider, if you will, the following, and I defy you not to think happy thoughts:
Booker T. and the MGs Green Onions
Otis Reading (Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay
Eddie Floyd Knock On Wood
Isaac Hayes By the Time I get to Phoenix
The Staple Singers I’ll Take You There
Feel better?
In addition to the pictures of Rufus Thomas in some of his 1970s get-ups, the museum also has a lot of information about the Civil Rights movement and Stax’s role in the black community. For many people Stax was more than just a record label and its bankruptcy in the 1975 was a huge loss for Memphis. Today the Soulsville Foundation, which runs the museum, funds the Stax Music Academy and Soulsville Charter School, organsiations that aim to help local kids get off to a better start in life. So Stax is still doing good things for Memphis.
Soul Food at the Blues City Café–Put Some South In Your Mouth!
You can’t come to Memphis without trying the b-b-q, can you? We didn’t, at any rate. The Blues City Cafe, which is at the top of the musical mayem that is Beale Street, was the first opportunity to get our chops around some ribs, and we did not prevaricate. They were big and meaty, covered in that thick dark gravy that tastes of everything: soy, ketchup, garlic, ginger, sugar, spice, and hickory, to name a few. We had our ribs along with servings of beautifully plump, sweet baked beans, golden catfish, tangy coleslaw, and turnip greens (the only healthy thing I had seen since Clarksdale). We also shared a small bowl of a gently spiced gumbo, which reminded me of minestrone in that it is probably a spiced, ad hoc assembly of whatever happens to be lying around the cook’s kitchen that day. I washed this (it was between two of us, I hasten to add) down with a huge glass of cold root beer, a drink that deserves to be more popular than it is. It makes Coke taste boring by comparison.
A fine meal to set us up for the musical walk from bar to bar down Beale street.