From a music historian’s point of view, it may be difficult to take the Love Affair seriously. None of the five members was over twenty years old when they hit, the group had been put together by the drummer’s doting father, and they didn’t even play on their best-known songs. But they had a fantastic singer, released catchy and memorable singles, and in 1968 only the Beatles outsold them in Britain.

The band was originally called The Soul Survivors and was formed around drummer Maurice “Mo” Bacon. Mo came from a family of drummers: his father was a semi-professional and his cousin was a noted session player who played on Steely Dan’s records. Mo’s dad was thrilled that his son was going into the family business and started taking out ads to find bandmates for his boy.

A competent group came together fairly quickly, but it was the addition of singer Steve Ellis that made them all believe that they could hit the big time. Ellis auditioned for the Soul Survivors on a dare in early ’66, singing the Spender Davis group number “Keep On Running”. It was a prophetic choice, as Ellis’ voice would later be compared to that of Steve Winwood.

Mo Bacon’s father got excited and, being a man of means, pulled out all the stops to pave the way for the band. He bought the guys all the gear they needed, rented a warehouse for them to rehearse in, and provided a van for traveling to gigs.

In the beginning, the band’s “gigs” were a bit impromptu: To get some experience under their belts, they would crash bar mitzvahs and weddings by arriving unannounced claiming to be “the band you hired”. As the confused host of the event stammered something about not having hired a band, the guys would smile and say, “Oh well, since we’re here we might as well play!”

The performances, expected or not, served to tighten up the band’s sound, and soon Mr. Bacon brought in a couple of professional managers. The management’s team’s first move was to change the band’s name to the Love Affair. The guys weren’t too crazy about it, but it was better than another idea that was floated. Someone had suggested calling them the “Thin Red Line”, and painting a red line from the tops of their foreheads down to their pants!

After a new name was settled on, the band was taken into the studio to record. Their first song was written by Kenny Lynch, who had written “Sha La La La Lee” for the Small Faces. The Love Affair recorded his song “Woman, Woman” at Abbey Road, and everyone in the group was enthused about its potential. However, management decided something a little more tried-and-true would be best for a first outing and had them record a version of the Rolling Stones’ “She Smiled Sweetly”. The band hated the results, but it was released. The record died with barely a whimper.

Although they weren’t selling records, the Love Affair was packing out the London soul clubs, performing covers of Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, and Lee Dorsey. Despite the fact that they were all still in school, they were on stage three or four nights per week.

After a few more stiffs, their record label dropped them, so they began to send out demos. One found the ears of Island Records’ Muff Winwood, formerly of the Spencer Davis Group. He signed them, mostly on the strength of Steve’s voice.

After a few false starts, Muff suggested they cover “Everlasting Love”, which was doing well in the US for soul man Robert Knight. They loved the tune and jumped at the chance. The cut was recorded with a rather stripped-down sound compared to the original, with all members of the Love Affair performing. The label brass weren’t very impressed but believed in the song, so superstar producer Mike Smith was brought in to spruce it up.

Smith did a lot more than a little sprucing up, re-recording the song with a 40-piece orchestra added to the mix. Everyone in the band except for Steve was told to stand down for the session, and the hit version of “Everlasting Love” was signed, sealed, and delivered in just three takes. It was released in December of ’67 and took the British charts by storm. It hit #1 in February 1968, just after Steve Ellis turned sixteen.

A barrage of TV appearances followed, and in one interview the host bluntly stated, “You didn’t play on your record”. The band admitted that they didn’t, and the next day their “confession” was all over the music trade publications- even though the use of session musicians was quite commonplace. The adverse publicity stung, and the members of the Love Affair struck a deal with their record label: Do the “A” sides of the singles your way, but we’ll take care of the “B” sides and album cuts. It was an arrangement that they would keep for the remainder of their output.

While serious types eschewed the Love Affair, their teen fans either didn’t get the memo or didn’t care. Girls screamed themselves hoarse at shows and chased the band to and from their limo, lunging and pushing for the chance to grab a lock of hair or a piece of clothing. The enthusiasm of the Love Affair’s young female fans convinced Yardley cosmetics to sign the band to a lucrative promotional deal. The band moved a lot of makeup- and a lot of records- in 1968/69, with “Rainbow Valley”,  “Bringing on Back the Good Times”, “A Day Without Love”, and “One Road” all scoring big on the charts.

But the chaos brought on by being teen idols and the resentment at being dismissed by serious rock fans as “manufactured” combined to be a heavy weight on the shoulders of such young men. In December of 1969, Steve Ellis announced that he was quitting. The rest of the band tried to carry on briefly, but the Love Affair was over.

Mo Bacon recalled later: “The problem was, we started as a credible band and then became this sort of joke.”

Major source: “Bringing on Back the Good Times” by John Reed (in-depth article at www.steveellis.co.uk)

In 1961, pop music was in a bit of a holding pattern. The wild rock ‘n’ roll that had exploded in the ’50s had been tamed, and Beatlemania was still a few years off. Lawrence Welk, Pat Boone, and Bobby Vee were scoring #1 hits, making a spin across the radio dial for the most part a rather sedate experience. But right in the middle of this sea of calm, in the summer of ’61, a powerful, emotion-filled, rich voice exploded out of the radio with “Hurt”, leaving listeners assuming that the singer was black or male or both. But “the voice” belonged to a 4’11 eighteen-year-old girl named Timi Yuro.

Timi was born Rosemarie Timotea Aurro in Chicago in 1940. As a child, she spent a lot of her time with her family’s African-American neighbors, listening to Dinah Washington records, attending church, and even sneaking into blues clubs on occasion. She naturally took to singing, but her father harshly discouraged it. On the other hand, her mother arranged for her to take operatic training.

The Aurro family moved to Los Angeles in 1952 and opened a restaurant. Meanwhile, Timi came to the attention of famous vocal coach Lillian Goodman (Frankie Laine, Kirk Douglas), who was so impressed by the twelve-year-old’s talent that she offered to work with her free of charge. Two years later, Timi was singing in Hollywood nightclubs. Her mother did not approve of that career path and once interrupted a performance by yelling from the audience, “This is your last song, young lady!”.

In the interest of peaceful family relations, Timi took her act to her parents’ restaurant. It was a good move for all concerned, with Timi getting great exposure while the eatery became a Hollywood “destination” due to the teenager’s explosive performances. A Liberty Records talent scout caught Timi’s show one night, and awarded her a recording contract in ’59.

Excitement soon gave way to frustration, however, as the label executives spent the next two years choosing lightweight fluff for Timi to record against her will. Her protests fell on deaf ears, so she stalked the label headquarters. Finally, on a Friday afternoon in July of ’61, the secretary went to the ladies’ room, and Timi rushed in to crash an executive meeting, threatening to tear up her contract if she wasn’t allowed to record material more suited to her talents. The suits called her bluff, saying “Well, show us whatcha got”… and she broke into an impassioned delivery of “Hurt”, a ballad that had been a rhythm and blues hit for Roy Hamilton in 1954.

Al Bennett, the president of Liberty, was so impressed that he assigned Timi to producer Clyde Otis, who also worked with Dinah Washington and Nat King Cole. Bennett wanted “Hurt” for a single, and it was recorded post haste after Otis was convinced that a white girl could sing with soul. The song (listen here) was released in early summer of 1961 and climbed all the way to #4 on the Top 100. The flip side, “I Apologize”, got up to #72. (“Hurt” also got into the Top 20 on the national Rhythm and Blues charts.)

Timi was personally chosen by Frank Sinatra for a concert tour of Australia in 1961, winning out over Connie Francis and Brenda Lee. While she was performing to a crowd of 15,000 during the tour, the PA system went dead. Timi asked the audience to let her continue, promising that if everyone was quiet they would still be able to hear her sing. So she continued as the crowd watched and listened in awe. Sinatra walked out on stage and began circling her with a quizzical look. Timi finally asked , “Whatcha doing, babe?” to which Sinatra replied, “Nothing, kid- I’m just looking to see where they plug you in”.

In keeping with their less-than-daring corporate personality, Liberty decided that since “Hurt” had been such a big hit, Timi should stay on the emotional ballad track, preferably with songs with one-syllable titles like “Cry” and “Smile”. But none of her follow-ups generated much interest until “What’s a Matter Baby (Is It Hurting You)”, produced by an up-and-coming Phil Spector, barely missed the Top Ten in ’62. The flip side, “I Ain’t Gonna Cry No More”, didn’t chart at all, but a listen now usually elicits a one-word response: WOW. The singer’s and the producer’s sense of drama seemed to mesh perfectly. Unfortunately, Yuro and Spector would not have the opportunity to work together again.

Next, Timi recorded “The Love of a Boy”, arranged and co-written by Burt Bacharach. It got up to #44, but when Bacharach brought another song to Timi with explicit instructions on how it should be delivered, she balked. Bacharach walked, and “What the World Needs Now” became a big hit for Jackie DeShannon. (In fairness, the gentleness called for by the lyrics were probably not a good match for Timi’s blow-torch vocal style.)

By 1963, Team Timi was getting desperate for another big hit. Producer Buddy Killen called up Hank Cochran and told him that they were looking for a song that could be as big as “Hurt”. Hank had just written “Make the World Go Away”, and he offered it to Timi. She recorded it a week later and was so excited with the results that she phoned up Cochran at three in the morning and played him the finished recording over the phone. A few days later when she was in Nashville, Timi hand-delivered a copy of the record to its author.

Hank thought it was a sure hit, and he played it for his friend Ray Price. Price agreed that it had potential but declared that he could sing it better. He set up his own recording session and duplicated Timi’s arrangement note-for-note. Timi’s version was a Top 30 pop hit while Price’s got to #2 on the country chart. However, when Eddy Arnold released the song two years later, his version became the definitive one.

Eddy was working on an album of songs with “world” in the title, and he thought of “Make the World Go Away”. However, it wasn’t Ray Price’s version that had made an impression, it was Timi Yuro’s. He checked to see how many copies Timi had sold, and when he discovered that she had stalled out at about 50,000, he decided to release it as a single himself. Like Price, he also copied Timi’s arrangement, including the use of strings. The song was a worldwide smash for Arnold, and strings became a trademark of his music from there on out. “Make the World Go Away” became forever associated with Eddy Arnold, and Timi’s version was largely forgotten.

Timi Yuro continued to release top-notch singles and albums throughout the 1960s, but she never did manage to score another hit on the scale of “Hurt”. Nevertheless, she remained a popular live attraction and boasted high-profile fans such as Willie Nelson and Elvis Presley. Elvis always reserved a table up front when Timi played Las Vegas, and he covered “Hurt” for one of his last chart hits in 1976.

Timi exited the music business in 1969 to start a family, and returned around 1980. Shortly after she restarted her career, she was diagnosed with throat cancer. Her final recording was in 1982, just before her larynx was removed.

Timi Yuro died in 2004 at the age of 63.[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cX5MAG0WFw8&feature=related]

A complete list of songs and artists for this show is available under the “playlists” tab.

• “The Ballad of Spider John”, a favorite song from Jimmy Buffett’s 1974 classic album Living and Dying in ¾ Time
• “Satin Sheets”, recorded by Waylon Jennings in 1977
• “Geraldine and the Honeybee”, a concert favorite for Widespread Panic
• “Northeast Texas Women”, which shows up on many “Best Of” Jerry Jeff Walker compilations
• …and “Muskrat Love”, a #5 smash in 1976 for The Captain & Tennille

Despite the improbability of there being any reasonable explanation for Widespread Panic and the Captain & Tennille appearing on any list together, all the songs above do have one thing in common: They were included on Willis Alan Ramsey’s 1972 self-titled debut. And not only was Willis Alan Ramsey his first album- it was his only album.

Willis Alan Ramsey was born in 1949 in Birmingham, Alabama. His mother was musically inclined, his brother collected rhythm and blues records, and the family never missed a Grand Ole Opry broadcast. Willis Alan was also deeply steeped in African-American traditions, spending much of his time with the black women who took acre of him. In a 2000 interview with the St. Louis Riverfront Times, he recalled, “We had maids back then- everybody in the South had maids-and they were singing all the time. So that music was in the air. Segregation didn’t mean that people didn’t associate with one another. I was raised more by my black maid Letty. I spent more time with her than I did my parents.”

The Ramseys moved to Dallas, Texas in 1960, much to the dismay of young Willis Alan, who thought too many people there “were always acting like they better than everybody else”. By the late ’60s, he began to make a name for himself in front of those big shots by turning in memorable performances at the folk clubs in Dallas, Houston, and Austin.

During an engagement at the Villa Capri hotel lounge in Dallas, Ramsey found out that Leon Russell and the Allman Brothers were checked in. Armed with his songs and not a small amount of chutzpah, he knocked on their doors: “Leon was nice and receptive, and I was kind of cocky at that point. I thought I was writing some tunes that he should hear. Leon told me to break out my guitar. He and his road manager listened and gave me their numbers in California.”

“They said I should come see them. Greg Allman and Dickey Betts were really nice as well. They invited me to come down and see them in Macon. This was right before the Allman Brothers took off. So I went to see all of them. Greg recorded a demo on me, and then I went out to see Leon, and he made a demo on me. Leon said, ‘I’m getting ready to tour. If you like, you can stay in my house and record in my studio at night.’ That pretty much sold me! It all happened quickly. I was pretty confident in what I was doing, and suddenly I was over my head. I went from playing college coffeehouses and then I’m in Leon Russell’s home studio and people like George Harrison are coming over. It was a completely different environment.”

Rather than being impressed by the fast-paced new world in which he found himself, Ramsey soon felt overwhelmed. Despite his discomfort and the fact that the recording sessions took place over the course of a year in five studios in three states, he produced the eleven tracks that made up the album that came to ber evered as an almost flawless classic.

When it came time to promote the record, Ramsey balked. He was already miserable and couldn’t abide the thoughts of having to hit the radio/magazine/TV interview and performance circuit. He told the folks at Shelter Records “just to float it out there and see what happens”. What happened was not very much at all, even though his fellow musicians took notice in a big way.

After the disappointing sales of that first album, there were a few aborted attempts to produce a second one. When the Urban Cowboy craze hit the country music world a couple of years later, Ramsey headed for the exits, recalling in the Riverfront Times interview, “…about the time mechanical bulls showed up in the rooms I was playing, I stopped playing”.

Lovers of great music didn’t stop playing his album, though, and word of its perfection continued to spread. Lyle Lovett caught wind of it while he was in college in the late 1970s and learned to play every song on it, later calling it “one of the greatest records of all time”. (A decade or so down the road, Lovett and Ramsey would collaborate on “That’s Right, You’re Not From Texas”, and Ramsey would sing at the wedding of Lovett and actress Julia Roberts.) In the 1980s, Willis Alan moved to Great Britain to study Celtic music and to explore his own ancestry. Meanwhile, other performers kept mining “the album” for material…

In 2000, Ramsey was lured to the stage of Austin City Limits to help honor his old friend and fellow Texas troubadour Walter Hyatt, who had perished in the 1996 ValuJet crash. That performance, along with his work with Lyle Lovett and the CD reissue of his debut, finally brought the name Willis Alan Ramsey to the tips of the tongues of fans of quality singer-songwriters. Talk of a new album began, and as of 2009 it was still “in the works”.

Thirty-nine years after the release of his debut, Willis Alan Ramsey is performing on a fairly regular basis, and even though he has lots of newer material, it is not unusual for him to include seven or eight songs from that original collection in his shows. If anyone in the audience asks him when he is going to release a second album, Ramsey’s half-joking reply is, “What’s wrong with the first one?”[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lToPF0IylPo]

A complete list of songs and artists for this show is available under the “playlists” tab.

In jazz, the line separating a singer’s voice and a soloing instrumentalist can often be blurred . Great scat singers like Ella Fitzgerald and Mel Torme improvised melodies and rhythms using nonsense syllables, creating the equivalent of an instrumental solo using their voices. On the other hand, vocalese artists like the Manhattan Transfer or Annie Ross adhere strictly to a previously-improvised jazz instrumental solo and “translate” the notes into words, often choosing lyrics that tell a story about the originating soloist. The vocalese singer must possess just as much agility and fluidity as much as does the scat singer, but while the scat singer roams freely within the broad confines of the tune, the vocalese singer stays true to the original solo, note-for-note.

The best example of scat singing you’ll probably ever witness: And here’s some vocalese:Most sources agree that vocalese was invented by Eddie Jefferson, who put words to James Moody’s sax solo in “I’m in the Mood for Love” around 1949, and later did the same for Lester Young’s solo on “I Cover the Waterfront” and Coleman Hawkins’ turn on “Body and Soul”. (Listen to Jefferson here.)

Although not the originator, the best-known vocalese pioneer is the flamboyant, gold-toothed King Pleasure. His real name was Clarence Beeks, and he was born in Oakdale, Tennessee in 1922. He grew up in Cincinnati and worked outside of the music business until he was almost 30. He seemed to come out of nowhere when he won amateur night at the Apollo Theater in Harlem in 1951 singing Jefferson’s “Moody’s Mood for Love”. After his win, Beeks decided to change his name to something a little more interesting, and he succeeded on that count by dubbing himself “King Pleasure”.

Eddie Jefferson had never recorded “Moody’s Mood”, and the Apollo win gave King Pleasure the opportunity to do so. It was a surprise national hit, sitting near the top of Billboard magazine’s “Most Played Juke Box Rhythm and Blues Records” in early ’52, sandwiched in between the Dominos’ “Have Mercy, Baby” and Lloyd Price with “Lawdy Miss Clawdy”. Soon, Jet magazine was reporting that King Pleasure had paid $2500 for a custom-made throne from which he sang on stage. (Listen to “Moody’s Mood” here.)

Pleasure followed up by writing his own words to “Parker’s Mood”, and then turned in memorable versions of “Red Top” (with Betty Carter, based on a Gene Ammons sax solo), and Lester Young’s “Jumpin’ with Symphony Sid” (a tribute to New York disc jockey Sid Torin). He moved to Los Angeles in 1956, cut a few singles that year, and made full albums in ’60 and ’62.

At the age of forty, however, King Pleasure seemed to drop off the face of the earth. When he died in 1982, many people were shocked: They thought he had been deceased for years.

King Pleasure’s complete recorded catalog fits on just three CDs. However, his influence has been much greater than what that rather meager output might suggest. Jon Hendricks, Annie Ross, Al Jarreau, and many others closely studied King Pleasure’s technique and have paid obvious homage to him on their own recordings.

…and backstage at Woodstock in 1969, Van Morrison was photographed carrying an LP. It was Original Moody’s Mood by King Pleasure.

A complete list of songs and artists for this show is available under the “playlists” tab.

Alan Price was born in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, an industrial city in the northeast of England in 1942. He began playing the piano when he was seven, and was proficient on keyboards, guitar, and bass by the time he entered double-digits. Like many British teens, he was swept up into the skiffle craze in the 1950s, and had his own band called the Black Diamonds. Then he made the shift to rock ‘n roll, particularly inspired by the piano-pounding Jerry Lee Lewis.

In 1961 when he was nineteen, he formed the Alan Price Rhythm and Blues Combo, which also included guitarist Hilton Valentine, bassist Chas Chandler, and drummer John Steel. They became a popular attraction in Newcastle clubs, and vocalist Eric Burdon was brought on board in ’62. Burdon had been hanging out with a rebellious gang led by an army vet calling himself Animal Hog, and suggested that the band change its name to “The Animals” when word came back from London that the whole idea of a “combo” had become quite stale. Everyone except Alan approved of the idea, and a serious power struggle between Price and Burdon began.

Burdon was the front man on stage and in the press, but it was Alan’s arrangements and organ-playing that was setting the band apart from its contemporaries. In a Melody Maker interview, Alan explained his style: “I use a lot more chords than most organists and I’m careful to phrase them with the guitar. I tend to think of the organ as part of the rhythm section, rather than a frontline voice. The only time it dominates is during a solo, or when we play a low blues and I put figures in behind Eric’s vocals.”

The Animals became quite popular locally, and record producer Mickie Most facilitated a move to London. He also got them a spot as the opening act for Chuck Berry’s UK tour. Most of Berry’s material was light and perky, and the group decided to provide a counterpoint with the slow, almost hypnotic arrangement that Alan Price devised for the traditional blues song “House of the Rising Sun”. It went over well, and when Most got the band a contract with EMI Records, “House” was the first song that they recorded.

The song, with Alan’s now-classic organ break, ran over four minutes, and EMI was hesitant to release it as a single. The label instead chose “Baby, Let Me Take You Home”. It made the UK Top 30 and gave the band enough clout to insist that “House of the Rising Sun” be the next release. They prevailed, and the record was a smash in the summer of 1964, hitting number one in both Britain and the US and making the Animals the first British group after the Beatles to top the US hit parade.

Within a year, the Animals had four Top 40 hits, released three albums, and were in demand for live performances around the world. Alan Price was by nature moody and introspective, and all the activity and demands on his time became quite stressful for him. He grew apart from his band mates, often choosing to remain in the tour bus reading while they partied. An intense fear of flying didn’t help matters, and on the morning before the group was scheduled to leave for a tour of Sweden, Alan Price quit the band and boarded a train back home to Newcastle. When he arrived at his mother’s house, he went straight to bed and slept for 36 hours.

In a statement to the local press, Alan said “…There was no bad feeling between me and the others. My doctor had diagnosed exhaustion. He’d warned me I’d have a breakdown if I didn’t slacken the pace. I simply can’t stand the pressures of the pop world anymore.”

For a while, Alan entertained the idea of giving up music altogether and just getting a real-world job. Soon, however, he had hooked up with some fellow Newcastle musicians and formed the Alan Price Combo. They kept it low-key, playing only local gigs.

The pull of “the business” began to grow, and Alan was booked to play keyboards on other artists’ recording sessions, such as Dusty Springfield’s “In the Middle of Nowhere”. In the studio, he made the acquaintance of some like-minded players, and the new “Alan Price Set” began gigging and recording like they meant it in 1966. The group released a very strong cover of “Any Day Now”, with many listeners hearing Alan sing for the first time. Oddly enough, his voice had many similarities to Eric Burdon’s.

The next single that the Alan Price Set released, “I Put a Spell on You” seem to be cut from the same cloth as “House of the Rising Sun”- a blues number with a haunting arrangement. It was a huge hit in Europe and also got well inside the American Top 100. The decision to record “Spell” didn’t seem to be calculated to capitalize on past glories, though: “…We’d been doing it on stage for some time and it had been going down well” is how Alan explained the choice to interviewer Richard Greene of Record Mirror.

In 1967, Alan turned toward lighter, more playful material and recorded an album largely filled with songs written by a then-unknown Randy Newman. “Simon Smith and the Amazing Dancing Bear” was a big hit, and “The House That Jack Built” (written by Price but obviously influenced by Newman) followed. Perhaps in an effort to clearly distinguish his new work from previous recordings, Alan abandoned the organ altogether in favor of piano.

After a few more successful singles, Alan Price feared he was slipping into the same industry grind that had so depleted him before, and he left his band. In the early 1970s he resurfaced, teaming up with his friend Georgie Fame for a very successful album. Soon they also had their own TV show, The Price of Fame.

After that partnership had run its course, Alan composed the music for O Lucky Man, a film in which he also appeared, musically commenting on the proceedings. His work earned him an Oscar nomination and his first charted solo album in the US. He went on to host his own TV show, then began to write commercial jingles and television theme music.

Since the ’70s, Alan Price has continued to write, perform, and record quality music for a variety of projects. He has also participated in several reunions of the Animals.

In 1994, the Animals were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. To attend the ceremony in New York City, Alan Price boarded a plane for the first time in nearly thirty years.[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQ4ZGGt-1rs][youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AB3fncWyVN4]

“I Put a Spell on You” Live

“Simon Smith and His Amazing Dancing Bear”

Alan and Georgie Fame in 1971

 “O, Lucky Man”

A complete list of songs and artists for this show is available under the “playlists” tab.

By 1969, soulful “girl groups” had for the most part become passe, especially on the American charts. The last ensemble left standing was the Supremes, and by the end of the ’60s even they had moved toward more ”relevant” material such as “I’m Livin’ in Shame” and “Love Child”. Despite all trends away from the sound, however, 1969 had dawned with a hit from one of the most talented and powerful old-school female groups to ever step into a studio- The Flirtations. It’s too bad that the Flirtations are rarely remembered now except by hardcore soul enthusiasts and relentless record collectors.

The Flirtations were originally called “The Gypsies”, and consisted of sisters Earnestine, Shirley, and Betty Pearce along with their friend Lestine Johnson. The ladies were all from South Carolina, but the Pearce sisters made the acquaintance of Lestine in New York City. The foursome signed to the tiny Old Town record label in 1964 and had a minor hit with the perky dance number “Jerk It”- written by JJ Jackson, who would later have his own smash with “But It’s Alright”. Their first professional engagement was at the Apollo Theatre in New York, and it seemed that they were going places. Despite the promise of success, Lestine soon left the group and was replaced by Alabama-born Viola Billups.

The Gypsies released a few more solid records in ’65, and ’66 and won a Supremes sound-alike talent contest but kept hitting a brick wall when it came to record sales. The group, none of whom had ever traveled outside the US, decided to move to England, where their style of soul was still in high demand. Betty Pearce elected not to make the trip, and they scaled down to a trio. Since they were in effect re-inventing themselves with their move abroad, the group decided to also change its name as well. Viola suggested “Flirtations”, playing off the fact that each member of the group was sexy in her own unique way.

Once in England, the Flirtations were signed to Parrot Records, which was also the home of Tom Jones and the Zombies. They had one song on the label, “Someone Out There”/”How Can You Tell Me” which garnered decent airplay, but few sales. Parrot didn’t keep them around for a second try.

Manager Barry Marshall, who also handled Paul McCartney, got the Flirtations signed to the Deram label, a Decca subsidiary that mostly concentrated on “progressive” artists like David Bowie, the Moody Blues, the Move, and Procol Harum. Teamed up with producer Wayne Bickerton (Petula Clark, Tom Jones) and writer Tony Waddington, the group recorded a song in late 1968 that has since been referred to as “the best Motown record that Motown never released”.

“Nothing But a Heartache” was a smash in England, got into the American Top 40, and sold well all over the world, eventually moving over two million copies. The dramatic, reverb-laden production, Earnestine’s powerful lead , and the strong vocal support from Shirley and Viola made “Nothing But a Heartache” one of the best single releases of the year, and the record is still tops with fans of classic R&B, especially those emersed in the “Northern Soul” revival movement in England. (Interesting, the 1969 soul market found “Heartache” too old-fashioned and turned a rather cold shoulder to it.)

England went Flirtations-crazy, and Tom Jones chose their “Can’t Stop Loving You” to cover in 1970. The Bickerton/Waddington team produced a handful of other strong entries for the Flirtations, such as “What’s Good About Goodbye My Love” and “This Must Be the End of the Line”, but there were no more big hits. The group also released a more reflective, semi-autobiographical song called “South Carolina” which did manage to make the “Bubbling Under” Billboard chart in late ’69.

Viola Billups left the group in 1973 to establish a solo career as “Pearly Gates”. She released some decent-selling singles and appeared regularly on British TV. The Flirtations (with Loretta Noble taking Viola’s place) became the regular backing group on Cliff Richard’s TV show and did well on the disco scene. Viola rejoined the group in the 1980s and they had success throughout the decade on the UK “Hi NRG” charts. “Earthquake” in particular still packs the British dance floors.

The Flirtations, all well in their 60s, released a new record in 2009, and to this day are a huge draw on the UK soul revival circuit.

Recommended listening:

“Jerk It“

“How Can You Tell Me“

“Can’t Stop Loving You“

“Earthquake“

A complete list of songs and artists for this show is available under the “playlists” tab.

“I got off (the stage) just in time to see this pathetic, emaciated, haunted-looking, tragic figure of a man being assisted through the stage door- not too gently- by a male nurse. The nurse had undoubtedly had enough problems to warrant being impatient…but it upset me to see my friend handled that way. I ran to him and hugged him. He threw his arms around me and clung to me, crying. I tried to comfort him, to tell him that everything was going to be all right, just as you would try to comfort a child crying in the dark.”

-Minnie Pearl, on seeing Hank Williams at a show in San Diego in late spring of 1952

During the five years following his recording debut in 1947, Hank Williams released thirty songs, half of which hit the top of the country music charts and nearly all of which would soon be considered essential entries in the great American songbook. His performance of “Lovesick Blues” on the Grand Ole Opry in 1949 had the frenzied audience demanding a record six encores, but less than three years after that triumph he was fired from the show for missing too many performances due to “excessive drunkenness”. By 1952, Hank Williams’ hard-drinking and hard-living ways, along with a run of bad luck, were conspiring to bring his career- and life- to a premature end.

After his dismissal from the Opry, Hank went back to performing on the Louisiana Hayride, where he had gotten his first big break just a few years before. Even there, he began drinking away the money that was due his backing musicians, and eventually his band the Drifting Cowboys deserted him. He attempted to carry on on but became so undependable that few promoters would risk booking him, and when they did he had to make all his own arrangements. The times that he did show up for a gig, it was common for him to botch it terribly and end up in a shouting match with the audience. At one fairgrounds show, the promoter dragged a hopelessly drunk Hank from his car and up on the stage for the audience to see. They literally chased him out of town.

Even though Hank was still ruling the country music charts (in part because he never, ever showed up at a recording session drunk), he had been reduced to living at his mother’s boardinghouse in Montgomery. He was in constant pain due to congenital spina bifida made worse by heavy drinking, frequent brawling, and an unsuccessful back surgery. He was in and out of the North Louisiana Sanitarium throughout the summer and fall of ’52 in a series of half-hearted attempts to dry out.

In October of that year, Hank had also gotten involved with H.R Toby Marshall, a fake doctor who had served time for forgery and armed robbery. Marshall had bought his “diploma” for $35 and wrote his prescriptions on stolen pads. He claimed to be alleviating Hank’s back pain and also “treating” his alcoholism with strong sedatives and painkillers. The “doctor” kept Hank supplied with amphetamines, Seconal, morphine, and the dangerous sedative chloral hydrate. His last prescription for Hank was for 24 grams of the drug, which depresses the central nervous system and is potentially fatal when mixed with alcohol. Hank filled and then refilled the chloral hydrate prescription in Montgomery less than a month before he died.

On top of everything else, during the 1952 Christmas holiday, Hank had visited a few of his old stomping grounds and had bragged himself into a fight. In the days just after Christmas, he was seen favoring a bandaged left arm. He said it was badly sprained, but that Dr. Marshall was helping him with the pain.

Hoping to revive his career and his reputation, Hank had accepted a last-minute offer to play a New Year’s Eve show in Charleston, West Virginia and two New Year’s Day performances in Canton, Ohio. These would be major shows, and Hank hoped that they would signal a comeback for him.

He was responsible for getting himself to the venues, and he asked around for a cab driver who might want to pick up an extra 400 bucks to drive him. None of the Montgomery regulars wanted to be on the road over the holiday, but a loyal friend of Hank’s who ran a taxi service volunteered his son for the trip. Nineteen-year-old Charles Carr was a college freshman, and the money would cover most of his expenses for the coming school term.

Late in the morning on December 30, Carr showed up at the boardinghouse to get behind the wheel of Hank’s powder blue Cadillac. They loaded up stage clothes, guitar, gear, and records, but their departure was delayed while Hank’s new wife Billie Jean begged to come along. Hank finally talked her out of it by offering to send her to Shreveport to be with her family. Carr remembered that Hank was in good spirits as they began the trip, telling jokes and singing songs. On the way out of town, they stopped to pick him up a six pack of beer. As they pulled out onto Highway 31, it began to snow. A rare winter storm was beginning to work its way across the South.

The two only made it as far as Birmingham before they had to stop for the evening. They checked into the Redmont Hotel, and Hank was feeling well enough to “entertain” a couple of frisky fans who showed up at his door. After the women left, Hank had Carr order meals from room service.

Early on the morning of December 31, the two checked out of the hotel and continued northward. Hank bought more beer and reportedly used it to wash down some chloral hydrate. Later they stopped for a pint of whiskey. They were in Chattanooga for lunch, pulling off at a roadside diner where Hank played Tony Bennett’s version of “Cold, Cold Heart” on the jukebox and left the waiter a $50 tip.

It was snowing hard in Chattanooga, and Hank decided to try to catch a plane in Knoxville to make the Charleston show on time. They booked a flight scheduled to leave at 3:30 that afternoon, but the plane was unable to land in Charleston due to fog. It was back on the tarmac in Knoxville at 6 that evening.

Carr checked the two of them into the Andrew Johnson Hotel in Knoxville a little after 7. By this time, Hank appeared to be quite drunk and had to be helped up to his room by two porters. Carr ordered a couple of steaks for them, but Hank ate only a few bites as he lay on the bed. At some point he rolled off onto the floor.

Shortly thereafter, Hank had a fit of hiccups so violent that they sent him into mild convulsions. After a frantic call from Carr, the hotel manager summoned Dr. P.H. Carwell, who administered two shots of morphine mixed with vitamin B12. Conjecture now is that the physician may have chosen the morphine as a treatment for excess fluid that he detected in Hank’s lungs. If that was the case, the fluid could have resulted from Hank’s fight a few days earlier, or from a drug overdose. Either way, in hindsight it’s puzzling that Cardwell didn’t send Hank to the hospital. As a matter of fact, he even okayed Hank to continue to travel.

Charles Carr braced himself and called the concert promoter to tell him that they could not make it to Charleston, and the promoter told Carr they damn well better be in Canton for the New Year’s Day matinee. Otherwise, he would invoke the penalty clause in Hank’s contract and take a sizeable chunk out of Hank’s bank account for his trouble.

They would have to drive all night to make Canton on time, so Carr checked them out of the hotel at around 10:30 on New Year’s Eve. The two porters had to help dress Hank and carry him down to the car. They later said that the singer showed no sign of life when they picked him up other than to cough slightly.

About an hour later, Carr got a ticket for reckless driving when he almost hit Tennessee State Trooper Swann Kitts head on while trying to pass a bus. Kitts looked into the vehicle and asked Carr about the passenger that he thought looked “lifeless”. Carr explained that Hank was drunk and had been given a sedative. Kitts let them go.

Kitts later investigated the incident and wrote: “ …I think Williams was dead when he was dressed and carried out of the hotel. Since he was drunk and was given the injections and could have taken some capsules earlier, with all of this he couldn’t have lasted over an hour and a half or two hours. A man drunk or doped will make some movement if you move them; a dead man will make a coughing sound if they are lifted around. Taking all this into consideration, he must have died in Knoxville at the hotel.”

Charles Carr, however, did not agree with that conclusion. He said that he and Hank had stopped at a diner near Bluefield, West Virginia hours after the encounter with Kitts, and that, “I remember Hank got out to stretch his legs and I asked him if he wanted a sandwich or something. He said, ‘No, I just want to get some sleep.’ “ At that stop, Carr recruited an off-duty cabbie named Donald Surface to drive for awhile. After a few hours, Surface was dropped off with enough money to pay his fare back home and have a decent payday as well.

Carr said that just before dawn he looked over his shoulder to check on Hank: “I reached back to put the blanket over him that had fallen off, and then I felt a little unnatural resistance from his right arm. It was ice cold.”

Panicked, the teenager pulled into the first place where he saw signs of activity: Glen Burdette’s Pure Oil station in Oak Hill, West Virginia. He told the men working there that he thought he had a problem. They peered into the Cadillac’s back seat, and directed Carr to a nearby hospital.

“I ran in and explained my situation to the two interns who were at the hospital”, Carr said. “They came out and looked at Hank and said, ‘He’s dead.’ I asked ‘em, ‘Can’t you do something to revive him? One of them looked at me and said, ‘No, son, he’s just dead.’ “

At 7 am on January 1, 1953, 29-year-old Hank Williams was officially pronounced dead. The physician on duty concluded that Hank had been deceased for “at least two hours” but was unable to be more specific. A hurried autopsy noted needle marks on his arms and indications that Hank had recently been severely beaten and kicked in the groin. Hemorrhages in the heart and neck and traces of alcohol in the blood were found, but no residue of any type of drug was reported.

********

The story of the death of Hank Williams is heavy with “what if’s”: What if he hadn’t gotten into a fight a few days before he left on the trip? What if a more mature, experienced companion had been with him? What if Billie Jean had gone along to keep an eye on her husband? What if the snowstorm hadn’t altered their travel plans? What if Hank had been sent to the hospital in Knoxville? What if Trooper Kitts had demanded a closer look at the passenger in the back seat?

If any of those pivot points had gone the other way, maybe Hank might have notched a couple of triumphant performances in Charleston and Canton- proving the naysayers wrong, paving his way back to the Opry stage, and opening the door to years more of incredible recordings….

But probably not…You can’t help but get the feeling that- no matter what- it was Hank Williams’ destiny to be, as he sang in one of his signature tunes, “ another guy on the lost highway”.

Here is a radio announcement from 1/1/53 about Hank’s death:

 Major Sources:

Hank Williams, So Lonesome by Bill Koon (University Press of Mississippi, 2002)

“Ice Cold: The Death of Hank Williams”, Jim Tharpe, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

Lovesick Blues: The Life of Hank Williams by Paul Hemphill (Viking Penguin, 2005)

…and for some terrific writing about the end of Hank Williams’ life, I highly recommend Peter Cooper’s articles here.

A complete list of songs and artists for this show is available under the “playlists” tab.

It was inevitable that Bobby Hebb would have a career in music.

He began his life in a musical family in a music town, born in 1938 in Nashville to a trombone-playing father and a guitarist mother, both of whom were blind. The whole family sometimes performed on the streets in a washboard band humorously tagged “Hebb’s Kitchen Cabinet Orchestra”. Older brother Hal was a tap dancer, and Bobby became part of that act before his fourth birthday. The boys appeared on national television in 1942 and were regulars on the Nashville nightclub scene when Bobby was in first grade. One of Bobby’s childhood friends was neighbor Pat Boone.

Hal Hebb had a hard time staying out of trouble, and ended up in the Tennessee State Penitentiary in the early 1950s. There he met singer Johnny Bragg, who had founded the group the Prisonaires. (The Prisonaires’ “Just Walkin’ in the Rain” was released while they were still behind bars and was the first hit for Sam Phillips’ Sun Records.) When Johnny and Hal got out of prison, they established the doo-wop group the Marigolds and did well with the song “Rollin’ Stone”.

Meanwhile, little brother Bobby performed on a local TV show hosted by country music record producer Owen Bradley. The appearance earned him a place in Roy Acuff’s Smokey Mountain Boys, playing spoons and tap dancing. When he was fourteen, Bobby became one of the first African-Americans to appear on the Grand Ole Opry. While hanging around backstage at the Opry, he picked up guitar tips from Chet Atkins and songwriting pointers from Hank Williams.

Bobby migrated to Chicago in 1954 to try to carve a place out for himself in blues or jazz, and did manage to work on the Bo Diddley tune”Diddly Diddly Diddly Daddy” with the Moonglows and Little Walter. Shortly after that Leonard Chess-produced session, Bobby joined the Navy.

After his stint in the service, Bobby recorded his first solo single, “Night Train to Memphis”. His bluesy take on the old Smokey Mountain Boys tune attracted the attention of New York disc jockey John Richbourg and the airplay got it into the NYC Top Fifty. Richbourg helped Bobby win a slot as opening act for Mickey and Sylvia (“Love is Strange”), and when Mickey Baker moved to Paris, the act became Bobby and Sylvia. They released a couple of singles, including the notoriously poorly-conceived “You Broke My Heart and I Broke Your Jaw”.

In late November of 1963, just days after the assassination of President Kennedy, Hal Hebb was murdered outside a Nashville nightclub. Distraught, Bobby began to sing the Prisonaires’ song “Just Walkin’ in the Rain”. Later, he decided to turn the sentiment around and write an upbeat song in tribute to his brother, with the emphasis on the sun instead of on the rain. Bobby thought “Sunny” was a hit, and he shopped it all over New York…for nearly two years. No publishing house or record label was interested.

Finally in 1966, manager Buster Newman (whose firm also handled Tom Jones and Engelbert Humperdinck) made a deal for the recording and release of “Sunny”. It flew to #2 on the charts, sold over a million copies, became one of the defining songs of the 1960s, and was covered by Cher, Frank Sinatra, Anita O’Day, Wilson Pickett, Dusty Springfield, Ella Fitzgerald, and almost every other pop or jazz singer of the time. As a result of the massive hit, Bobby won a slot on the Beatles’ final American tour.

The Sunny LP was a solid collection and did well, but follow-up singles failed to generate much excitement. (The most successful was “A Satisfied Mind”, which peaked at #39.) Bobby decided to try his hand writing a Broadway musical with comedian Sandy Baron, but even though that venture fell flat as well, it did produce the song “Natural Man”, which was a big hit for Lou Rawls and won him a Grammy.

Bobby had a couple of hits in the UK in the early 1970s with “Love Me” and “Love, Love, Love”, and a disco version of “Sunny” popped up on the lower regions of the American charts in ’76. Other than those blips, though, he disappeared from the musical radar for the remainder of his life.

Bobby Hebb passed away in Nashville in August of 2010.

A complete list of songs and artists for this show is available under the “playlists” tab.

During the 1960s, popular music was moving and evolving at an incredible pace. It wasn’t unusual for an act to release a half-dozen singles in a year plus two or three albums, and the constant stream of exciting new performers and sounds made it impossible for a song to stay at the top of the charts for any length of time. That’s why, at this late date, we can still go back and sift through the prodigious output of that decade and re-discover the work of quality bands that we had written off as “one hit wonders”. The Outsiders, remembered by most of us only for their hit “Time Won’t Let Me”, is a band that is certainly worthy of a second look (and listen).

The Outsiders grew out of the Cleveland band known as Tom King and the Starfires. The Starfires were a very popular rhythm and blues combo in the region from the late 1950s to the early ’60s, releasing eight instrumental records and often performing five or six gigs a week. Tom King was a good guitarist and a great songwriter, but his vocal abilities were only average, partly due to a tonsillectomy. That was an acceptable limitation before the Beatles blew across the Atlantic and raised the bar for everybody, but after 1964 Tom knew that if he wanted to keep his band relevant, he would have to work in some elements of the English sound and find a better singer. He found his guy in eighteen-year-old Sonny Geraci and then set about strengthening the band’s lineup around him.

The first incarnation of the Starfires had recorded for the local record label Pama, owned by Tom’s uncle. Tom wanted to find a more powerful outlet for his new band and told his uncle that he would no longer require his services. The uncle was none too pleased, and unpleasantness rippled through the family. For awhile, Tom felt like an outsider in his family, and he decided to hang that label on the band as well.

In mid 1965, Tom went to see Ken Hamann of the Cleveland Recording Company, band in tow. (Hamann would later work with Grand Funk Railroad and Brownsville Station.) Hamann and King produced some demos and bravely sent them off to Capitol Records. Capitol liked what they heard and signed the band immediately. Two factors worked in their favor: First, unlike many hopeful rock ‘n roll groups of the time, the members of the Outsiders had been plugging away in clubs and bars for years and were good players and performers. Second, they brought with them a sure-fire hit song.

The Outsiders’ first single was a composition by Tom and his brother-in-law Chet Kelley called “Time Won’t Let Me”. The tune was infectious, and the addition of organ and horns to the basic guitar-bass-drums rock ‘n roll mold set it apart from the other hits of the day. The Motown-meets-British Invasion feel was soon being copied by bands like the Buckinghams, the Young Rascals, and later taken to new levels by Chicago.

“Time Won’t Let Me” was released in January of 1966 and rocketed up to #5 on the charts a few weeks later, eventually selling a million copies. The Outsiders soon found themselves on tour with Gene Pitney and the McCoys and then on nationwide television. Sonny Geraci recalled their rapid rise in an interview with Deanna Adams for her book Rock ‘n Roll and the Cleveland Connection: “The first tour we did was a ten-day promotional tour for Capitol Records. ‘Time Won’t Let Me’ was just breaking regionally. New York was the last stop, and we played on Hullabaloo. Chad and Jeremy were hosting, and Bobby Fuller was there, too. And there were screamin’ kids all over the place. That whole experience was a real thrill ’cause we were just kids ourselves. Right after that, Dick Clark signed us to do one of his rock ‘n roll tours. That’s when we realized we were definitely nationally known.”

If the Outsiders had been able to follow up “Time” with an equally strong tune, their place in the annals of ’60s rock ‘n roll would most likely would have been assured. Instead, Capitol took a chance by releasing the lush ballad “Girl in Love” (listen here), which got up to #21 but didn’t leave much of an impression after its chart run was through. A remake of the Isley Brothers’ “Respectable” did respectably on the charts, but also didn’t linger very long. Then came the terrific “Help Me Girl” which should have gotten them back into the Top Ten, but unfortunately the Animals released a version at just about the same time. Not surprisingly, Eric Burdon’s take garnered the most attention. The Outsiders also had first crack at “Bend Me, Shape Me”, and they did record it as an album track, but passed on it as a single. The American Breed snapped it up and had a big hit with an arrangement that sounded very Outsiders-like.

By 1967 the Outsiders had their mojo back and released some fantastic singles that in a perfect world would have been big hits, including “I’m Not Trying to Hurt You” and “Little Bit of Lovin”, but radio programmers and music fans had already moved on. Neither song even saw the inside of the Top 100. The band released four solid albums in the span of two years, but by the time that 1968′s Happening Live was hitting the stores, the Outsiders were frustrated with the business and with each other. Band members came and went rapidly, and King and Geraci ended up performing at the same time with two different groups billed as “the Outsiders”. Tom King sued, and Geraci changed the name of his ensemble to Climax.

In January of 1972, Climax released the ballad “Precious and Few”. It quickly rose to #1 on the Billboard chart and is a staple on soft-rock radio stations to this day. John Stevenson, keyboard player for Climax, wrote another song for the band called “Rock and Roll Heaven”, which was released as a single. It went nowhere, but when the Righteous Brothers covered it in 1974, the record climbed all the way to #3. (In an interview with music writer Gary James, Geraci theorized that the record label early on had identified the song as a hit and wanted to save it for the upcoming Righteous Brothers’ reunion. To that end, they withheld promotion from the Climax version.)

Even though the name of the Outsiders does not spring from the lips of any high-browed rock critic ruminating on the giants of the genre, the Outsiders and their 1966 smash had an impact that has reverberated through many other performers’ work. According to Geraci, “We were way ahead of everybody with that song. Over the years, a lot of successful people have sat eyeball-to-eyeball with me and said ‘Time Won’t Let Me’ was a major influence for them. People in groups like Chicago and Tower of Power and James Gurcro, who produced hits for the Buckinghams, Blood, Sweat & Tears, and Chicago, all told me that song was their favorite track of all time.”

Major sources:

Liner notes for The Best of the Outsiders (LP, 1986, Rhino Records) by Greg Shaw

Rock ‘n’ Roll and the Cleveland Connection by Deanna R. Adams (Kent State University Press, 2002)[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3LRyiFc3Ug]

A complete list of songs and artists for this show is available under the “playlists” tab.

Now recognized as having played a significant role in the evolution of rockabilly music before they were even in their teens, the Collins Kids were one of the most original and energetic acts of the 1950s. Lorrie Collins sang with feeling and moved like a young Wanda Jackson while little brother Larry burned up the guitar, bouncing around the stage like a whirling dervish. If it hadn’t been for a disinterested record label and Lorrie’s marriage in 1959, the Collins Kids most likely would today be near the top of the list of rockabilly giants of all time.

Lawrencine “Lorrie” Collins was born in 1942, and Lawrence “Larry” in 1944. Their family ran a dairy farm in Pretty Water, Oklahoma and the kids attended a one-room schoolhouse. Hazel Collins was a gifted and enthusiastic musician herself, playing mandolin, fiddle, and piano. At very young ages her children showed talent of their own, and she wanted to give them the chance to put it to use. After Lorrie won a high-profile talent contest in Tulsa at the age of eight, Hazel began to talk with her husband about selling the farm and moving to California where Lorrie would have more opportunities. When Larry began to show preternatural skills on the guitar he had received as a Christmas present, Mr. Collins relented. They headed for the West Coast in 1953, their ’47 Hudson breaking down numerous times along the way.

To make things easier on all concerned, Mr. and Mrs. Collins suggested that their children combine their talents and perform as a duo. The newly-christened “Collins Kids” won a few talent contests and then auditioned for Town Hall Party, hosted by Tex Ritter and broadcast on KTTV out of Los Angeles. They passed with flying colors and were tapped to be regulars on the show.

In a 2008 interview with the LA Record, Lorrie remembered, “…We were literally new to California. I don’t think we’d been there a couple of months before we auditioned for the show- I think it was a Thursday and then we went and were on the next night…We were nine and eleven and we were really young and it was a great thrill, and as I look back on it, it wasn’t like we were that nervous-we went out and had a great time!” Larry added, “The shows were live- they’d say show up and do your part and don’t miss a lick and it was so much fun.”

When the Kids arrived on Town Hall, they were performing straight country music, but they soon found themselves revving things up in the direction of what would later be known as rockabilly. The Collins’ religious background was Pentecostal, so Lorrie and Larry were used to letting their bodies move with the music that they heard in church. Just as Elvis was doing on the other side of the country, they began to integrate the movement into their performances, and accentuated the beat in their “hillbilly” songs more and more.

The house guitarist for Town Hall Party was Joe Maphis, whose lightning-fast style earned him the nickname “King of the Strings”. Maphis’ style lent itself perfectly to the Kids’ musical brew, and Larry looked to Joe as his mentor. One night in 1954 after a show, eighteen-year-old guitar maker Semie Mosely presented Maphis with a double-neck guitar with his name inlaid in the neck. It was the first of its kind, and Larry was entranced. Maphis had Mosely make one for Larry as well, but his had to be hollowed-out so his ten-year-old arms could manage it. Soon the two were performing amazing double-neck duets on the show, in addition to making a few records together. When you watch some of the old Town Hall performances by Maphis and Collins, it’s hard to keep your jaw from dropping as you watch pre-teen Larry match the legendary Maphis note-for-note.

The Collins Kids were signed to Columbia Records in 1955 and released some of the best rockabilly sides ever, including the classic “Party” (before Wanda Jackson had a hit with it), “Hop, Skip, and Jump”, and “Hoy Hoy”. Single #12 might have been the best of the bunch, with Larry’s wild “Whistlebait” on one side and Lorrie’s sensual “Rock Boppin’ Baby” on the other. Lorrie had just turned sixteen when she recorded the song, and it created some controversy among older fans who felt that Lorrie’s delivery was inappropriate for a proper young lady. In the LA Record interview, Lorrie said “People were just awful to my parents, saying, ‘You shouldn’t let her sing those kinds of songs! You shouldn’t let her dress like that!’…It was very hurtful in many ways.” But Lorrie’s parents told her not to let all the tongue-wagging bother her and to continue to perform in the way the music moved her.

Even though the Kids were on a major label, none of their records got any traction nationally. One of the big reasons was that Columbia’s A&R man was Mitch Miller, who loathed anything resembling rock ‘ roll. At first he tried to steer the duo into recording cutesy novelty songs, but when they insisted on doing their kind of music- often tunes that they wrote themselves- Miller in effect wrote them off. The records were released, but they were not promoted with any muscle.

The Collins Kids’ talent was unmistakeable, and many of the biggest names in the business considered them peers. One of Town Hall Party‘s regular viewers was Ricky Nelson. He was very impressed with Lorrie and asked a friend of his associated with the show to introduce them. They began to date regularly, with Larry often acting as chaperone. Lorrie also appeared with Ricky on several episodes of Ozzie and Harriet. When Elvis was in town, he would call up Larry, whom he called “Little Cat”,  and give him tips on stage movement. Johnny Cash signed his contract with Columbia records at the Collins’ dining room table. And sometimes when Ricky Nelson and Lorrie got home from a date, Nelson would wake Larry up so they could play guitar and write songs together. As Larry later recalled, “We were always the children of the group but no one treated us that way.”

In 1959, the Collins Kids were touring steadily with their labelmate Johnny Cash. Most likely in a fit of teenage rebellion, Lorrie eloped with Johnny’s manager Stu Carnall. She was seventeen and he was thirty-four. Ricky Nelson, who harbored dreams of marrying Lorrie himself, read about it in the newspaper.

The uproar surrounding the marriage destroyed the Collins Kids’ aura of youthful innocence, and when Lorrie became pregnant two years later, she completely retired from music. She and Larry had a few scattered performances later in the ’60s on Star Route, The Jackie Gleason Show, Shindig, and a few other shows but otherwise the Collins Kids were absent from the music scene.

Larry turned his attention to songwriting, and in 1971 the Collins Kids’ reunited for a DJ convention in Nashville. They performed a song of Larry’s called “Delta Dawn”, which he thought had a lot of potential. They sang it numerous times around Nashville, but no one who was in a position to get it recorded and released was interested. The tune was resurrected the next year and was a huge hit for Tanya Tucker and  then for Helen Reddy. By the time “Delta Dawn” hit, Larry was working as a golf instructor. He later co-wrote “You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma”, a #1 country hit for David Frizell and Shelly West.

In 1993, the Collins Kids were featured at the UK vintage rock ‘n roll Hemsby Festival. The rapturous response and enthusiastic reviews inspired them to perform regularly again. In 2009 at the opening of a rock ‘n roll exhibit at the Oklahoma History Center, Oklahoman writer George Lang told this story: “As 64-year-old Larry Collins blazed on his twin-neck Mosrite and Lorrie Collins, 66, belted out “Hop, Skip, and Jump”, my friend pulled up a video on her iPhone of the brother-and-sister act from a late-’50s performance on Town Hall Party…the live Collins Kids and their youthful images on the phone seemed to sync-up, as if no time had elapsed. The Collins Kids still knew how to rock a house.”

Recommended Viewing:[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZF5DvDucf7w][youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxM8ot0tjrg]