The Blues Muse: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781518621147: Books
This is another chapter. My main character encounters and records with Little Richard – Tutti Frutti.
New Orleans and Specialty
I had my mind set on that new sound. Once you’d heard it there was no going back. I’d seen Elvis. The only place I could think of where there was anything going on that came near was New Orleans.
I was lucky enough to get taken on as a guitarist in the band at the Dew Drop Inn. It was a small club which was usually packed. It gave me some bucks in my pocket and allowed me to try out some of my stuff.
One night I was playing and this ultra-loud black dude came in, hair greased up in the craziest pompadour, the baggiest Oxford Bags you’d ever seen, flash two tone shoes, yellow socks, drape jacket, pencil moustache, all big eyes, squeals and raucous laughter. He was with a bunch of business dudes I recognised from J&M Studios. They often came in to catch the acts. They were loud but this guy stood out like a sore thumb. I thought Elvis was wild but off stage he was kind of quiet and shy. This guy not only stood out because of his appearance. His personality resounded all the way to Mars. We might just as well not be playing.
The inevitable happened and Little Richard joined us on stage. He was full of it. Back then I didn’t know the story. He’d been recording in J&Ms for Specialty and using some of Fats Dominos band but it was all coming out stilted; nothing was working out. They’d decided to take a break and try to loosen him up a little. Richard was so frustrated and uptight that he was about to explode and explode he did.
He bounded up on stage, grabbed the old upright we had at the side and commandeered it. He wrenched it out to the centre of the stage. Turning to us he grinned with those great white teeth and winked. ‘You boys just try to stay with me, you hear?’
He turned to the audience and shouted out this drumbeat he had going in his head – ‘Wop, Bop a Lu Bop, Wam Bam Boom’ and then launched into this pounding, raunchy number that had us straining to keep up. We just went with it and let ourselves get carried away on that hurricane. I hadn’t heard a voice as powerful as that, not even Elvis and Big Mama Thornton came near. He didn’t really need a mic. He took the place by storm. Verse after verse of ribald lyrics, pounding piano and sheer energy sent the crowd crazy. And boy could he work a crowd. I’d never seen anyone play a piano like that. It wasn’t so much an instrument as a drum-kit, a vehicle for him to express himself, to let fly. He stood at the keyboard, side-on to the audience, roared, screamed and whooped, hands banging down, head thrown back, pompadour bouncing, roaring, squealing and beseeching. The sweat flew off him as he maintained the speed. Man – could he Rock. Elvis had started something but I knew Little Richard was the powerhouse that would blow open all the doors.
I saw the executives on their feet looking round at the audience reaction. I didn’t know how the hell they were going to record a song as dirty as Little Richard was pumping out but I sure knew that they were going to try.