Rick Nelson Back On The Boards

My first memory of Rick Nelson’s music is laughing when I heard “Hello Mary Lou” or “TraveTin’ Man” on the radio. It wasn’t that the song struck my childish brain as so funny, I'd just been conditioned by his image on The Adventures Of Ozzie & Harriet—that of the family wisenheimer, firing off snappy comebacks to Mom, Pop, and most frequently David, while still a pipsqueak in Converse All-Stars. I couldn’t believe he was singing seriously—would he work “you’re such a dope, David,” into the lyrics somehow? Where was the punchline? But Rick’s infatuation with rock ’n’ roll was serious and had been heavily featured in the show’s plotlines since 1956. Girlfriends had even been introduced, to my disgust...

It’s hard to conceive of now, but to kids in the late 50’s/early 60’s Rick Nelson was as vivid a presence as the smarty kid next door. His singing career, which took off spectacularly from the first time he ever sang on the show (“I’m Walkin’”, April 1957), was inextricably bound with the show, as he came to have a set three-minute musical spot at the end of the half hour, whether it fit into the plot or not. A weekly prime time slot on ABC is nothing to sniff at—but it can’t account totally for singles sales in excess of $57 million.

Rick’s rock ’n’ roll frenzy couldn’t have come at a more colorful time in American music—1956-59. His first band (and his permanent one for the next ten years) included the 16-year-old James Burton, already a music business veteran, having played on the original “Suzie-Q” at the age of 15. Burton’s playing on those early Nelson singles has enraptured musicians from

John Fogerty (CCR covered “Suzie-Q,” of course) to the Beatles, who in later years questioned Nelson intensely about every guitar solo on every Imperial single.

Nelson’s treatment by the pop/doc TV histories has been shoddy—he’s usually relegated to a cheesy picture flashed during the Teen Idol segment, along with Fabian, Frankie Avalon, and all the Bobbys. A 16-year-old who could assemble such a band, and have Johnny and Dorsey Burnette waiting in his driveway for him to come home from school so they could play him songs like “It’s Late” or “Believe What You Say,” is hardly in the same league as the Philadelphia hit factory popstars, as silly/fun as they might have been. Besides, the early 60’s bubblegum idols appeared well after Ricky’s huge single hits, which ranged from 1957-59—indeed Nelson noticed new idol Fabian’s startling resemblance to himself when they both played Atlantic City’s Steel Pier, some years after Rickymania had swept the country.

I Carl Perklns—he had that sound before the word 'rockabilly* was ever around. To me, that was rock *n*roll...

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What brought us to go see Rick Nelson in his 1981 mode was a combination of factors. Besides producing the classic early singles, he’d managed to come back with the oft-quoted “Garden Party,” a more than respectable 1971 hit. It had been a dreary winter in Detroit for music, unless the cold polyrhythms of funk appeal, or the latest British revival, or the relentless concertizing from the depressing monoliths Styx, Journey, Rush (that unholy catechism). If one craved classic American rock ’n’ roll, after Springsteen left town it had to be heard as filtered through a boozy British sensibility like Rockpile (as loving a bunch of revivalists as they can be).

That doesn’t explain how we happened to crash a posh club in Henry Ford’s Dearborn to see Rick Nelson in concert, but it might explain why we had such a great time.

Despite the fact that Nelson was playing the same hard-edged show he’s played at venues like the Ritz in New York, the first-night crowd included lots of 3-ply polyester, pre-B 52’s bouffants, and pudgy husbands --the faithful 50’s fandom. This is not to say that we laughed at these grown-up hoppers--the Stone Canyon Band guitarist Bobby Neal had to be better than the last ten pickers we’d seen at Bookie’s or Cobo Hall—and our feet got to rest on dry ground, to boot. Besides, gray-haired people necking is nothing to laugh at! Sixteen dollars a ticket won’t encourage the younger set to line up for tickets, of course—in fact the record company expressed hopes that the show would be “rock enough” for us, compared to other gigs. There was no problem. Despite some evidence of first-night nerves from Nelson (and this from someone who grew up on TV!), from the opening “Back To Schooldays” to the classic stuff like “Lonesome Town,” “Travelin’ Man,” “Hello Mary Lou,” “Poor Little Fool,” “It’s Late,” “Believe What You Say,” the young and old heads in the audience were bopping, and we found ourselves slowly smiling, then laughing with recognition at the opening chords to songs we didn’t know we remembered. Unlike any other music going, this stuff is unadulterated Saturday night American let’s rock ’cause Mom and Dad are gone rave-up stuff. To the argument that it’s archive material—-the fact that Graham Parker tunes like “Schooldays” fit in so well, and ballads like “Lonesome Town” sound, to these second generation rock fan ears, like a mournful Nick Lowe plaint, is more than justification. And it’s fun. It’s just too hard to dance to AOR death rock.

Memphis-born guitarist Bobby Neal highlighted the show for us, producing steel guitar sounds out of his plain old Gibson, as well as effortless Carl Perkins/Scotty Moore type “plunka” picking. (It’s a sound that defies description.) To call this kind of music “rockabilly” is wrong, because as Nelson said later in conversation: “Carl Perkins— he had that sound before the word ‘rockabilly’ was ever around. To me, that was rock ’n’ roll...slap bass and stuff like that;..”

Which is a good point. In this age of teenage rock convention types who can rattle off a dozen names and catalog numbers at the mention of “rockabilly”— Carl Perkins wasn’t a collector’s item in America in 1956—he was on every kid’s car radio. That was the mainstream.

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A fly on the wall by the CREEM table revealed this conversation:

DiMartino to his girlfriend : “Who’s better looking -him or me?”

Janet: “Him.”

DiMartino makes as if to hit.

Janet: "You!”

Girmy from the Art Dept. ■ “He never did have a big voice—but he’s got a bedroom voice.”

Promo Girl (Always Where The Action Is): “He’s like, Nick Lowe with the hair and jacketif Nick Lowe were real goodlooking!”

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After performing a good many of his hits, interlaced with new material from his Capitol album (which went over surprisingly big with the over-30’s); Rick said “thank you”—meant it—and retired to his dressing room for some Coca-cola.

We shared a pitcher of the stuff with him and talked.. .but first, a note on language for students of Americana. We were delighted to rediscover that RN is fond of the all-purpose wrap-up phrase “and stuff” — confirming our theory that it, as well as “dope” (not the drug reference, but as in

“you-”), and the Maynard G. Krebsian

“like-” prefixed to anything and everything, were popularized in the show and therefore not our fault. If Ricky can say it...

Do you think it’s ironic that here you've been in the business 20years and yet there’s still young people from a rock ’n’ roll magazine knocking on your door and wanting to ask you a lot of questions? Rick: I think it’s great, :are you kidding? That’s what I would like to have happen. That’s what’s nice'about being able to travel around a lot a play different places...you kind of get a feel for who is listening and how it goes over and stuff.

Have the audiences been really different lately since the new LP? Like at the Ritz in New York?

Well, yod know—it varies from place to place where you play—like at the Ritz, and we played the Waldorf—Bill Graham’s place in San Francisco—and you know, it naturally gets a more music-oriented clientele. And it’s real rewarding when it goes over -when they really like it, too. Yeah. It makes you feel real good.

You ve been doing it for so long—do you think you’re just going to want to keep on doing it?

I guess so—until it really gets old to me—it just never has, you know? I haven’t been on the road...I’ve sort of taken myself off the road for awhile, and I really miss it... playing live.

Why’d you take yourself off the road?

I just was really unhappy with what I was doing, and the direction I was involved in, so I just didn’t go out for maybe six or seven years...when the Beatles started happening, in the 60’s. And then at the end of the 60’s is when I started going back out on the road—I formed the Stone Canyon Band with steel guitar and stuff.

Is the John Fogerty song on the new album —“Almost Saturday Night”—a new one?

No, it’s older...I met him about—oh, three or four years ago in Oakland, when he was living up there, and he was talking about that song, and that he thought it’d be a really good song for me to try. So I kept that in mind...and I did it.

A lot of current bands like Rockpile are doing music reminiscent of your early stuff—they’re into that James Burton sound...

Oh yeah—a guy like Paul McCartney— when I first met him, all of a sudden I heard him say “Stood Up—Broken Hearted Again.” I got to know George Harrison pretty well because we live pretty near each other, and he used to say how they’d all sit around and listen to old albums and things like that...that’s very rewarding.

It seems that you haven’t really changed all that much—but maybe music’s changed— I’ve sort of gone through a bunch of changed—like, I know with the Stone Canyon Band we used to play places they’d never heard a steel guitar—they thought it was a table. That was kind of weird...

On the album it sounds like Bobby Neal’s playing a steel guitar... And we noted during the show that he really has that old, uh — “plunka plunka” kind of sound.

Oh yeah—it’s not like a pull thing or anything, he just does it. He’s from Memphis and all that’s real natural to him; That’s the difference, I think—we’re not copying anybody else. It’s not like we’re listening to a bunch of what we call rockabilly records and try to sound like that—that’s real natural for Bobby.

It’s weird—I was brought up with people—like, Burton was from the South, and the whole band was—my first bapd for ten years. That’s the thing that I was kinda brought up with—with them. So it became almost my background in music...

How did you happen to choose Jack Nitzsche for the new album?

I don’t know, I like him, and his background—with Phil Spector and way back there, too. I respect him a lot, and in turn, he gave me a certain amount of freedom, because he was really into the band, he really liked the way everybody played. He gave me the freedom to go in and record the way I used to do it, just sit down, and we’d work out arrangements in the studio.

Had it been like that in the early 70’s?

No, it really hadn’t. It had been people saying “Oh, you should be new wave,” or you should be this, or you should be that— and you know, the things that have always seemed to work out best for me are the things closest to me—that sound like me. But you get so many opinions from the record company. That’s why with Capitol, it was really a refreshing experience, because he [Nitzsche] wanted me to sound like myself.

u The thing about my records that / like were maybe the spaces, the air in between ...you can*tfi all those things up... W

You hadn’t had a lot of product out for a while...

Just one record on Epic. Then what happened, I said I’m going to go back and really record the way I used to record, so I went to Memphis to do it—so that nobody could get to me.

They released it as an EP, and it’s got “Almost Saturday Night” on it...

Right, that’s where I did “Almost Saturday Night”—on that. But what they did is, they came back, in Los Angeles, and redid tracks. I mean—they’re not supposed to do it. And some other guy put his name on as producer.

So that little EP is not what is seems... Well, one side, that he didn’t touch—I think “That’s All Right, Mama” is the only thing that didn’t seem to sound like it had been messed around with, from that session. That’s what kept happening—I’d record stuff and they’d go “Well now...we think you have to go back into the studio...try some more songs...” Finally I said wait a minute—I mean, that’s great, you’re gonna have years and years of stuff on me—for what, for one album? This is ridiculous. Would you ever like to have it like the old days, when you’d basically decide who was going to play, and just...

Oh yeah! When I started, there was no such thing as a producer—it was a mystery term. And then all of a sudden, there were' producers! It was sort-of a weird thing, because if you are self-contained—if you have your own band and stuff, what is there to produce, to be honest? You go in, you’ve already got the arrangements worked out—you just sit down and you play it, you try to rehearse.

With Jack, I was glad he was involved, because he did bring some good songs to me, and he had some really good ideas, recording-wise. So it kind of relieved me of a certain pressure.

Had you heard any Graham Parker stuff before —

Well, I heard “Back To Schooldays” when we did a tour up in Canada—and I heard that—it was about a year and a half ago— from his album. They were doing, like, an interview with him, and I thought, that’s amazing because it sounds like an old Burnette song. And it’s a song that probably would have “done” back then...if they’d written it back then.

Do you think all of this “nouveau rockabilly” is just a trend?

Yeah—although I think it’s more than a trend—I think it’s a certain form of music that’s sort of always been around, but has sort of had a rebirth.

It’s like, new wave is just three-chord rock ’n’ roll, so it’s like...old rock ’n’ roll.

If someone from the old days came up to you and said “Nelson, why are you still kicking the past around, why don’t you have five mellotrons in your band and why aren’t you playing space music?”

I’d say “Why don’t you have five mellotrons...”

Any criticism about looking backward?

I’m not looking backward at all. I don’t think. If anything, it’s music that...it’s like new music to people. That’s what’s really amazing. That’s why “Believe What You Say”—that’s why I decided to do it [on the new LP], from playing live, and playing to places where there’d be 11 and 12 and 13-year-olds who’d never heard it before— and it’d go over really well.

Would you say that the record company “fooling around” with your tapes—that that represents an unpleasant complexity of the music business now?

I think it takes ah awful lot of—whatever you want to call it—to take someone else’s music...that they’ve played, and thought about, and to go and actually put your name on something.. .and pretend like you originated the idea.

It’s not like we’re listening to a bunch of what we call rockabilly records and try to sound like that...that’s the thing that I was klnda brought up with...

The thing about my records that I like were maybe the spaces, and air in between...and I mean, I really need that— those kind of overtones. You can’t fill all those things up. Some people can do that—it works—but not with me.

I’ve tried production-type things, that really doesn’t work for me... I mean, I sound about that big and this giant music is surrounding me—it doesn’t work!

Ever hear your old songs on the radio and feel happy?

Oh, no; I always like the music part of it, but my vocal I was never that thrilled with. I always wanted to sound like other people, but I always did sound...like myself, so there’s nothing I could really do about it. You just have to reach a point where you say “Well, I guess I sound like I sound.”

Is there any one album in your past you’re proud of besides this current one?

I hear some of those really older albums and they hang right in there! They’re monaural and stuff, but the tones are...all the tones that I still like.

Except for, like I say, my vocals—I’m saying the background, the tracks and everything. “Believe What You Say”— that was the first time Burton came in with banjo strings, on that session and that guitar—now they’re called “slinky strings”... so it was a real experimental time.

And—a lot of people used to have throwaway sides on singles, real nothing sides. I just never wanted to do that! I always tried to get the best double side—1 just figured I had that much more of a chance.

Were you always that much in control, even way back then?

Oh yeah—more so, because we just recorded and said “Here it is,..” We recorded on Thursday or Friday, and it would be out on Wednesday. Go master at the same place that night. All those early records—“Hello Mary Lou,” “Travelin’ Man”—they were done that way. Those two were one single.

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Besides the new album, there’s a Rick Nelson compilation album on United Artists that’s still in print, in the Original Masters series. Or, your local record convention will surely yield almost all of the early Imperial albums, in good shape, as they did sell briskly and are in good quantity (old fans cleaning out their attics?). The second album, Ricky Nelson (Imperial LP-9050) and the later Ricky Sings Again! (Imperial LP-9061) are particularly good, and chock full of Burnette tunes and great James Burton guitar. And these are records made back when they weren’t kidding—solid, heavy and made to last into the next few generations. More fax for collectors: Pop Ozzie not only played tenor guitar on “Hello Mary Lou,” and piano on a country tune, “Someday,” but would often act as studio “balancer”—since the instruments were all on the same track, and everybody was playing at once, somebody would have to sit in the control booth to judge the balance among the various instruments. The result is an amazingly spare but powerful sound— the “spaces” Rick talked about in the interview are there, and work. That and the excitement inherent in a one-take track, for all that is was done on the most unsophisticated equipment (at 15 IPS!), is enough to send a Dave Edmunds into the studio for months at a time and millions of dollars, to try to reproduce the sound.

So kids—throw out that multi-tracked muck with half-baked doomsday lyrics and phony “musicianship.” All you need are guitars! Scotch tape! Softball in the back yard! Ampex 300-C recorders! Coca-cola! Your mom’s cassette! Buy American! ^