FAB T-BIRDS: Tuff Enuff, Were They Actual Meat

FAB T-BIRDS: Tuff Enuff, Were They Actual Meat

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by Karen Schlosberg

The Fabulous Thunderbirds have been something of a musical anomaly; their current well-deserved success, after four albums and roughly 12 years of playing steel-packed, blues-drenched rock ’n’ roll, seems to be one of those things that has no singular explanation. Have the times finally caught up with the T-Birds? Is it their new label? Is it their excellent fifth LP, Tuft Enuff?

The whole is indeed greater than the sum of its parts; the question "Why now?," on the lips of everyone from the Today show to the New York Times, elicits good-natured groans from T-Birds Kim Wilson and Jimmie Vaughan.

"I think it's because we just kept work ing hard and we kept playing and we wouldn't stop," says guitarist Vaughan in his soft, melodic Texas twang. "I mean, the music has always been there. It's the same; we haven't really changed our music any. It's the first time we've had a record company that was behind us, we have a new manager-it's like starting over. Hopefully, it'll turn out right this time," he says, then laughs. "Whatever right is."

If Tuft Enuft asks a musical question, the answer is an unqualified yes. The album, given an astute, empathetic and clean-but-mean production by Dave Ed munds (who has developed a production voice as distinctive as his musical one), has a pure sound that simply can't be denied. Judging from its critical and com mercial success, everyone seems to agree.

"We bordered on that sound on our other records," says singer/harmonica player/songwriter Kim Wilson, "but nothing this consistent. We've always wanted that kind of sound and we've always been working towards that."

The Thunderbirds' previous four albums had progressively sounded more and more modern as the quartet grew more confident, assimilating their belov ed blues roots into a distinctive style, highlighted by such songs as Butt Rock/n's brilliant "I Believe I'm In Love" and "One's Too Many" (1981) and "Can't Tear It Up Enuff" and "My Babe" from 1982's T-Bird Rhythm, produced by Nick Lowe. The T-Birds' first three LPs were, for all intents and purposes, selfproduced (with credit given to the band's ex-manager); as their first outside pro ducer Lowe gave the band much-needed space, power and immediacy. Unfor tunately, the T-Birds' old record company followed its traditional habit of ignoring them. It and the T-Birds soon parted; hence the four-year vinyl lapse.

"I think we could've done great back then if they had just made the effort," Wilson says. "They didn't know how to market us; they didn't believe in it.. .This is something we shouldn't dwell on, `cause it's past history-they'll get theirs somewhere down the road. I don't know what shape or form it's going to come in, but they've got bad karma." He laughs.

Which brings us back to reason number one (or is it number two...). Marketing the Fabulous Thunderbirds in This-Is-America 1986 is easier than marketing the Fabulous Thunderbirds in Heeeere's-England! 1979; the operative word in terms of a label's incentive is "easy."

"It's funny. When the first album came out they said, `Oh, these guys must be new wave.' Then they said, `Oh, no, these guys are rockabilly.' And now I don't know what they're saying," Vaughan says amusedly. "And we're still the same. We haven't changed. We never pretend ed to be rockabilly or new wave. I don't think our music is trendy; I don't think that this is a trend in music, `cause it's always been here and we'll be doing it regardless of whether we have a hit record or any thing like that."

The first single, "Tuft Enuff" (which Wilson and Vaughan describe as a "2010 love song" and "Muddy Waters and Bo Diddley meet My Favorite Martian"), is a bona fide commercial hit, though success in business terminology doesn't necessarily sit well with Wilson or Vaughan.

"I think it's commercial as hell," Wilson says, but adds, "What is commercial? Commercial music and popular music are what's popular-it has nothing to do with some idiot's format," he growls. "You get some idiot with a hit record out there, it sounds like shit, and every other shnoz zle in the whole country makes a goddam single exactly like it, and they're all in the Top 40 together. So it's the bland leading the bland all the way out. They got one cheek on either side of the rail.

"That's one thing they'll never be able to accuse us of. You're either going to say we suck or we're great. That's it. If somebody tells me I did a good job, I wan na slap `em, you know? Don't tell me I did good work."

Vaughan agrees, and laughs. "That's the way I feel when they tell me, `Yeah, man, you really played some tasty guitar.' I hate that. That means either it wasn't wild enough for them or it was too limp."

"It's like it was pretty good. You were pretty good." Wilson makes a face.

"Lawrence Welk. That's tasty." Vaughan adds, grinning.

Complimentary adjectives in the T-Bird camp tend to run from "obscene" and "nasty" to "mean," "tough" and "dirty" (not pornographic dirty, Wilson clarifies, ``just `dirt' dirt''), with full-fledged grimaces being the sincerest form of flattery. And they’re right, of course. Watching the Thunderbirds live you can see why the PMRC will ultimately lose. You can’t censor a guitar. Vaughan’s playing is concise, tasteful (he doesn’t mind “tasteful”), eloquent and undeniably obscene. You can’t censor Wilson’s nasty harmonica solos, Preston Hubbard’s throbbing, tough acoustic bass or Fran Christina’s mean and dirty drums.

Onstage, you don’t think you’d want to bump into these guys in a dark alley. Vaughan chews gum, plays with concentration and a straight face but for a mean grin flashed every so often, and dresses in black. Wilson turns into the ominous, insinuating, charismatic exotic your mother warned you about. Offstage, yes, boys and girls, they’re nice. And funny. Of course, meanness is a time-honored tradition within rock ’n’ roll-as-lifestyle. It’s a cover.

“Oh, yeah,” Vaughan says cheerfully. He smiles often. “I’m obviously not a very mean guy.”

“You’ve got to be mean with something in life, you know?” Wilson says, chuckling. “So we have mean music.”

Not being an overnight success does have certain advantages in terms of perspective, and we’re not just rationalizing here (stop laughing, guys). The TBirds take what they’re doing very seriously, as do all the best musicians for whom music is faith, hope and blood. It’s a passion as deep-rooted as any religion.

“I don’t really think of it as rock ’n’ roll or blues,” Vaughan says quietly. “I just love music. Anything I hear that gets me right here,” he thumps his chest, “that makes me have feelings or gives me goosebumps. It’s not just rock ’n’ roll. If I didn’t play I’d probably be a pipe cutter in Dallas, or a trashman or something. If I didn’t have music I’d probably go crazy. But it means everything to me.”

“I can’t live without this,” Wilson says. “It’s everything. It’s what made me a person. I owe it to stay in this; I owe it to the music because it’s done a lot for me. There’s no better feeling in the world than to do this.”

As Tuff Enuff barrels its way up the charts, the T-Birds are dressed for success, which is where perspective comes in. After all they’ve had to contend with there’s no way it will go to their heads.

“Well,” chuckles Wilson, “put it this way—-it’s all been tempered at this point. We’ve felt like it should’ve been this way all along. But I think now we’re really ready. There’s not a problem handling all this stuff; this is what you’re here for, you wanted it. You play music for yourself when you’re a kid. You wouldn’t be onstage if you weren’t playing for an audience. So you want people to like you. I like people, I like compliments. I live on compliments. That’s why I’m an entertainer. It works both ways, of course— you’re giving it to them 200 percent just to get that back.”

The band will be touring through the summer, perhaps doing some dates with Vaughan’s younger brother, Stevie Ray; they just filmed a live bit for the upcoming Michael J. Fox/Joan Jett movie The Light Of Day; they’re thinking about their next album, hopeful to work with Edmunds again; and of course there’s the, uh, Great Wall of Texas.

“They’re building a wall around the state, 40 feet high, 40 feet wide. They haven’t started it yet,” Wilson says.

It’s suggested this information might be part of a devious T-Bird gullibility test, like the Texas prairie chicken.

“No, this is for real,” Vaughan says earnestly. “I saw it in a magazine. The Great Wall of Texas Society, and people are contributing money.”

“I’m contributing,” says Wilson, Texas resident via California and Detroit. “I’m going to go out there and help build it. All I know is there’ll be one gate, right at Texarkana.” He laughs. “We could get guards on both sides.”

Do we see a benefit concert in the making?

“Wall Aid,” says Vaughan, as they both laugh. 0