Last Thoughts On Little Richard, 1932-2020.

Little Richard is dead.

Long live Little Richard.

Until he died earlier today, Little Richard was arguably the most influential living rock & roll artist. He counted Elvis Presley, James Brown, Buddy Holly, Sam Cooke, The Beatles, & Otis Redding not only as contemporaries, but as disciples.

He was the self-proclaimed Architect Of Rock & Roll, & was making the music before virtually every other rock & roll pioneer, with the exception of the late Fats Domino. Perhaps no one captured the implications of Little Richard better than Lillian Roxon in her landmark Rock Encyclopedia in 1969:

His pompadour was high & his hip action wicked when Elvis was still a pimply kid mowing lawns in Memphis. He was the model for 99 percent of the screaming, jet-propelled pelvic freakouts of the post-Elvis early rock era, down to the shiny suits, lurid showmanship & acrobatic piano-playing...Once you have seen Little Richard it is very difficult to take any other rocker seriously. He did it all first.

He also did it among the very best.

For just over 2 years--September 13, 1955 to October 18, 1957--Little Richard recorded a catalog of songs for Specialty Records that rival Elvis's pre-Army sessions, The Beatles' psychedelic era, & Bob Dylan's initial electric albums as some of the most consistently excellent rock & roll  ever recorded. Virtually every song was a hit, classic, or standard (or at least should have been). "Tutti-frutti." "Long Tall Sally." "Slippin' & Slidin'." "Rip It Up." "Ready Teddy." "The Girl Can't Help It." "Lucille." "Send Me Some Lovin'." "Jenny, Jenny." "Miss Ann." "Keep A-Knockin." "Good Golly, Miss Molly." & those are just the songs that made the pop charts.

This is remarkable for anyone, let alone a very wild & flamboyant gay African-American man from the Deep South in the mid-1950s. The fact that "Tutti-Frutti" was originally a celebration of anal sex ("Tutti-frutti, good booty!" went the original lyric), was lost on the many who covered it, including Pat Boone, whose tepid white-bread version of the song scored the bigger hit among pop (read: white) audiences. At the time, this incensed Little Richard to no end, but he came around in later years. He once explained how, for many white kids, while it was Pat Boone's version of "Tutti Frutti" that lay on the teenager's nightstand, it was his version that was secretly tucked away in the drawer underneath. That got him in the room, he acknowledged.

With his hits covered by every white rocker worth their weight in sweat--Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly, The Everly Brothers, Bill Haley, Eddie Cochran, & Gene Vincent--& a hereto-unknown generation cutting their teeth on his music on the other side of the Atlantic--The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, & The Kinks--Little Richard was a legend even if he stopped making music right then & there.

Which he sort of did.

Suspended several miles above the ground in an airplane that nearly went down, Little Richard promised God that he would turn to the Church if the plane could land safely. Little Richard kept his promise, which, along with the fact that Elvis was in the Army, Chuck Berry was in jail, Jerry Lee Lewis was disgraced in scandal, & Buddy Holly was dead, helped bring the first great rock & roll era to a crashing close as quickly as it had appeared.

But of course, Little Richard's soul was too conflicted to stay in one place too long. For much of the rest of his career, he remained torn between the rock of blues & the rock of the Church, all the while serving as a reminder--along with such peers as Ray Charles & Aretha Franklin--that African-American gospel music is largely the same thing as rock & roll, only played on Saturday night instead of Sunday morning. 

So, he recorded gospel records, he tried his hand at new rock recordings, & re-recorded inferior versions of his Specialty hits time & time again.

But the die was cast & Little Richard was the rare legend who touched so many other legends.

Paul McCartney learned how to sing by copying him.

Bob Dylan wrote in his high school yearbook that his ambition was join Little Richard's band.

Jimi Hendrix actually did join Little Richard's backing band & it was his big break into the music industry.

The Kinks' first single was a cover of "Long Tall Sally."

Otis Redding began his career directly lifting his style.

The Band liked to do "Slippin' & Slidin'" as a searing encore.

Rock's first great history, Nik Cohn's Rock--From The Beginning, was retitled Awopbopaloobop Alopbamboom: The Golden Age of Rock & Roll.

Rock's first great cultural study, Greil Marcus's Mystery Train, opened with Little Richard exploding in mad fury on a late-night talk show.

& Little Richard became something of a latter-day pop culture icon, appearing in those Nike commercials with Spike Lee & Bo Jackson, rapping on Living Colour's "Elvis Is Dead," & singing "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider" on Full House.

He's done the awards laps. His landmark 1957 debut album, Here's Little Richard, is the first (& so far ONLY) '50s rock album inducted in the Grammy Hall Of Fame & he won an honorary Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1993.

In 1997, he received the American Music Award of Merit.

In 1994, he received the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Rhythm & Blues Foundation.

In 1990, he received a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

& in 1986, he was one of the first ten musical inductees into The Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame, along with Chuck Berry, James Brown, Ray Charles, Sam Cooke, Fats Domino, The Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, Jerry Lee Lewis, & Elvis Presley. There has literally never been a better class ever inducted.

& now, after the passing of Chuck Berry & Fats Domino in 2017, Little Richard was one of the last remaining members of that first class. Now all that's left is Don Everly of The Every Brothers, & Jerry Lee Lewis.

Which means that Jerry Lee Lewis is one man closer to being The Last Man Standing.

"It is with a heavy heart that I ask for prayers for the family of my lifelong friend & fellow Rocker 'Little Richard,'" The Killer told Rolling Stone today. "He will live on always in my heart with his amazing talent & his friendship! He was one of a kind & I will miss him dearly."

Other accolades are already pouring in about Little Richard that are as magnificent as the man himself.

Bob Dylan: "His was the original spirit that moved me to do everything that I would do."

Mick Jagger: "He was the biggest inspiration of my early teens & his music still has the same raw electric energy when you play it now as it did when it first shot through the music scene in the mid 50's.

Brian Wilson: "He was there at the beginning & showed us all how to rock & roll."

There are many more & there will be many more echoing this sentiment.

But for me, Little Richard comes down to one distinctive sound that is now so ripped off, it's amazing to think it was ever someone's signature vocal lick. Because no one could hit a thrilling "ooooo" like Little Richard. Straight from the Church, he drove it into the rock & rhythm & blues, a falsetto wail of a cry that captured the crazy guts & glory of rock & roll like few other sounds.

When Little Richard sang "ooooo," it lit a flame in the ear of his millions of fans.

& that flame will never go out.

The Million Dollar Quartet At 60.

On December 4, 1956, Jerry Lee Lewis was at Sun Records playing piano on a Carl Perkins session when Elvis Presley came to the studio to say hello to some old friends; not long thereafter, Johnny Cash swung by to pick up a paycheck. The four began jamming, Sun founder Sam Phillips switched on the tape, and the legend of the Million Dollar Quartet was born.

There have been great dates in rock and roll before and after, but none so great as this one, 60 years ago today.

You've got February 9, 1964, when The Beatles played on The Ed Sullivan Show, and July 25, 1965, when Bob Dylan "went electric" at The Newport Folk Festival, but in those cases, historical context is the main driving force and the taped performances are secondary. The Beatles sound fine enough, if a bit rushed and nervous (for good reason), while Dylan's electric outfit sounded under-rehearsed and poorly mixed (which some claim is the real reason for the booing). In both cases, it is the audience that is the key element of the performance.

When Elvis, Jerry Lee, Carl, and Johnny jammed at the Million Dollar Quartet, there was no audience. Or not a traditional one, anyway. There were friends, girlfriends, and hanger-ons, and eventually the press as the ever-resourceful Phillips called the Memphis Press-Scimitar--people drifting in and out of the storefront studio. Instead of playing for audience, they were instead playing for each other, playing for history, and playing for posterity. They were playing for us.

I remember first being told the myth of the session when I visited Sun Records as a teenager. I dutifully bought the then-current 1990s release of the recordings and raced to listen to them. I figured it would be a Sun Records greatest hits album times four. "That's All Right," "Blue Suede Shoes," "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On," "I Walk the Line," all the rest. This was gonna be great.

Turns out I was very wrong. With the exception of Elvis's "Don't Be Cruel"--more on that in minute--there were none of these hits, or any others. In fact, there was a lot of gospel. And country. And blues. And some more gospel.

As I kept listening, what had initially disappointed me about the session was the key to its invaluable worth. It was less a traditional rock and roll album as it was four founders of the music giving a history class. This was their common ground, a meeting place of fervor and joy. Which makes sense. If you got George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and Alexander Hamilton together, they'd probably be talking about Locke and Rousseau, as opposed to themselves.

But ironically, the finest moment of the session does come the one time one of the legends sings one of their biggest hits. Elvis had recently gone to Las Vegas and bombed, but while there caught a show by the R&B vocal group Billy Ward and His Dominoes. Despite the name, Ward was never the lead singer of the group, he was instead its founder and manager. The group first launched Clyde McPhatter--one of Elvis's biggest influences--who then left the group for his own major solo career at Atlantic Records. If Elvis had gone to see the Dominoes for his idol McPhatter, he was to be disappointed as a new singer was in his place.

Elvis remembers the singer trying to do a few of his songs--"Hound Dog" among them--but striking out. Then, he does "Don't Be Cruel." It was slower and more slender than his own version, Elvis explained, but in the end it was better than his. Elvis then tries to imitate the young African-American singer, who in turn was trying to imitate Elvis. "You know I can't be fo-oo-ound," Elvis sings while a guitar strums. "Sittin' home all a-ha-lone--" Then Jerry Lee's piano marches in with all of the subtlety of an elephant. Soon Carl's electric guitar snaps right in there too, while his band, still in their seats from his session, backing Elvis. "Don't be cruel," Elvis sings. "To a heart that's true..." As the group crashes to a finale, you can hear them reaching for the sound Elvis hears in his head. They don't quite get that sound, but what they create is even more exciting and visceral. Elvis keeps going back it, talking about how that young R&B singer emphasized "tel-e-phone" and how he stepped back with his head shaking, "I don't a-want no other a-love-ah..."

It turns out the singer that Elvis had gone to see was none other than a young Jackie Wilson, already proving himself to have the most exciting timing (and punctuation) of any singer of his era.

On the original 1990s CD I got of the session, "Don't Be Cruel" was sandwiched somewhere in the middle, with the gospel stuff on top and country run-throughs on the other side. Now, with the 50th Anniversary album that came out a decade ago, the chronology was mended and more songs were added to make a clearer picture of the day.

First we get Carl and Jerry Lee playing an instrumental, before jamming on "Jingle Bells" and "White Christmas," still with no vocals. Elvis steps out of the booth to talk about (and sing) Lowell Fulton's "Reconsider Baby," one of his favorite songs, which he will later record on his first album after being discharged from the Army. Although he is partially off-mic, he sounds just as he will in the familiar version from 1960. Then comes "Don't Be Cruel." It is the first complete performance, and the place in which everything comes together. This is clearly what Elvis is most excited about, and is eager to convey to his friends and fellow musicians.

From there, they slip into parlor music ("There's No Place Like Home") and a spiritual ("When the Saints Go Marchin' in"), and then into a string of gospel standards that are among the most memorable performances of the day. Elvis sings "Peace in the Valley" with all of the sorrow and regret that is only hinted at in his later studio version, "Down by the Riverside" and "I Shall Not Be Moved" are made into a cross between jump-blues and doo-wop.

"I am with a crowd, but oh so a-looooone," Elvis sings beginning the next set. The full band is gone, though Carl and Jerry Lee are still unhand to offer vocal support and ideas. Elvis's girlfriend requests "Farther Along," which again takes them from spiritual music to parlor music, followed by Elvis running down a list of his favorite songs, alternating between country and gospel. Carl gets in a lovely take at the gospel song "Keeper of the Key"; Elvis sings the praises of Pat Boone and his latest record, "Don't Forbid Me."

Then, just when you think it's all gone off the rails, they come together in the united front of Chuck Berry, all jamming on "Brown-Eyed Handsome Man." Elvis can't remember the words, so Carl and Jerry Lee help, coaxing him along, reminding each other of verses, laughing at jokes in the song that have become so familiar even the most ardent rock fan has forgotten they were ever heard as comical punchlines. They are like a bunch of old friends at the back of bar right at last call, playing to see if they can make it to the next verse. It is loose, easy music, with a sure sense of freedom.

Elvis then touches on "That's When Your Heartaches Begin," one of the first songs he recorded as an acetate at Sun, and brings the story full-circle. Then, he seems to disappear, and all that is left is Jerry Lee Lewis, ready and eager to debut the sides of his recent first release, "Crazy Arms" and "End of the Road." He then reaches back into the rag "Black Bottom Stomp" and then the Gene Autry standard "You're the Only Star in My Blue Heaven," and then you can hear everyone shaking hands and saying goodbye.

There has been over 45 performances of some 40 songs, including rock, pop, R&B, blues, country, bluegrass, spirituals, gospel, and Christmas songs. There have been standards like "When the Saints Go Marching in," "White Christmas," and yes, "Don't Be Cruel"; there have been obscure tunes like "Keeper of the Key," "Out of Sight, Out of Mind," and yes, "Don't Forbid Me." There have been songs that have been performed by Louis Armstrong, Bill Monroe, Jelly Roll Morton, Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Charley Patton, Bing Crosby, Jackie Wilson, The Ink Spots, and Gene Autry, not to mention songs sung by slaves, sharecroppers, and the Union Army of the Civil War.

And yet for all there is, let us pause to consider what there is not (at least to my ears, anyway): Johnny Cash.

Some have speculated that Cash only showed up for the newspaper photo shoot but split before the tapes began rolling; contemporary reports have him singing "Blueberry Hill" with the others, although that song has never been found with the tape. Cash himself claims in his autobiography that he indeed was there and can hear himself singing, only he is farthest from the mic and is singer in a higher range than his usual hit sound.

Maybe, but try as I may (and have), I can't hear him. Also, the fact that at one point Elvis's girlfriend asks "this Rover Boys' Trio" to sing a song leads me to believe there were only three principles there for the main part of the recording, as well as the fact that Elvis later mentions Johnny Cash by full name, in a way that seems to imply that Cash is not on the premises.

This is not to take away from the power of the sessions. If anything, it adds to their mystery. For even without Johnny Cash actually there (audibly, anyway), so much is. There is the stream-of-conscious history lesson of modern American music. There is the only known recordings of Elvis and Jerry Lee together. And there is the only full-length recording we have of Elvis talking at length and off-the-cuff about music. Seems crazy, but it's true.

It all adds up to a session that for me encompasses the whole of rock and roll, much more than a greatest hits album ever could. That said, the latter is almost too irresistible--just check out The Million Dollar Quartet musical by Floyd Mutrux and Colin Escott, which uses the session as a heavily-fictionalized structure by which to tell the story of these Sun Records legends, greatest hits and all. This is all well and good and I'm glad it gets the myth and music out to an even wider audience, but for me, the real magic is in the tape from December 4, 1956.

For all of its bum notes and tangents (both musical and conversational), it is a testament to a brave new music, the young men who made it, and the old world that they conjured up in doing so.

The Best Of 2015.

This the 5th Annual Edition of American Wolf's Year-End Best Of. As usual, motion pictures are divided into Best Film (spirit animal: Citizen Kane) & Best Movie (spirit animal: King Kong); hopefully one day the Oscars will follow suit. Until then, I'm what you've got. The rest is pretty self-explanatory. I feel like I should have more to say, but you didn't really come here to read this introductory junk anyway, so I guess I won't bother to finish a


 
Best Film: Room.

When I was a kid, I used to wonder what it would be like if I grew up in a single place, watching television. On one level, Lenny Abrahamson's film Room, based on Emma Donoghue's novel of the same name (she also penned the screenplay), provides an answer to this question. Joy Newsome (a spectacular Brie Larson) & her 5-year-old son (an equally spectacular Jacob Tremblay) are confined into a one-room shed by Old Nick (Sean Bridgers). Joy was captured by Old Nick when she was 17; young Jack has never seen the world outside of what they call Room. The film is roughly divided into two halves--their lives before & after leaving Room--with one of the most thrilling escape sequences I have ever witnessed on film in between. The film's claustrophobic first part all but beats you down as a viewer, which only makes the escape & the freedom that follows that much more powerful--& genuinely terrifying. Like the original novel, Room is essentially seen through the eyes of young Jack. He gets the voice-overs, & when more adult events are taking place, we only see them through what he sees. This allows for the film to work as a philosophical meditation. Joy trying to explain to Jack the notion of an "other side" for the first time in his life. His notions about space, sides, & the world. What is real about television, a medium he was initially told all of his life was simply make-believe. Room mixes the tension of a thriller with a pondering on reality in a way that I have never seen in another film. It is at once devastating & beautiful, held together by the most sacred love of all: Mother & Child.

Best Movie: Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens.

I was -2 years old when the original Star Wars was released. My parents told me about it like it was this magical thing--how everyone was baffled at this "Episode IV" thing, how it so effortlessly combined the genres of sci-fi, action, romance, & swashbuckler movies, among other things. When George Lucas did his stupid retinkering of it at the dawn of the new millennium, I went to go see it on the big screen. Jabba The Hutt looked stupid & fake. I was happier watching the old version in my living room. This is all just to say that having the opportunity to see The Force Awakens in its theatrical infancy was a thrill. It wasn't just a well-made, intelligent movie (we've come to expect such things from writer-director J.J. Abrams)--it was like the return of old friends. There's Princess Leia, looking like a woman now realistically in her 60s. There's Han Solo, who's only grown crustier with age. & where's Luke Skywalker? The thing that makes it all work is that unlike other back-to-the-future gimmicks (I'm looking at you, fourth Indiana Jones movie), the older generation are used measuredly & credibly. & with the new generation--the conflicted, sinister Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), the reformed, determined Finn (John Boyega), & the totally awesome kickass Rey (Daisy Ridley)--we have for the first time since the original trilogy a cast that is worthy of carrying the story. They make the appearance of Leia, Han, & the rest feel organically rewarding instead of the cheap cameos they could have easily become. & just like the original Star Wars films, it leaves us happily enthralled & dying for more.


Best TV Show: Master Of None.

For the third straight year on this blog, The Best TV Show has gone to something that streams on Netflix. But Orange Is The New Black's reign has ended. Time to step aside for Master Of None, co-written by & starring Aziz Ansari. In it, he plays an Aziz Ansari-like struggling actor in New York City named Dev Shah. Over 10 short episodes, we follow him through a wide range of subject matter: Sex ("Plan B"), family ("Parents"), morality ("The Other Man"), aging ("Old People"), & gender ("Ladies & Gentlemen"). But the two most memorable episodes show how great the show is in terms of both subject matter & composition. One was "Indians On TV," which took a rare look at the portrayal of Indian-American actors in popular media (did you know that was a guy in brownface in Short Circuit?!), & the expectations & frustrations that come with it. The other was "Mornings," which followed Dev & his girlfriend Rachel (last seen as a criminally underused one-season cast member on SNL) in a series of vignettes of the rise & fall of their relationship over as series of months; think Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould for the NYC romantic hipster set. & while the finale ended the season in a less-than-spectacular (& less-than-believable) way, in terms of the rest of the episodes leading up to it, Master Of None captured The Uber Generation in realistic-looking people & dialogue, with an integrated yet credible gang of creative social misfits. Throw on top of this the best (& most varied) use of cold-opens & an amazing array of music (Johnny Cash's stark "There You Go" over one of the openings made me hear the song with new ears), & you've got the best television of 2015--on Netflix, or anywhere else.

Best TV Episode: "Connection Lost," Modern Family.

Modern Family is showing its age & is simply not up to par to its earlier seasons, but then again, few shows in their position could be. (As proof, the always-late-to-the-party Emmys didn't give Best Comedy to Modern Family for the first time since it was on the air, with Veep nabbing the honors.) Yet when it works, Modern Family still ranks with the finest television out there. Take this episode, "Connection Lost," which takes place entirely on Claire's Mac OS X desktop. Our TV screen becomes her laptop screen; we only see her through video chat & follows what online sites she goes to. & yet, the episode effortlessly holds our attention & weaves together several subplots as well as more than a few laugh-out-loud gags. (Who knew that rushing to Google something could be so funny?) The result is an innovative half-hour of entertainment that shows that Modern Family can still come out on top.

Best Song: "Hello" by Adele.

OK, so I've never actually heard Adele's "Hello." Even when I went to put in this YouTube clip, the song didn't start in the first 20 seconds so I went back to this. But even as a person completely deaf to popular radio, "Hello" has to be the song of the year, the way that Godfather was The Oscars' Best Picture of 1972 or Sgt. Pepper was The Grammys' Best Album of 1967. It saturated the media like few other songs of late, going from the expected places (inside all sorts of places in Entertainment Weekly!) to the less-than-expected places (an SNL sketch about how it can bring together a family feuding politics over Thanksgiving) to the completely unexpected places (the cover of TIME!!!). I'm sure one day I'll listen to it, perhaps even later tonight, but for the time being I don't need to. I know it's Adele at her finest--which guarantees it's a pop masterpiece.


Best Album: At Sun Records: The Collected Works by Jerry Lee Lewis.

For countless Christmases, I always secretly hoped for the German-based reissue label Bear Family's 8-disc set of all of Jerry Lee Lewis's master recordings--& more--at Sun Records. But with each year getting further away from its 1989 release date (& thus, 1989-era sound quality), it felt like a diminishing prospect. Enter this set, which suddenly appeared a few months ago. With years of painstaking research in the making, it gathers every single known take of a recording made by Jerry Lee Lewis at Sun Records, in other words, the wildest rocker of them all encompassing his complete creative output at the greatest label of them all. It's a whopping 18 discs worth of material--pretty surreal when you realize that Elvis's entire creative output is 19 songs & less than 2 discs of material--& its breadth speaks to Jerry Lee lasting years longer at the label than his former labelmates Elvis, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, & Roy Orbison. He sang hot rockers, sexy blues, country weepers, 19th Century parlor ballads, & traditional folk ballads--& that's just on the first disc! This is a full sweep of American music, in the grand tradition of Louis Armstrong's Hot Fives & Sevens, Billie Holiday's Columbia sessions, Robert Johnson's complete recordings, Hank Williams' complete recordings, &, of course, Elvis's complete '50s masters. & it can all be yours for just $389.11! Just one quibble--could Bear Family (or better yet, Rhino Records) please pull out all of the master takes & put that into a 4 or 5-disc set? In the meantime, I'll be saving up for this one.


Best Music Video: "She's Not Me" by Jenny Lewis.

Hold up--a major solo female pop star released a video with all of her famous friends making cameos in crazy costumes & it's not Tay-Tay-Sway's "Bad Blood"?! Nope. The only good thing about "Bad Blood" was that it made me go back & re-watch The Beastie Boys' "Sabotage," which beat "Bad Blood" at its own game on a fraction of the budget before Swift was even in kindergarten. So as an alternative to the most overrated video of the year, check out Jenny Lewis's "She's Not Me." It too is chockful of inside jokes (mostly at the expense of Lewis's own child acting career) & makes me only further appreciate the comedic genius that is Vanessa Bayer. Plus, it's got Fred Armisen. As Estelle Getty. Playing Sophia. & did I mention that Feist shows up as a priest from Pleasantville? No "Bad Blood" towards this clip here.

Best Book: Koji Kondo's Super Mario Bros. Soundtrack by Andrew Schartmann.

It's been an epic year for the 33 1/3 series. They had their semi-annual open call for new title proposals & over 600 people responded (including myself), which they whittled down to a few lucky & worthy volumes (unfortunately not including myself, but props & congrats to all of those who did make it). In the meantime, this volume came out, the first 33 1/3 book to cover music that was never contained on an album. It is also the about the shortest amount of music in the series, some 3 minutes total of all the different themes. Yet it is as hummable to my generation as The Beatles were to my parents' generation, ingrained in our collective unconscious the way that few musical creations are. It is ultimately about the extremely limited confines of a 1980s 8-bit video game for kids proved the ideal palette for Japanese composer Koji Kondo. He emerges as a forgotten pioneer, a hero who proves that sometimes the most seemingly shallow & disposable pop creations can lead to the deepest sense of shared culture. Somewhere, Andy Warhol is smiling.


Best Performance (Solo): Constance Wu as Jessica Huang, Fresh Off The Boat.

If Master Of None was the finest (post-?) modern TV series of 2015, then Fresh Off The Boat was the finest traditional modern TV series (it even airs on a major network--ABC--how quaint!). Initially built around the trials & tribulations of Eddie Huang (Hudson Yang), the oldest of 3 sons in an Asian-American family set in 1995 Florida, it soon morphed into more of a family ensemble, in no small part because its best asset is mother Jessica Huang, played by Constance Wu (& upstaging the always-reliable Randall Park as husband Louis Huang is no small feat). In a way, she is the archetypal tiger mom, but it goes deeper (& more realistic than that), just like how Alex P. Keaton wasn't just another Yuppie. She is very strict & exacting of what she expects from her children, but at the same time loves them deeply & is sensitive to their needs. She is also absolutely hilarious, with some of the best line deliveries I've seen on a sitcom in ages. Fresh Off The Boat may not be the best overall program on TV right now, but whenever Constance Wu is on in it, it might as well be.


Best Performance (Group): Bill Murray, Jenny Lewis, David Johansen, et al., singing "Fairytale Of New York" in A Very Murray Christmas.



I just spent two weeks analyzing this thing in a blog I posted here. Everything I could ever hope to say (& more, & perhaps less) is already there.

The Top 5 Sun Records Songs Not Released As Singles.

 

Sun Studio, universally hailed as The Birthplace Of Rock & Roll, was an embarrassment of 1950s riches. Their roster formed a Mount Rushmore of rockabilly--Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, & Johnny Cash--& even their second-stringers were future American musical masters like Roy Orbison & Charlie Rich.

But when you start stacking up what was actually released by each artist while they were on the label, the results are surprisingly small. Elvis released only 10 sides while he was at the label, while Carl Perkins only put out 19. Even Jerry Lee Lewis, who recorded the most extensively at Sun--a recent box set of his Sun output clocks in at 18 discs--only released about 2 CDs worth of material while he was employed as an artist there.

So what to do with all of the leftovers? Budget labels & bootleggers have been releasing this ever since, elevating some of these to minor classics in their own right. Everyone may know "That's All Right," "Blue Suede Shoes," & "Great Balls Of Fire," but these ones are arguably as worthy in their own way.

& before we begin, an honorable mention goes out to Carl Perkins' "Everybody's Trying To Be My Baby," which was left off of the list because although it was never released as a single, it was put on his 1957 Sun LP; all of the songs on this list were never released in any format on Sun Records.

5. "Trying To Get To You" by Elvis Presley.

Elvis famously released 10 sides on Sun Records between 1954 & 1955--5 bluesy A-sides backed by 5 country B-sides--& "Trying To Get To You" would've been the 11th side, if only Sam Phillips had a country song to back it with. Unfortunately for Phillips, Elvis signed with RCA before he could record one, which stipulated that Phillips hand over all of Elvis's masters to the new label. (Phillips was sure not to make this mistake again when Columbia signed Johnny Cash, allowing himself to have several years' & albums worth of Cash material ready despite his departure.) Sun's loss is Elvis's first album's gain as his cover of an R&B hit by The Eagles (no, not THAT Eagles--this one was an African-American doo-wop group who are so mysterious that I literally cannot even find a listing of the members' names) was a standout track on an already near-perfect album. It is Elvis's capstone at Sun, singing with all of the confidence & charisma that would carry him through the coming years--although some would argue with increasingly diminishing results.

4. "Domino" by Roy Orbison.

I've always had a soft-spot for Roy Orbison's work at Sun. Although it is overshadowed by his more influential subsequent work at Moment Records (& with ballads like "Cryin'" & rockers like "Oh, Pretty Woman" it's easy to see why), one can hear an eagerness & vulnerability all but absent from his peers. Elvis was the hot one, Jerry Lee Lewis was the crazy one, Johnny Cash was the tough one, Carl Perkins was the quiet one--& Roy Orbison was the awkward one. He didn't have the bravado of the others & to his credit, he didn't try to. Phillips didn't quite know what to do with him but Roy also didn't know what to do with himself either (how else can one explain the coupling of "Chicken Hearted" & "I Like Love" as a single?). In a sea of rebels, Roy was the guy you could relate to. "Domino," his finest Sun cut outside of "Ooby Dooby" & "Go! Go! Go!," was better than nearly all of the other sides he would release during his short stint at the label. One only has to listen to the likes of "Chicken Hearted" & "I Like Love" to get an idea of what people should've been hearing instead.

3. "Wild One" by Jerry Lee Lewis.

"Wild One" was originally written by Johnny O'Keefe, the first major Australian rock & roll star. It kicks, it's cute, it's got lots of saxophone. Enter The Killer. He doesn't so much cover the song as he does eat it up & spit it out as fire in his own image. Gone are the original lyrics, in its place are rushed, half-improvised new ones that allude to his own hits & style. Recorded in 1958, it wouldn't see the light of day until the 1970s, which is a shame because it out-classes "High School Confidential" & most other things that would follow. It's tempting to say it would've provided him with that comeback hit in the wake of his marriage scandal, but if the similarly excellent rave-up "Lovin' Up A Storm" couldn't crack the Top 80, this probably wouldn't have been able to either. Regardless, "Wild One" should with Aretha Franklin's "Respect" & Jimi Hendrix's "All Along The Watchtower" as one of rock's finest covers, but Jerry Lee Lewis so effectively makes it his own that few are even aware that it's a cover in the first place--because after all, Jerry Lee Lewis will always be rock & roll's most wild one.


2. "A Red Cadillac & A Black Mustache" by Warren Smith.

Of all the ones who shoulda-coulda-woulda made it at Sun but didn't, my vote for the least well-known with the best back catalog is Warren Smith. A country singer by trade, he took to the rock music much more naturally than, say, his Sun label-mate Johnny Cash. It was Cash who wrote (or bought for $40 from George Jones) Smith's first single, "Rock & Roll Ruby," which did well enough locally to ensure a few more sides. Despite rockabilly that was equal parts tough & driving (the classic "Ubangi Stomp") & strange & folksy (the "Old, Weird America"-invoking B-sides "Black Jack David" & "Miss Froggie"), the only national hit he ever got was "So Long, I'm Gone," which petered out at #74. Left in the can was this song, a haunting & moody evocation of lost love shrouded in jealousy & suspicion. Only one known take of it exists, placing it in the category of one-known-take wonders like Robert Johnson's "Hell Hound On My Trail" & Elvis's own "Mystery Train." This song alone stands as proof not only as Sun's depth of quality as a label, but of Warren Smith's effortless--& largely forgotten--talent.


1. "Put Your Cat Clothes On" by Carl Perkins.
 

 
On December 4, 1956, the most famous jam session in rock history took place at Sun Studio, where Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, & Johnny Cash sang old gospel, country, & pop songs, over an hour of which made it onto the legendary "Million Dollar Quartet" tape. What is often overlooked is why half of The Million Dollar Quartet (Perkins & Lewis) were there in the first place--to cut a regular session. Perkins was on his way down--it was a little under a year since "Blue Suede Shoes" became a breakthrough smash & he was still looking for that elusive follow-up hit; Jerry Lee Lewis was on his way up--his first single, "Crazy Arms," was just newly released where it would become a local hit & launchpad to a year of glory. But for now, Perkins was the bigger star & this was his session--Lewis was there as an anonymous session man, reportedly to earn some money for Christmas presents. Out of this session came Perkins' masterpiece "Matchbox," which managed to make #67 on the pop charts as the B-side to the inferior "Your True Love."

But arguably better than both songs is "Put Your Cat Clothes On," one of the toughest & most exciting rockabilly record ever cut. Perkins sings with a force & fun that he only ever really matched with "Dixie Fried," rushing lines & keeping the festivities rocking. Also unique for a Perkins record is Lewis's piano solo. Usually Perkins' tight, well-measured electric guitar would play during the solos (as it does during the second musical break), but here a young Lewis takes center stage, with an offhand & breezy, carefree solo. His energy helps to fuel the song's drive & is what arguably pushes Perkins to such a rocking, memorable performance.

It unusual for two rock legends (one past & one future) to collaborate so organically, but therein lies the magic of "Put Your Cat Clothes On"--& by extension, Sun Studio.

The Legend of the Million Dollar Quartet.

The Million Dollar Quartet, l-r: Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Elvis Presley, & Johnny Cash.

On December 4, 1956, Elvis Presley swung by his old label, Sun Records, where he found Carl Perkins cutting a session with a then-unknown Jerry Lee Lewis playing backup on piano; just then, Johnny Cash popped his head in while out shopping for Christmas presents, & the legend of the "Million Dollar Quartet" was born.

The truth, as it always is, is more complicated & less romantic: While the first part is essentially true, it seems like Cash was probably called in specifically from his house to complete Sun Records' rock & roll Mt. Rushmore. Also, Cash is inconspicuously absent from the recordings made that day, despite the iconic photo above & the contemporary newspaper report of the guys singing "Blueberry Hill," which is nowhere to be found.

But, as the Gods say, close enough.

The recordings that do survive of the Million Dollar Trio (if you will) are one of rock & roll's great lost founding documents, often overlooked for the very thing that makes them so fascinating: For all of the different things they sing — from "White Christmas" to "When the Saints Go Marchin' In" — there is very little of what we would think of as rock & roll. There's no "Blue Suede Shoes" or "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On," & the only time Elvis does break into one of his classics, "Don't Be Cruel," it's to describe how an African-American performer sung the song better than him (the singer turned out to be a young Jackie Wilson).

Elvis imitating Jackie Wilson imitating Elvis imitating Dean Martin or whoever he had in his head the day he recorded "Don't Be Cruel" is essential listening, & should be sought out by any fan of music.

Yet it is a very poor indicator of the music made that day, which was partly blues, partly country, but mostly gospel. After blues & country, gospel music gets the short end of the stick, but here Elvis, Jerry Lee, & Carl make a case for it as being rock's great lost third influence. Check out the boys singing "I Shall Not Be Moved" — a gospel song in form & lyric, to be sure, but country-blues rockabilly in every other way, from the boogie rhythm to Carl's snapping solos:

Not only are these tapes the only known recordings of Elvis & Jerry Lee together, they are the only known records of Elvis talking freely about music, period, filled out by a stream-of-conscious playlist of illustrations. It would be like the Founding Fathers made a webcast of themselves raiding Thomas Jefferson's bookshelf. Only a lot more fun to listen to.

The Jerry Lee Lewis Paradox.

The Jerry Lee Lewis Paradox is simple: There is no legend bigger in rock & roll who has built their name on a smaller number of actual hits.

There were, officially, 5:

"Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" (#3 Pop), 1957.

"Great Balls of Fire" (#2 Pop), 1957.

"Breathless" (#7 Pop), 1958.

"High School Confidential" (#21 Pop), 1958.

"What'd I Say" (#25 Pop), 1961.

Of those 5, only 4 fall within his crucial period of influence before his great fall: "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On," "Great Balls of Fire," "Breathless," & "High School Confidential."

Of those 4, only 3 are actual rock & roll classics, as in, songs that get played on oldies radio: "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On," "Great Balls of Fire," & "Breathless."

Of those 3, only 2 of the songs are actually considered top-notch rock & roll "great": "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" & "Great Balls of Fire."

The former is what no less of a source than John Lennon dubbed something that rock & roll has never improved upon; the latter is, for my money, the wildest rock & roll record of them all.

No small feat, to be sure, except for its, well, smallness.

* * *

But there is a second Jerry Lee Lewis Paradox that overlaps with the first: Perhaps no other artist has had such a small number of hits that have inversely yielded such a large number of greatest hits collections.

Ever since Jerry Lee Lewis had his (first?) comeback as a country star in the late '60s, there has been a steady stream of greatest-hits, best-ofs, boxed sets, rarities, retreads, & anthologies. Yet no one has sat down & made a definitive compilation that rivals the stone-cold compilation classics Elvis's Golden Records, Chuck Berry's The Great Twenty-Eight, Little Richard's Here's Little Richard, & Buddy Holly's The "Chirping" Crickets (OK, so those last two are "regular" albums, but they are made up almost entirely of hit singles & B-sides), although many have come close. A review:

The Original: Jerry Lee Lewis's Original Sun Greatest Hits, Vol. 1 & 2.

Counter-intiutive though it may seem, the first great Jerry Lee Lewis comp was only released to debunk an imposter. By 1968, Jerry Lee Lewis had finally found his way out of his decade in the desert, cashing in on a new sound on a new label. Rather then license Lewis's old Sun recordings (that wouldn't yield enough money—!), they simply had their star go ahead & record new versions of them, issuing them on an album (Jerry Lee Lewis's Golden Hits) that doubtless duped the majority who bought it into thinking that they were getting the real thing.

Sun Records quickly put out their own version — hence the unwieldy "Original" in the title — to stake their claim on the real thing. & for the most part, they get it right. Over the 8 of the 11 songs are the A & B-sides of his first four singles (that is, the first three listed above, plus one that came out before "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" — "Crazy Arms" — that was a local hit, but missed the national charts). The remaining three songs are a waste: a cover of Chuck Berry's "Little Queenie" that added nothing to the original, the non-hit "Teenage Letter," & "Lewis Boogie," a fine (& rare!) Lewis original that should've never been included over the somehow overlooked "High School Confidential."

Not surprisingly, this set the stage for a volume two, which picked up "High School Confidential" & its flip, "What I'd Say," & several near-hits: "Break-Up" (1958, #52 Pop), "I'll Make It All Up to You" (1958, #85 Pop), "I'll Sail My Ship Alone" (1959, #93 Pop), ("How's My Ex Treating You?," 1962, #98 Pop).  Filling out the rest are 3 covers: 1 classic ("Mean Woman Blues"), 1 near-classic ("Money"), & 1 not-very-remarkable classic ("How's My Ex Treating You?").  Put together with the first volume, it's a solid, if not amazing, collection.  The thing is, since it only runs 54 minutes, you can fit at least another half-dozen of worthy Sun-era contenders to the playlist, such as "Wild One," "Lovin' Up a Storm" (1959, #81 Pop), & "Let's Talk About Us" (1959, #76 Pop), the latter two of which are his only other charting singles of the 1950s.

Taken together as a two-fer (which is how they were reissued about a decade ago), I'd say 3.5/5 stars.

The Classic: 18 Original Sun Greatest Hits.

In the early 1980s, Rhino Records was evolving from a local label specializing in compilations into the premiere label for compilations. (Arguably international too, but that depends on how you feel about the German Bear Family label — the only label, by the way, to ever release an anthology of Jerry Lee Lewis's entire Sun Records output, on 8 CDs.) One of the discs they made their name on was this.

Long favored by the Rolling Stone Album Guide as the best single-disc collection of Lewis's music out there, it does its job remarkably well.  It was clearly compiled to include the hits, as evidenced by the opening sweep of "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On," "Great Balls of Fire," "Breathless," "High School Confidential," & "What I'd Say" in an epic 5-song sweep.  The rest are a range of highlights from his debut album ("Matchbox," "Jambalaya," "When the Saints Go Marching In," "Ubangi Stomp," "Put Me Down"), fan favorites ("Lewis Boogie," "It'll Be Me," "Big Blon' Baby," "Crazy Arms," & "Wild One"), & some deep cuts ("Drinkin' Wine Spo-Dee-O-Dee," "All Night Long," & "Big-Legged Woman").  It's one of those successful comps in that as you're listening to it, you don't notice anything missing.

But there is: B-sides.  Aside from "It'll Be Me," none of Jerry Lee Lewis's classic singles have their B-sides to go with them.  Maybe they felt "You Win Again" & "Fools Like Me" were too country sounding — but not much more so than "Jambalaya" or "Crazy Arms" — but they really have no excuse for omitting "The End of the Road," "Down the Line," & perhaps even "Livin' Lovin' Wreck."

As such, it tells a great story, but only about half of it.

I'd give it 4.5/5 stars.

The Modern Classic: The Jerry Lee Lewis Anthology: All Killer, No Filler!

This has become the default Jerry Lee Lewis collection of the modern era. It made Rolling Stone's list of the 200 Essential Albums, then cropped up again a little over a decade later on its list of rock's 500 Greatest Albums, even though it had been long out of print. But as Jerry Lee Lewis comps go, it was a watershed: Assembled with love by Rhino Records, the album marked the 1st time that a collection held material from all of his various labels — Sun, Smash, & Mercury — spread over 2 discs of rock, country, blues, & pop.

If the most famous era of his work — the early rockabilly — got the thrift, that was the point. The entire Sun output is summarized in a dozen songs, but with the A & B sides of each of his first 4 singles, plus "High School Confidential," it held together deceptively well. Much more time was allotted for Lewis's country hits, which took up the remaining disc & a half. Because of the huge divide between rock & country, this was all pretty unfamiliar territory to the average rock fan, but it worked because Lewis was always a stylist first & a singer second, lending his voice & key-raking fingers to material as disparate as "Chantilly Lace" & "Over the Rainbow."

This would be the perfect set it feels like, if only it included Lewis's other two Top 40 hits — namely, the how-is-it-possible? MIA "What'd I Say" & the surprise hit country flip "Me & Bobby McGee" (1971, #40 Pop) — & his one other Top 10 country song, "Sometimes a Memory Just Ain't Enough." As for "McGee," its easy to understand because IT COMPLETELY SUCKS (where Joplin took a country song, sang it like blues, & made it pop, Lewis takes a country song, makes it a weird boogie shuffle, & is then joined by the nerdiest-sounding backing vocals ever heard outside of a novelty record), but one thinks they could've included it for completist's sake. "What'd I Say" & "Memory" are more mysterious — they are both solid in & of themselves, & with each disc running a little over 60 mins, there was more than enough room to include them.

This would be 5 stars — it feels like 5 stars — but given the rockabilly years given the thrift, I'm gonna make this one 4.5 out of 5 as well.

The Post-"Modern Classic" Classic: Jerry Lee Lewis: The Definitive Collection.

All told there is only one album that actually includes all of Jerry Lee Lewis's Top 40 hits: Hip-O Records' The Definitive Collection, which, in filling the hole left by Rhino's out-of-print classic, plays like The Jerry Lee Lewis Anthology Lite. Running at one disc & 24 songs, it is the only place where you can get every Top 40 hit: "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On," "Great Balls of Fire," "Breathless," "High School Confidential," "What'd I Say," & "Me & Bobby McGee" (the first 5 of which are included in the album's first 6 songs; only "You Win Again" got added to the Sun period). The set also adds "Memory," as though just to jab Rhino's collection for overlooking it. But with only 24 songs, it can hold at least another 4, so I made my own playlist (yer welcome) that can be made using this disc as yer base & adding a few songs from the Rhino Anthology, since they're mastered at roughly equivalent volumes:

1. Crazy Arms*
2. Whole Lotta Shakoin' Goin' On
3. Great Balls of Fire
4. You Win Again
5. Breathless
6. High School Confidential
7. Break-Up*
8. What'd I Say
9. Another Place, Another Time
10. What's Made Milwaukee Famous
11. She Still Comes Around (To Love What's Left of Me)
12. To Make Love Sweeter for You
13. One Has My Name
14. Don't Let Me Cross Over
15. She Even Woke Me Up To Say Goodbye
16. One Minute Past Eternity*
17. Once More with Feeling
18. There Must Be More to Love Than This
19. Touching Home*
20. Me & Bobby McGee
21. Would You Take Another Chance on Me?
22. Chantilly Lace
23. Drinking Wine Spo-Dee-O-Dee
24. Sometimes a Memory Just Ain't Enough
25. He Can't Fill My Shoes
26. Middle Age Crazy
27. Over the Rainbow
28. Thirty-Nine & Holding

So 4 songs were added in total: "Crazy Arms," which has somehow been written out of Lewis's chronology these days — his 3-disc Half Century of Hits & 2-disc Gold both omit it, with the latter clearly trying to use "The End of the Road" in its place — & is the biggest overlook of the initial Definitive song list; "Break-Up" to grab one more Sun-era slot &, outside of "What'd I Say," the only other Top 50 hit he would ever have; "One Minute Past Eternity," which made it all the way to #2 Country; & "Touching Home," which made it to #3. With this playlist, you have all of Lewis's Top 40 Pop hits & Top 5 Country hits. (For the record, it is possible to fit all of Lewis's Top 10 Country hits — he had 28 — onto a single disc, but it doesn't tell the story as clearly).

I also corrected some screw-ups with chronology — mainly, "Another Place, Another Time" coming before "What Made Milwaukee Famous," a choice that made no sense at all. & finally, I replaced the version of "Drinking Wine Spo-Dee-O-Dee" with the classic version that was almost a Top 40 hit (1973, #41 Pop), because the original running order mysteriously used a different version from a decade earlier.

The original version: 4/5 Stars; my version with bonus tracks: 5/5 Stars.

* * *

Now I know what yer all thinking, "Hey man, you got really off-track here. I just want Jerry Lee Lewis the rocker, man, the rocker & none of that country junk."

Well, would you believe that I have been writing this whole article fer one reason & one reason only: To single-handedly petition the powers at Sun Records to release what I call...

My D.I.Y. Classic: Great Ball of Fire: The Original Sun Discography (1956-1959).

It turns out that Jerry Lee Lewis released so little (he recorded a ton more) that you can make it through his entire hit career & then some, with the only Top 40 hit lost "What'd I Say."  Check it:

Singles (1956-1957):
1. Crazy Arms
2. End of the Road
3. Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On
4. It'll Be Me [Single Version]
5. Great Balls of Fire
6. You Win Again.

The Great Ball of Fire EP (& source of this album's "cover") (1958):
7. Mean Woman Blues
8. I'm Feelin' Sorry
9. Turn Around

Singles (1958)
10. Breathless
11. Down the Line
12. High School Confidential
13. Fools Like Me

Jerry Lee Lewis LP (1958):
14. Don't Be Cruel
15. Goodnight Irene
16. It All Depends (On Who Will Buy the Wine)
17. Put Me Down
18. Ubangi Stomp
19. Jambalaya (On the Bayou)
20. When the Saints Go Marching In
21. Matchbox
22. It'll Be Me [LP Version]

Singles (1958-1959)
23. The Return of Jerry Lee
24. Lewis Boogie
25. Break-Up
26. I'll Make It All Up to You
27. I'll Sail My Ship Alone
28. It Hurts Me So
29. Lovin' Up a Storm
30. Big Blon' Baby

You get Lewis's first 9 singles, plus his first EP & LP, taking you from the original sound to the post-scandal oblivion.

& it all works because he has so few hits.

In fact, maybe it wasn't that he had so few hits as he had so little put out in the first place.

Putting it all together in this "Original Discography" comp is a very tempting solution — who knew that everything you could ever want — i.e., not just the best of his career, but the entire main arc of his career — could fit onto a single disc? I think I just out-paradoxed the paradox.

Well, probably the good folks at Sun Records know this, & fer want of selling records, have purposely never released it.

Although I think they really should.

Obviously.


[Ed. Note: If you dig this, check out a similar American Wolf post about Elvis: The Elvis Anthology Problem.]