Showing posts with label bluegrass music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bluegrass music. Show all posts

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Stringbean's Killer Wins His Parole



News reached us this week that the convicted killer of David "Stringbean" Akeman has been granted parole.

I was a boy when Stringbean was murdered in November 1973. My family was living in Nashville while my father was on sabbatical. The weekend that Stringbean was killed, my father was at some kind of educators' conference, and my mother took my brother and me to Chattanooga, where we spent the weekend in the Chattanooga Choo–Choo hotel, which was a hotel made out of an actual train.

It wasn't until we got back to Nashville late that Sunday that we learned that Stringbean and his wife had been murdered by burglars at their cabin in the country late Saturday night.

Well, at the time, no one knew that it had been burglars — although the police must have suspected as much. The cabin had been ransacked.

I told the story of the murder of Stringbean on the 40th anniversary of that event last year. I don't really have much to add to that, just some thoughts on the occasion of his killer's parole.

We left Nashville before the Brown cousins were tried for the murders of Stringbean and Estelle so I have no memory of that. But I vividly remember seeing the picture below on the front page of The Tennessean, Nashville's newspaper, the Monday after the killings. See those Xes? They indicate where the bodies were found. The one at the doorway is where Stringbean was killed. The one near the cars shows where Estelle's body was found.

I suppose, if I had been one of Stringbean's friends and colleagues, I would be bitter about the parole, too, as The Tennessean is reporting. Most of Stringbean's contemporaries and co–stars on the TV show Hee Haw are gone now, but some are still around, and they opposed the parole. It was granted, anyway.

The Brown cousins were each given two 99–year sentences for taking the two lives, which adds up to a 198–year sentence apiece. The cousin who did not pull the trigger died in prison a decade ago; the cousin who did pull the trigger is being paroled after serving 40 years. That is not an insignificant length of time, but whoever it was who handed down the sentences, whether it was the judge or the jury or both working together, the fact is that it was decided at the time of the trial by a person or persons who heard all the testimony and saw all the evidence that neither of the defendants should ever walk the streets a free man again.

Judges and juries are asked to do some of the dirtiest work imaginable in a democratic republic. They are asked to sit in judgment of someone else, and they often have to see and hear some gruesome things in order to do what they are asked to do. (I speak from experience here. For about a year and a half, I worked as a police/courthouse beat reporter for a newspaper in Arkansas.)

When they do that thankless job, their decision should be respected. Forty years may seem sufficient punishment to you, but whoever handed down the sentences clearly believed neither man should be free.

Why do I say that conclusion was clear from the sentence? Well, you have to go back to biblical times (or a vampire novel) to find the last person who — supposedly — lived to be more than 200 years old. It just doesn't happen in modern times.

I'm not one of those eye–for–an–eye guys. Five years ago, I argued that Susan Atkins, a member of the infamous Manson Family who killed actress Sharon Tate and her house guests in 1969, should be granted parole on compassionate grounds. (Atkins did not receive that parole, by the way, and died of brain cancer in September 2009.)

If Stringbean's killer had been stricken with a deadly disease, I might have supported his parole — for the same reason. (I say "might have" because it is a hypothetical — speculative in nature — and I prefer not to speculate about what my reaction would be to a hypothetical circumstance.)

But Atkins' was a compelling special circumstance. I haven't advocated the parole of Charles Manson or any of his followers who have been in prison for more than four decades. If a compelling special circumstance does not exist — and there isn't one in the Stringbean murder case, as far as I know — then I believe a sentence that has been handed down by a judge or jury or both should be upheld.

Today, I have found myself remembering those days long ago and how the murders of Stringbean and Estelle marked the end of the innocence of Nashville's country music community. String wasn't a country music performer so much as he was a bluegrass performer. Well, that's my opinion. He played the banjo, and I have always believed the banjo is a bluegrass music instrument, not a country music instrument.

He performed regularly on the Grand Ole Opry, with country stars and bluegrass stars alike. (I have always regretted the fact that my family never went to the Opry while we lived in Nashville.) In fact, he had been performing at the Opry the night of his murder. The last song he ever sang was a song he practiced backstage with another performer — "Lord, I'm Coming Home."

I read every story about the killings, watched every news report. I knew all the grim details. In my mind's eye, I could almost see the whole thing as it played out. It was pretty intense for a young boy.

It was pretty intense for Nashville's country music community, too. Before Stringbean's murder, performers at the Opry would often have drinks with their fans at nearby bars after the show. That stopped after String's murder. Before the murder, many folks in Nashville — not just the performers although they were notorious for it — left their doors unlocked at night. That stopped, too. In fact, my memory is that door lock and gun sales went up, as did the demand for the home security systems of the day. The performers started hiring bodyguards.

It had truly been a simple, innocent time. And it was over.

Saturday, July 05, 2014

The Dawn of the Age of Elvis



Sixty years ago today, 19–year–old Elvis Presley recorded "That's All Right (Mama)" at Sun Studio in Memphis.

It was the first commercial recording of Presley's career, and it launched him to superstardom.

There are stories of some noteworthy recordings that were made at Sun Studio, which opened 4½ years before Elvis recorded "That's All Right (Mama)" there and changed everything for himself and the studio, but the studio struggled at first, and, apparently, it would record anything in its early years.

In fact, the studio's slogan was "We Record Anything, Anywhere, Anytime." That included recording special events like weddings and baptisms and graduations, and anyone could walk in off the street and make a record — for a fee. That's what Elvis did.

It wasn't his first #1 hit — that was "Heartbreak Hotel" about 18 months later. In fact, it wasn't even the first recording he made at Sun. But it was released a couple of weeks later and went on to become a reasonably big regional hit.

Elvis was really before my time. In fact, I have rarely owned an Elvis album in my life.

I have to give all credit for my first such purchase to my friend Brady, who shared with me his recording of Elvis' Sun sessions — and told me a bit about Elvis' history with Sun. Until that time, I don't think I had heard "That's All Right (Mama)" — or "Blue Moon of Kentucky," the other noteworthy song he recorded 60 years ago.

But I liked them well enough that I went out to get a copy of that record.

It was in August 1953 when Elvis, a recent high school graduate, first walked through the doors of Sun Studio and met a receptionist, who asked him about his musical style. What kind of music did he play? "I sing all kinds," he replied. The receptionist repeatedly asked him who he sounded like. "I don't sound like nobody," he kept saying.

On that occasion, he recorded two songs ("My Happiness" and "That's When Your Heartaches Begin"). The receptionist made a note that he was a "good ballad singer."

Nothing came of it. Nor did anything come from a second session in January 1954, when Elvis recorded "I'll Never Stand In Your Way" and "It Wouldn't Be the Same Without You."

Sam Phillips, the original owner of the studio, was looking for a white singer who sound like he was black; he thought such a performer would be a huge success. He invited Elvis to record some songs on this night in 1954, but the session yielded little until near the end. Elvis started playing "That's All Right (Mama)," a hyped–up version of a 1949 blues number by Arthur Crudup, and the studio musicians who had been working with him that night joined in.

Phillips asked them to start over, and he recorded what they played. It wound up being the demo that he shopped around to local DJs and led to a single that was released on July 19, 1954 — with "Blue Moon of Kentucky," originally a Bill Monroe bluegrass tune that Presley gave a rock 'n' roll makeover, on the B side.

And the rest was rock 'n' roll history.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Staying Power



When I was a senior in high school, I wrote an entertainment column for my high school newspaper. I wrote about many topics — movies, music, books, TV — much as I do today in this blog.

Occasionally, I have gone back and read some of my clippings from that period in my life. And there are times when I am, frankly, impressed. I was more insightful than I remember being at that age, I have told myself.

But, if I am to be honest, there were far more instances when my youth, my naivete, my inexperience were on full display. I was too young — and so, too, were most of my readers — to realize it, but, unless my teachers were not as sharp as I gave them credit for being, some of them must have seen it.

Perhaps they were just being kind or polite by not pointing out to me that I was full of it — or maybe they had just spent so many years trying to educate the younger generation that they instinctively realized it was a phase through which everyone must pass and trying to spare anyone that experience is a mountain too high.

Anyway, I have grown and matured, as people tend to do, but I still remember the frequent urging from Paula, my high school editor, to write about one of her favorite singers, Emmylou Harris.

It was a request I finally granted that spring about a month or so before graduation.

I wrote about Emmylou's then–current release, "Quarter Moon in a Ten–Cent Town," a good album but Paula, a singer and guitar player who has gone on to run her own music store in our hometown, cut her musical teeth on Emmylou's earlier efforts.

Paula knew that "Quarter Moon" was only Emmylou's latest recording — not her best.

Unfortunately, I did not discover those earlier works until after I finished high school and I was dealing with a painful breakup with the girl I loved.

In the interest of accuracy, that girl was not Paula — although I must confess there was a time in my life when I did have something of a crush on her (and, based on the recent photos I've seen of her, she is still striking).

Nevertheless, I can see now, as I did then, quite a resemblance between Paula and Emmylou. Both were talented and beautiful, with the same long, dark hair parted in the middle.

When Paula held a guitar, she looked like Emmylou. And when she sang, she sounded like Emmylou.

Well, to me, she did.

It wasn't hard for me to see a younger Paula emulating Emmylou as she learned to sing and play the guitar. From what I had seen of Paula performing, she had the same mannerisms, the same stage presence, even the same vocal range. Emmylou's style — a mixture of earthiness, poignance and melancholy — was Paula's style, too.

Under the circumstances, Emmylou provided the kind of soothing music I craved, even though I had not grown up on country music. And, to be accurate, Emmylou and Paula both seemed to favor music that was more folk, more bluegrass than country, and I was always comfortable with that.

She seemed to burst through barriers with her covers of tunes like Lennon–McCartney's "Here, There and Everywhere" that was included on Harris' "Elite Hotel" album, which was released 35 years ago today.

I guess "Elite Hotel" came to be my favorite of her records when I was in college. I acquired it with a few others by Harris at that time in my life.

I never replaced them with CD versions — guess I'll have to get around to doing that one of these days — but I still admire them.

Harris has released a lot of albums in the years since I was in college. I haven't listened to many of them; occasionally, she may have risen to the same level she reached on "Elite Hotel." I don't know.

I do know that her music has taken her many places, including the Country Music Hall of Fame.

She, like Paula, is a gifted singer. She had a sort of steel–belted delicacy about her that I always found enormously appealing. Apparently, so did many others.

But if she has matched — or even exceeded — what she did on "Elite Hotel," she must have done so rarely. It was too good, and habitually duplicating it would be like hitting an ever smaller target from an ever greater distance — not necessarily impossible, just very improbable.

Her recordings in those days were diverse collections. On the same album with Lennon–McCartney tunes could be found Harris' homages to Hank Williams Sr., Gram Parsons, Buck Owens, Patsy Cline, Don Gibson, Rodney Crowell.

Much the same could be said of her debut album from earlier that year, "Pieces of the Sky," which did quite well, but "Elite Hotel" really built on its success and became Harris' first #1 country album.

And it gave her her first #1 country songs, "Together Again" and "Sweet Dreams."

But it was a crossover success as well. Not only country listeners were aware of Harris' talent. Other audiences were listening to her as well.

I, for one, didn't think of it as country, although it clearly had country influences and represented a departure from the kind of music I had been listening to. Until I started listening to Emmylou Harris in my early college days, the extent of my country music knowledge tended to be Hank Williams Sr., Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard and, OK, a little Kenny Rogers.

I wished I had known in high school what I discovered in college about Emmylou Harris. In a way, I felt like I had missed so much.

But I guess I didn't. Not really. I did get to hear Paula.

Friday, June 19, 2009

'Come and Listen to My Story ...'



On this date in 1914, Lester Flatt was born in rural Overton County, Tenn.

I guess most people recognize the name when it is combined with his longtime performing partner, Earl Scruggs. For 20 years, Flatt and Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys were probably the most popular bluegrass performers around.

By the time of his death in May 1979, Flatt had compiled a collection of acoustic compositions of which just about any musician would be envious. But even casual fans could recognize his voice. Honestly, do you know anyone who has never heard the "Ballad of Jed Clampett," which is known as the theme of "The Beverly Hillbillies?"

That's not Lester Flatt singing the song on the TV show. But he and Scruggs performed it many times for delighted audiences. And their recording of the song went to #1 on the country music charts.

Flatt and Scruggs recorded the song in 1962 and released it in 1963. It was actually composed by TV writer/producer Paul Henning, who played a major role in the development of that series as well as "Green Acres" and "Petticoat Junction," but that takes nothing away from the musical accomplishments Flatt enjoyed in his life.

And, three decades after his death, Flatt still lives, if briefly, whenever fans watch "The Beverly Hillbillies" and hear that iconic theme song.

Of course, Flatt and Scruggs made a few appearances on the show as friends of the Clampetts. Acting wasn't really their thing — music was.

But their backwoods country style was a natural fit for the show.