Hank Williams and Rufus Payne

This week we’re going to be looking at Hank Williams (Sr., the first one, the best one.) He is often considered the most significant country musician of all time.

While there are many interesting aspects of Hank’s history, it is in his childhood where we meet Rufus Payne, sometimes referred to as “Tee-Tot,” a play on the term “teetotaler” because Payne was said to never be seen without a homemade alcoholic concoction.

Hank Williams as a boy.
Hank Williams as a boy.

Rufus has become a kind of mythical creature in Hank’s life. In fact, legend has it that Hank’s mother fed Rufus in exchange for Hank’s guitar lessons. In their Hank Williams biography, authors Colin Escott, George Merritt, and William MacEwen write about Rufus:

It was probably in Georgiana that Hank met his first acknowledged musical influence, a black street musician, Rufus Payne. Because Payne was rarely found without a home-brewed mix of alcohol and tea, Payne’s nickname was “Tee-Tot,” a pun on teetotaler. Details about him are not only sketchy, but contradictory as well. According to researcher Alice Harp, Rufus was born in 1884 on the Payne Plantation in Sandy Ridge, Lowndes County, Alabama. His parents had been slaves there, but they moved to New Orleans around 1890, giving Rufus a front-row seat for the birth of jazz. After his parents died, Rufus settled in Greenville, Alabama. Harp insists that Payne became a society musician, playing white functions, learning all the pop hits of the day.

The authors go on to explain that Rufus was a one-man band with a guitar, cymbals attached between his legs, a jazz horn, and a “Jew’s harp” who wondered around Georgiana busking for money. However, what I found most interesting about the authors’ description of Rufus was how they explained young Hank Williams. They write:

A crowd of kids followed Tee-Tot around, but Hank was the only who wanted to do more than listen. He wanted to learn. Exactly what passed between Hank Williams and Rufus Payne will never be known. If, as has often been said, Payne gave Hank [guitar] lessons, it’s hard to know what he imparted. Hank probably already knew most of the chords that Payne knew, so perhaps the lessons involved broader strokes. J.C. McNeil, who insisted he also took lessons from Payne, said that Payne always stressed the importance of keeping time and getting a good rhythm going.

Personally, my favorite part of Hank’s music is the strong sense of rhythm. A song like “Jambalaya (On the Bayou)” is a perfect example of Hank’s unmistakable driving rhythm.

Clearly, Rufus Payne’s influence on Hank Williams can’t be traced exactly. However, it’s clear that he played at least a minor part in forming Hank’s understanding of music, especially the blues. Regardless of the amount of Rufus’ involvement, the fact is he helped mold the most famous country singer of all time, and that’s quite an accomplishment.


Miles Davis, Kind of Blue, and modal jazz

In 1959, Miles Davis changed jazz music forever and set a course that would later greatly influence musicians from all genres, most notably rock and roll. It all happened when Kind of Blue was released.

51UVX5HKIiL._SY300_Up until Kind of Blue, popular music was (and still primarily is) based on chord progressions within a major or minor scale. Miles Davis began to base his music on modes rather than chords.

What are modes? Good question. Stewart Hendrickson of St. Olaf College explains:

I’ve often heard said about a traditional song or tune, “it must be modal.” What does that mean? Strictly speaking, a mode is just an ordered series of notes defined by the intervals between. In that sense there is no difference between scales and modes; a mode is simply a particular musical scale.

See, we’re used to music being based on scales and their notes within. For example, if a song is set in the key of C major, the notes that our Western ears would be most comfortable hearing are C, D, E, F, G, A, and B. However, Miles shook it up for us Westerners. No longer would a song simply be written in a certain key. Instead, each soloist would be given prescribed modes in which they were to play. Hendrickson writes about the seven common modes in Western music: Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Myxolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian. Besides the fact that the names of the modes come from Greek words, that, my friends, is where my understanding stops for now. Research modes, figure it out, and get back to me.

Now, back to Kind of Blue. “Flamenco Sketches” is commonly referred to as one of the prime examples of modal jazz. However, the song’s composition is still confounding people.

Samuel Barrett of the freaking University of Cambridge writes about a recent study done by Ashley Kahn. In the study, a session photo of a chart from Cannonball Adderley (unbelievable saxophonist and definite future bandbyweek artist) was blown up and studied to look for what modes he was told to play in. Kahn’s study only added to the confusion over how exactly Kind of Blue was composed. Barrett writes:

Previous attempts to describe the musical design of ‘Flamenco Sketches’ have examined either scalar or chordal organisation. Among writers who have turned to scales, loosely termed modes, the five scales used on ‘Flamenco Sketches’ have been the subject of some disagreement. Ashley Kahn, in his recent study of the making of Kind of Blue brought both clarity and confusion to the matter by enlarging a session photograph showing Cannonball Adderley’s chart for ‘Flamenco Sketches’. Along-side the photograph, Kahn listed not the scales on the chart, but the scales that Davis used in his solos since, of the soloists, only Davis plays what might be termed pure ‘modal’ scales.

As you can see, the precise composition of Kind of Blue is still being debated, and I think this is totally fitting for the album. When it was released, it was completely new. To this day, it is not only a confusing and quintessential modal jazz album, it is a necessity in any music lover’s collection. Fittingly, it is still the most widely sold jazz album of all time.

Check out this video to hear more of the awesomeness of modal jazz, Kind of Blue, and Miles Davis in general.


Further Reading:

Kind of Blue and the economy of modal jazz by Samuel Barrett

Musical Traditions: Of Scales and Modes by Stewart Hendrickson

The night that changed Miles Davis

One night in August, 1959, Miles Davis had an experience that he said changed him. He and his quintet were playing in the famous Birdland club in New York City. During a break, Miles Davis made his way outside and into a scuffle with a New York City police officer. Davis recounts the night:

I had just finished doing an Armed Forces Day, you know, Voice of America and all that bullshit. I had just walked this pretty white girl named Judy out to get a cab. She got in the cab, and I’m standing there in front of Birdland wringing wet because it’s a hot, steaming, muggy night in August. This white policeman comes up to me and tells me to move on. At the time I was doing a lot of boxing and so I thought to myself, I ought to hit this motherfucker because I knew what he was doing. But instead I said, “Move on, for what? I’m working downstairs. That’s my name up there, Miles Davis,” and I pointed up to my name on the marquee all up in lights. He said, “I don’t care where you work, I said move on! If you don’t move on I’m going to arrest you.” I just looked at his face real straight and hard, and I didn’t move. Then he said, “You’re under arrest!”

These events led to a fight between Miles and several officers. Davis was hit in the head with a billy club. The photograph of this event circulated wildly around the world, fueled the racial tension already festering in the country (especially in NYC), and dragged Davis into a legal battle, eventually ending with everyone simply walking away from the incident.


However, the events of that night in August live on. Davis himself said in his autobiography, “That changed my whole life and whole attitude again when I was starting to feel good about the things that had changed in this country.” Davis’ reputation as a rather cold, standoffish man would continue to grow, possibly perpetuated by that night.

More recently, the legend of that night has lived on in none other than Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips. Davis’ blood-stained suit from the famous photo was a direct inspiration for Coyne’s bloody garb, a tiny but powerful trademark.


Strangely enough, it wasn’t until 1985 when Davis released You’re Under Arrest that a clear stance against racism would make its way into his music. In case you’re like me and you listen to “You’re Under Arrest,” are unaffected and feel depressed that Miles Davis would create something that doesn’t blow you away, remember that he is still the guy that recorded Birth of the Cool (1957), Workin’ With the Miles Davis Quintet (1959), Kind of Blue (1959), Sketches of Spain (1960), Bitches Brew (1970), and about a thousand other breathtaking records.


Further Reading:

Miles: The Autobiography

Miles Davis and American Culture

The multicultural Sly & The Family Stone

Sly & The Family Stone were the first hugely successful rock band to embrace the diversity of their band members. In The Guardian, Barney Hoskyns refers to the band as “the multi-race/gender collective that was the Family Stone.”

16993d1348526209-rock-roll-101-sly-family-stone-dance-sly-family-stone3Not only was the band made up of different races and genders, they went a step further and celebrated it openly, weaving the theme of openness and acceptance into their music.  Songs like “Everyday People” and “Everybody Is a Star” are perfect anthems for integration.

Even the most overtly racially charged Sly & The Family Stone track “Don’t Call Me Nigger, Whitey” is, in its own way, fair in doling out racial slurs. The chorus repeats: “Don’t call me nigger, whitey / Don’t call me whitey, nigger.” Yes, the terms themselves are slanderous. But, they’re even. In the song, everyone involved is both being both insulted and insulting someone else.

But, the band’s multicultural makeup wasn’t only an appealing idea to them. Fans of all races loved Sly & The Family Stone. In a 1976 interview, Sly talks about their mass appeal (for this part of the video, skip to 5:30, but the whole interview is interesting. Plus, it’s always fun to hear Sly talk.)

Sly & The Family Stone were (and still are) easy to love. They were immensely talented, original, and diverse, all of which made them one of the most celebrated bands to come out the 60s and 70s.

In the spirit of the band’s mass appeal, listen to “Hot Fun In the Summertime,” one of the band’s biggest commercial successes, released during the rapid growth of their fanbase after Woodstock in 1969.

And that’s it for Sly & The Family Stone week! Thanks for reading, and happy listening.


Further Reading:

“Looking at the Devil” by Barney Hoskyns – The Guardian

“Sly and the Family Stone Biography”The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum

How Sly & The Family Stone mirrored 1969-1971 America

In 1969, Sly & The Family Stone released their fourth studio album, Stand! In 1971, they released There’s a Riot Goin’ On. The period of time starting and ending with these two albums reveals not only a shifting dynamic of the band, but of the country as a whole.

Cover of Sly and The Family Stone’s Stand! (1969)

When you listen to Stand!, you’re uplifted. The title itself is a positive message, punctuated with an exclamation mark. The album’s overarching theme is one of optimism, communicated through several of the band’s most well-known tracks – “Sing a Simple Song,” “I Want to Take You Higher,” “Everyday People,” and “You Can Make It If You Try.” The band, and the country, was feeling good. The culmination of this attitude happened from August 15 to August 18, 1969 near Woodstock, New York, only three months after Stand! was put out. Not surprisingly, Sly & The Family Stone played Woodstock, and their performance is generally considered one of the most historic of the three days.

After Woodstock, a cultural shift began to occur. The transition from 1969 to 1970 was an ugly one. In 2002, University of Colorado’s Professor Chris H. Lewis wrote:

We can only understand the 1970s as a decade of disillusion, cynicism, bitterness, and anger by examining it in the context of the aftermath of the Vietnam War and Watergate and the Cold War. The American people were increasingly disillusioned with the government and their democratic institutions in the 1970s. The Cold War, the Vietnam War, and Watergate damaged Americans’ faith in their government and their leaders. Burdened with this political disillusionment, American society in the 1970s was also underseige by economic decline and declining standards of living. For many Americans, the 1970s became a decade of transition–marked by confusion, frustration, and an overwhelming feeling that America had lost its direction, as if the very future of the “American experiment” and the “American Dream” might be in question. In the 1970s, Americans were faced with unresolved conflict and problems that challenged the very heart of the post-war liberal consensus; they faced economic stagnation and recession, increasing poverty, decline in their standards of living, fears that the American Dream was becoming harder and harder to achieve, and bitter divisions over America’s fundamental cultural values.

Like many Americans, the members of Sly & The Family Stone started to lose their direction. In particular, Sly Stone’s life became consumed by drugs, and his behavior became more and more erratic. As for the band’s creative output, a collection of greatest hits was put out in 1970.

Though Greatest Hits is an amazing collection of songs and was listed on Rolling Stone‘s list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, it still indicates an eighteen-month dry spell within which the band didn’t record any new tracks, even though their contract required an album released in 1970. Sly’s drug use caused him to miss recording sessions, Epic Records needed an album, and Greatest Hits was born.

Cover of Sly & The Family Stone’s There’s a Riot Goin’ On (1971)

Then, in 1971, Sly & The Family Stone broke the eighteen month dry spell. There’s a Riot Goin’ On reflected the American decline that Lewis wrote about. The album is much different from Stand! Though no less funky, Riot is much more introspective. While Stand! was about celebration, Riot is about tension. In one of my favorite Riot tracks, “Africa Talks to You ‘The Asphalt Jungle,'” this line repeats:

Timber… all fall down!
Timber… who’s around!
Watch out, ’cause the summer gets cold…
When today gets too old!

Indeed, the summer of 1969 got cold, America was trying to mend its wounds, and Sly & The Family Stone put it into song. Rolling Stone (in the link above) wrote, “Stone discovered his utopia had a ghetto, and he brilliantly tore the whole thing down on 1971’s There’s a Riot Goin’ On.”

Though There’s a Riot Goin’ On was met with some hostility upon its release, it has increasingly become a landmark achievement not only for Sly & The Family Stone, but for all music. Both Riot and Stand! are, like most brilliant music, both of their time and ahead of it.


Further Reading:

Professor Lewis’ full explanation of America’s crisis in the 1970s

Sly & The Family Stone hip hop samples

As we’ve already read this week, Sly & The Family Stone changed the course of music. The band had a unique place in music due to their appeal to several genres including funk, soul, and R&B, as well as rock and, later, hip hop.

In his 1998 book For the Record: Sly and The Family Stone: An Oral History, Joel Selvin writes, “there are two types of black music: black music before Sly Stone, and black music after Sly Stone.” Though their influence on hip hop wouldn’t be fully realized until the birth of the genre, Sly & The Family Stone had a major impact on hip hop artists and their musical tastes, as well as the music that they would end up creating.

Few things are as cool to listen to as the mixing together of Sly & The Family Stone music and hip hop. Here are a few of my favorites (FYI – it’s hip hop, so this post may not be safe for tiny ears):

1. “Because I Got It Like That” by The Jungle Brothers (1988)

Sly & The Family Stone sample – “You Can Make It If You Try”

The Jungle Brothers - Straight Out The Jungle

“Because I Got It Like That” appeared on The Jungle Brothers’ debut album Straight Out the Jungle. Though this is material for a future bandbyweek post, I will say that the importance of this album can not be overstated. It kicked off the Native Tongues collective (future creative stomping ground for De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest) and is commonly referred to as one of the greatest hip hop albums of all time. Not surprisingly, Sly & The Family Stone are right in the middle of it.

2. “Rise ‘N’ Shine” by Kool Moe Dee feat. KRS-One and Chuck D (1991)

Sly & The Family Stone sample – “Stand!”Funke_Funke_Wisdom

This song appears on Funke, Funke Wisdom, and it was the most successful song on the album. In fact, it reached #1 on the Billboard Hot Rap Singles chart. Personally, I don’t know what to credit that to: the fact that Sly & The Family Stone and Billy Preston are sampled in the track or the fact that they decided to spell it F-U-N-K-E.

3. “People Everyday” by Arrested Development

Sly & The Family Stone sample – “Everyday People”


These guys have done it all. They provided a peaceful hip hop alternative to the gangster rap of the early 90s, they sued the Fox Network over the (supposed) use of their name for the greatest comedy ever put on television, they trailed behind Boys II Men’s “End of the Road” with this song in 1992, and they took and restructured a Sly & The Family Stone chorus for their own song. They completed my bucket list!

The Mystery of Sly & The Family Stone’s first single

In 1968, Sly Stone wrote “Dance to the Music.” Almost immediately, Sly & The Family Stone recorded it and submitted it to Epic Records where it was an instant hit, reaching #8 the Billboard Top 100.

However, there are some who believe that Sly & The Family Stone’s first hit was not “Dance to the Music,” but rather a different song under a completely different band name.

In 1967,  Sly & The Stoners (Sly’s band) and Freddie & The Stone Souls (led by Sly’s brother, Freddie Stone) combined to make the original lineup of Sly & The Family Stone. It was in this same year, a year before he composed “Dance to the Music,” when Sly wrote a song called “Life and Death in G & A” for A & M Records.

Even though “Life in Death in G & A” was written 1n 1967, it didn’t actually chart until 1969, making it all the way to #74. So, if this recording were actually recorded by the newly formed Sly & The Family Stone, it would technically be their first recorded single.

The listed members of Abaco Dream are Paul Douglas, David Williams, Dennis Williams, Frank Malo, and Mike Sassano. So, either they recorded a very Sly & The Family Stone-style song written by Sly himself or, for some reason, the actual Sly & The Family Stone decided to get into the studio soon after deciding to become a band and release a song under the name Abaco Dream.

The most notable musicologist to pose that “Life and Death in G & A” is actually a Sly & The Family Stone recording was Joel Whitburn in his book Top Pop Singles 1955-1999 in which he offers extensive research on all of the Billboard singles between these years. Impressive.

And, at least for me, it’s pretty easy to believe Whitburn’s theory. The song certainly sounds like Sly & The Family Stone – the ever present bass line laying strong foundation, electric guitar fills at opportune moments, and, of course, the inescapable power of the horn section that doesn’t let up.

Still, whether you believe that Abaco Dream’s “Life and Death in G & A” was performed by Sly & The Family Stone or not, it’s an interesting little mystery in funk music. More importantly, it’s a pretty cool song written by then relatively-fresh-on-the-scene Sly Stone.

Sly & The Family Stone: bass and drum advocates

When I think of funk music, I think of Sly & The Family Stone. The band, which formed in 1967, revolutionized funk, soul, R&B, however you want to categorize them. But really, they revolutionized music in general.


Now, that phrase is thrown around a lot. That band “revolutionized music.” However, in the case of Sly & The Family Stone, it’s true. What’s more, their influence is tangible, we can actually hear a difference in music pre-Sly & The Family Stone versus post-Sly & The Family Stone, and it’s pretty cool to hear.

Brian Eno sums it up nicely:

[i]f you listen to records from the ’50s, you’ll find that all the melodic information is mixed very loud. … and the rhythmic information is mixed rather quietly. … from the time of Sly and the Family Stone’s Fresh album (1973), there’s a flip over, where the rhythm instruments, particularly the bass drum and bass, suddenly become the important instruments.

Before Sly & The Family Stone, the mix was focused on the melody and all of its ornaments. You can hear this in a song like The Everly Brothers’ “Wake Up Little Susie.”

In the mix, Don and Phil’s vocals and guitar are the main highlights, while the only drum we really hear is the higher pitched snare. This was the sound of the time. When Sly & The Family Stone hit the scene in the late 60s, music had already evolved from The Everly Brothers, but the evolution was about to speed up.

Eno cites Fresh as the album that brought about the shift to drum and bass, and I wouldn’t argue with him. I mean…he is Brian Eno. Still, Sly & The Family Stone’s focus on drum and bass can be heard as early as their first album A Whole New Thing (1967). For example, listen to “Bad Risk.”

Slyfamstone-freshStill, Fresh really does indicate a sea change in music. Suddenly, the bass players and drummers were the most important people on stage. To hear this change, check out “In Time.” Why this song as opposed to another track off of Fresh? Because apparently Miles Davis was so blown away by this song that he had his band sit and listen to it on repeat for 30 minutes straight. If it was that important to Miles, who are we to decide otherwise?

Talking Heads post break-up

talking-heads-naked1Between 1985 and 1988, Talking Heads released three albums: Little Creatures (1985), True Stories (1986), and Naked (1988). However, I believe it was True Stories where a major dynamic of the band is revealed.

All of the songs on True Stories were cover songs from Byrne’s 1986 comedy of the same name. Though the rest of the band starred in the film, the band’s appearance in Byrne’s work symbolizes what eventually brought Talking Heads to an end. As time went on, the band became more and more controlled by Byrne. Finally, after the release of Naked, the band went on a hiatus.url

The official announcement that the band had broken up didn’t come until 1991. By then, Byrne had released a few solo albums, including my favorite, Rei Momo (1989). Meanwhile, fellow husband/wife Talking Heads Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz released albums as Tom Tom Club. Jerry Harrison began his foray into record producing. Some of his most notable projects include the Violent Femmes’ The Blind Leading the Naked and Crash Test Dummies’ God Shuffled His Feet.

The closest thing to a reincarnation of Talking Heads came in 1996 with the release of The Heads’ album No Talking, Just Head. The Heads, of course, consisted of Weymouth, Frantz, and Harrison sans David Byrne. It did poorly.

In 2002, Talking Heads were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. For some unknown reason, out of all the musicians on the planet, Anthony Kiedis was chosen to induct them in.

And that’s it for Talking Heads. Happy listening!

Talking Heads, The Mudd Club, and CBGB

In her 33 1/3 book about Neutral Milk Hotel’s In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, Kim Cooper writes about the idea of “the Scene,” those cities and times that become breeding grounds for creativity. She writes:

Like scientists wondering if a given planet has the building blocks to generate life, rock historians like to puzzle over why some towns suddenly belch up that elusive quarry, the Scene. It seems random, and maybe it is. Why Minneapolis in ’84, Seattle in ’89, London in ’66 and San Francisco in ’67?

Entrance to CBGB.

The same could be said for New York City in the late 70s – early 80s. “New Wave” and “post-punk” bands, including Talking Heads, got their start here, and both The Mudd Club and CBGB were where they first started to perform. In “Life During Wartime,” (Fear of Music, 1979) David Byrne even nods to both venues,  singing, “This ain’t no Mudd Club or CBGB.”

The Mudd Club and CBGB were located in Manhattan, Mudd on 77 White St. and CBGB on Bowery. However, it was CBGB where Talking Heads first opened for The Ramones in 1975 and where they, along with bands like Blondie, Misfits, Television, The B-52’s, and Joan Jett & The Blackhearts, really started making waves.

Weird art crowd at The Mudd Club.
Weird art crowd at The Mudd Club.

In his 2010 TED Talk on how architecture helped music evolve (watch it, now) Byrne highlights CBGB. He says:

It was, remarkably, a pretty good sounding room, with all the uneven walls and all the crap everywhere, it actually sounded pretty good…The nature of the room meant that words could be understood, the lyrics of the songs could pretty much be understood, the sound system was kind of decent, and there wasn’t a lot of reverberation in the room, so the, uh, rhythms could be pretty intact, too – pretty concise.

He goes on to talk about the clientele, how the band had to turn the volume up in places like CBGB to “overcome people falling down, shouting out, or whatever else they were doing.”

Though Byrne’s TED Talk is wonderfully educational and entertaining with regards to different venues’ architecture and their effects on music, what I find most interesting is how Byrne talks about CBGB sentimentally. He spent a lot of time there, wrote and performed much of the music that would go on to define his career, and it is obvious that he knows every nook and cranny of the place. I’m sure any musician from the 70s-80s NYC scene would talk about the place as fondly as he does.

thcbgbBut, bands (at least the good ones) move on. In “Life During Wartime,” right after he nods to CBGB, Byrne sings, “I ain’t got time for that now.” Bands became bigger than the cramped, uneven space of CBGB, played bigger venues with bigger crowds. Still, up into the early 90s, Byrne returned to play a few surprise shows at CBGB to test new songs he was working on at the time.

CBGB finally closed its doors in 2006, but its legacy will live in the bands that got their start there and the myriad of musicians who have been influenced by the sounds that came out of the Bowery club.

Now, it’s a longer video but certainly worth your time. Here are the Talking Heads (pre-Jerry Harrison) performing at CBGB in December, 1975.

Exploring a different band every week.

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