Texas Flood Read online

  Jimmie Vaughan and The Fabulous Thunderbirds with Angela Strehli sitting in at Antone’s. Kim Wilson and Keith Ferguson in the background. (Watt M. Casey Jr.)

  FREEMAN: The hippie country thing was really happening, and everyone jumped on that bandwagon, which made it tough for us blues guys to get good gigs. Antone’s was our ground zero from day one.

  JIMMIE VAUGHAN: We played Antone’s the first week it opened, and we were there three or four times a week.

  CRAIG: Clifford was such a blues fanatic. He said, “You’re not going to believe this: I’ve got Jimmy Reed for five nights!” There were twenty people there on Wednesday, and Clifford couldn’t understand why the place wasn’t packed.

  TERRY LICKONA, Austin City Limits producer: Clifford was on a mission with a different vision and dream. Everyone else thought he was crazy opening up a music club in a converted men’s store in a sketchy, pretty dead part of town, but he was able to book these incredible blues acts, and the opportunity to see them for a relatively cheap ticket was remarkable for anyone with any roots music knowledge.

  FREEMAN: Clifford brought in people we never dreamed we’d ever see, much less meet, much less play with. It provided us with incredible opportunities to get to know and learn from the masters.

  ANGELA STREHLI, Austin blues singer: Clifford’s whole idea was to educate people to the blues by having the masters there and to have the rest of us open and back them. The blues’ biggest supporters were often purists who thought that we shouldn’t devote our lives to this, so those were not very happy times. Our heroes themselves were the ones who encouraged us and were delighted that we were devoting our lives to something they created.

  JIMMIE VAUGHAN: We were all scared shitless the first time we backed Muddy Waters. After our second song opening the show, Muddy lifted the curtain, looked down from upstairs, and gave me a big smile and nod. He took us in after that, getting us a bunch of gigs in Boston—the first time the band left Texas. He really encouraged us to keep doing what we were doing.

  LICKONA: A lot of these legends didn’t have bands, and once they realized there were amazing musicians in Austin who could not only play the parts but excel at it, word spread very quickly. Then they looked forward to coming to a place where they would be treated well and play with great musicians.

  JIMMIE VAUGHAN: We would open most shows and then back up guys like Jimmy Rogers or Eddie Taylor, who would often come for extended stays, so we would really spend a lot of time together. Blues is a circle, and Antone’s put us in the middle of it, playing with our heroes and even our heroes’ heroes. We had to know our shit! It was like going to college. It was amazing to be able to meet your heroes and have them approve of you.

  Barton left the T-Birds within a year, and the rhythm section shifted to drummer Mike Buck and bassist Keith Ferguson, a quartet that grew together through their regular Antone’s gigs.

  DENNY BRUCE, Fabulous Thunderbirds manager, 1977–1982: I started working with the T-Birds when mutual friend Ray Benson got us together. I flew to Austin, went directly to Antone’s, saw them backing Hubert Sumlin, and then playing their own set. The first song was “Scratch My Back,” and I could hear what their first album would sound like in my head, so I became their manager.

  BILL BENTLEY, music editor, The Austin Sun, 1974–1978: Jimmie and Stevie didn’t hang out much. They were both busy establishing their own careers. Jimmie never looked ambitious, but he knew how good he was. He was a professional musician since he was fourteen. He started the T-Birds, and that was it; he was going for it. As Stevie started to rise, the T-Birds were the hottest band in Austin. Kim was a fantastic singer and harmonica player, and Jimmie was a little wilder then, when they had so much time to fill up.

  BRUCE: They were very ambitious and wanted to get on the road, to become a national act. I couldn’t get them any kind of record deal despite a year of trying hard. The punk invasion was in full swing, and a white blues band wasn’t what people wanted, so though they had a lot of interest from big music people, it was hard to nail anything down.

  [Producer] Joel Dorn said he was about to get them signed to Island. [Songwriter] Doc Pomus loved them and said something would happen soon. One of Bob Dylan’s girlfriends knew Kim. She said Bob was getting his own label with Columbia and wanted them. Bob’s person said they’d be in touch after they made the deal. At least six months went by, and I was set to make a deal with Chrysalis for a new label, Takoma; I would co-own, sign, and produce acts. I told the band they could be the first act and start recording the next week, and they jumped at it. They went into the studio and played live.

  In 1976, Albert King played Antone’s for the first time, on three consecutive nights, April 29 to May 1. Unlike some of the other blues greats, King had never given up his band or stopped touring regularly. He had his own tour bus, which he drove himself, and he arrived in Austin with his customary flair.

  Albert King at Antone’s, Home of the Blues. (Watt M. Casey Jr.)

  King was an intimidating man who stood six foot five with broad shoulders and usually had a pipe clenched between his teeth, which sparkled with gold. Onstage, his Gibson Flying V looked like a ukulele in his massive hands. His tough tone and aggressive playing style, marked by huge, multiple-string bends, were equally macho. The lefty held his right-handed guitar upside down and tuned in an enigmatic fashion that is still debated, the combination of which gave him a highly distinctive style that’s been oft-copied but rarely duplicated. Stevie Ray Vaughan was an exception; Albert King’s style was at the very heart of his playing. He was not going to miss an opportunity to see his idol perform and hopefully to interact with him. Clifford Antone, who died in 2006, said that Stevie begged him to ask Albert to let him sit in.

  JIMMIE VAUGHAN: We could argue about who’s the greatest, but Albert King is in that conversation. He was absolutely amazing. And he came to Antone’s with his great band and all his hit records. We’re all there. It’s a packed weekend night, and Clifford says, “I’m gonna ask Albert to let Stevie sit in.” Well, nobody asked Albert King to sit in. That really was the rule, but Clifford tells him, “There’s this kid we call Little Stevie, and you gotta hear him.” Albert tells him to do you-know-what to himself.

  STREHLI: Albert was a gruff person and wouldn’t take any nonsense, so for Clifford to even ask him to do this was quite incredible.

  JIMMIE VAUGHAN: Clifford didn’t give up easily, so he does it again the next night: “That kid’s here…” Albert can’t believe he’s being asked again, so he says, “Now I’m curious. This better be good.” It was so far out; nobody would ask Albert King to sit in unless you were dumb or something. I don’t even know if Jimi Hendrix would do it.

  GUS THORNTON, Albert King bassist: I played with Albert for years and only remember a few people sitting in. It’s not something he usually did.

  SUBLETT: I was sitting right next to Stevie when Clifford came over and said, “Albert said you can come up.” None of us could believe it, but if Clifford wanted you to do something, you were going to do it—apparently even Albert King!

  STREHLI: Of course, Stevie just burned, like he always did. There was Little Stevie up there with Big Albert killing it, and it really tickled Albert—and all of us! He started playing Albert King licks and doing it really good, and Albert looks down and shakes his head.

  JIMMIE VAUGHAN: It was badass. We all stood there with our mouths open as Stevie played really good Albert King licks.

  SUBLETT: Stevie was shredding, and Albert turned away his fretboard as if to say, “This young punk is ripping me off. I’m not going to let him see what I’m doing.” He was paying big respect to Stevie because he couldn’t believe the skinny little white kid was pulling it off. Stevie was never intimidated onstage with his guitar, no matter the setting.

  O’BRIEN: Stevie shocked Albert, who put on a show; when Stevie was soloing, Albert was taking his guitar and bunching the curtains around it, pretending to be scared. Stevie was winning
Albert over. Albert knew Stevie was something different, and he let Stevie know that. It really felt like a milestone for Stevie.

  THORNTON: Albert loved Stevie and his playing. A lot of people play Albert’s music, but Stevie was about the only one who could get the touch and feel right.

  ALBERT KING, Blues guitar great: If you play too fast or too loud, you cancel yourself out. Once you lose the feeling, you got nothing but a show going on. It’s not deep. No doubt about it, Stevie had what it takes.

  JIMMIE VAUGHAN: Albert didn’t like anyone, but he liked Stevie! He put his arm around him, and from then on, it was Big Albert and Little Stevie. Everybody went, “Whew, that was scary.” I would never have tried that, but you’ve got to admire the audacity.

  6

  CRAWLING KINGSNAKES

  The Cobras’ weekly gig at the Soap Creek Saloon, dubbed “Tuesday Night Cobra Club,” became one of the hottest nights in town, in the process helping expand the scope of one of Austin’s cosmic cowboy hubs. Fifty-cent shots of tequila helped lure blues lovers out to the country on Tuesday evenings. The Soap Creek was a roadhouse atop a hill down a rutted dirt road bumping off Bees Cave Road, about five miles outside of central Austin. It was owned and run by George and Carlyne Majewski and known as both “Dope Creek” and “the Honky Tonk in the Hills.” The old wooden farmhouse had two big rooms, a rambling structure that was one of the first Austin places where rednecks and longhairs happily rubbed elbows. Asleep at the Wheel, Willie Nelson, Townes Van Zandt, and Jerry Jeff Walker were all regular performers, along with Doug Sahm, who lived across the parking lot in a little house hidden by trees.

  There was a giant doorman named Billy Bob, a couple of pool tables, an eclectic jukebox, rough-hewn wooden walls covered with posters of past and future shows, and a dance floor that was usually packed. While disco was beginning to rule the nation’s clubs, Paul Ray and the Cobras had Austinites jumping up to boogie to old-time upbeat blues and R&B by the likes of Bobby “Blue” Bland and Ray Charles. Their original music was in the same vein. Stevie began to step to the front more often, digging into a slow blues or two every night, and the crowd had to get used to his extended soloing, sometimes using the guitar excursions as an excuse to go out in the parking lot and smoke a cigarette or joint.

  Paul Ray and the Cobras, 1976. Denny Freeman far left, Stevie far right. (Watt M. Casey Jr.)

  FREEMAN: The Soap Creek Saloon was the hot place that only wanted country, and we finally got in there when someone asked for us to open—I think it was John Lee Hooker, because our friend played bass with him. We turned it into a regular Tuesday-night booking, and “the Cobra Club” became the hottest thing in town, probably because a lot of pretty girls loved us—and where they go, the guys follow. We were a fun band stretching out from three-chord blues playing dance music with multiple singers. And, of course, we had Stevie.

  CRAIG: I said to Carlyne, “If you give us the gate, you can have the bar.” Within three months, we had five hundred to six hundred people on a Tuesday night. At two dollars a head, we starting making real good money.

  CHRIS “WHIPPER” LAYTON, Double Trouble drummer: Joe Sublett was my friend, and I heard so much about the Cobras and finally went to check them out at the Soap Creek. Walking up, I could hear a guitar solo playing as loud and clear as if the band was outside the building, and I thought, “That’s kind of wild.”

  I walked in and saw Stevie, who had stepped to the front and was soloing on Number One, and I was mesmerized. When I was younger, I snuck into a place and saw Freddie King play from the back of the room. This reminded me of that. Stevie’s playing was great, and he had this very demanding charisma; you couldn’t not look at him. I loved the band, but I was really taken by Stevie’s playing. He and Denny and Joe would play harmonized lines and two-guitar, one-horn stabs, like a horn section, that sounded great. I later learned Denny did those arrangements.

  TRIMMIER: Stevie’s style had become really bluesy and soulful. He was playing through a tweed Peavey Vintage with no feedback or heavy sustain. It was more like a turned-up Howard Roberts jazz thing. He was starting to find his sound. Stevie made that band pretty damn special.

  CRAIG: I helped book three nights at a club in my hometown of Lubbock. I called the guy to book some more, and he said, “I’d love to have you guys back, but that guitar player is just too loud.” His clientele had given him shit about that. We tried to get Stevie to turn down, and he’d fiddle with his knobs, but nothing happened! He had to get the tone, man.

  In May 1977, the Cobras were named Band of the Year by The Austin Sun, boosting their stock. The Sun wrote, “They play hard but smooth, don’t talk or waste time between songs, and don’t need any stage histrionics.… Then there’s guitarist Stevie Vaughan, cited by many observers as the man who’ll one day take his place among the great Texas blues guitarists.”

  Says Freeman, “It was a big deal and a good feeling. The Austin Sun was very meaningful around town. When we got that award, our manager said, ‘Our price just doubled.’”

  Around the same time, the Cobras did some recording, cutting “St. James Infirmary,” sung by Ray, and “Thunderbird,” the Nightcaps’ song that had been a local favorite, sung by Vaughan, who was just starting to get comfortable fronting the band as a singer as well as a guitarist.

  SUBLETT: Stevie always sang one song a set, usually a slow blues like “Tin Pan Alley.” He was learning how to sing and felt a little insecure about it, but his soloing was fully developed, and he would take full advantage of the moment: one blues would be ten or fifteen minutes. The truth is, a lot of people would step outside because they weren’t ready for a long, slow blues, but Stevie played great and kept getting more comfortable out front. At some point, everyone got on board. It was, “There’s Stevie Ray Vaughan,” and then he could play slow blues songs all night long.

  Stepping to the fore with the Cobras at the Soap Creek Saloon. (Kathy Murray)

  LAYTON: When Stevie first started singing, he was real sheepish and had to be encouraged. He’d do “Crosscut Saw,” by Albert King, inching his way to the mic, and you could barely hear him; [whispers] “I’m a crosscut saw…” He almost never opened his eyes while singing; he would sort of brace himself, and if he kept his eyes closed, he wouldn’t see anyone looking at him.

  As Vaughan slowly became more comfortable as a front man, he asked Angela Strehli to teach him “Texas Flood,” a simmering slow blues by Arkansas bluesman Larry Davis that was a nightly showstopper for her.

  STREHLI: He said that he always liked “Texas Flood,” which I had been doing for years, and asked if I could teach him the words, which I did.

  FREEMAN: I had a 45 of Larry Davis’s “Texas Flood” that Keith Ferguson had given me, and Stevie asked to borrow it because he was learning the guitar part. He returned it with a big chip! It was still playable, and I still have it.

  DIANA RAY, major player in the Austin blues world; wife of Paul Ray: At least he returned Denny’s record! Paul always complained about Stevie borrowing records and never giving them back. You couldn’t stay mad at the guy, though.

  STREHLI: He needed encouragement to sing; he was still a little scared. But he took the song and made it so associated with him that I quit doing it, because eventually everyone thought I was imitating him.

  ERIC JOHNSON, virtuoso Austin guitarist: Stevie had some real magic with that song from the very beginning. He was very sensitive and concerned about the gravity of the composition, and putting himself into it, so the focus became the song. The dexterity and elevated playing only become timeless in the context of a strong vehicle and, like all artists, he understood that. I admired his singing as much as his playing, It was just part and parcel of the whole thing.

  COLONNA: Bill Campbell, a very influential white blues guitarist in Austin, told Stevie, “Man, you gotta start singing. Find a singer you really like and copy him.” And Stevie decided to copy Doyle, who had copied Ray Charles and Bobby “Blue” Bland. Doyle had a
tremendous voice, and he was Stevie’s model.

  BRAMHALL II: Stevie told me many times that he wanted to sound like a combination of Bobby Bland and my dad.

  SUBLETT: He really wanted to be a good singer, and he worked hard at it. Stevie wasn’t gonna just learn the words and make do. He approached it with the same seriousness and intent that he did his guitar playing. I walked into our apartment one night, and Stevie was sitting on the floor singing along with a Ray Charles record. He sang it one time, then stopped and said, “Is it this way or this way?” and then sang it a slightly different way; his ears were so acute, and he was homing in on the minute subtleties.

  Stevie’s last gig with the Cobras, Soap Creek Saloon, 10/77. (© Ken Hoge)

  I said, “Dude, they both sound great!” He was focusing on this one little phrase, listening to the microtones, the really tiny units between the notes which most of us can’t hear. He was thinking about it on a much deeper level because his hearing and analysis of things were really deep.

  LAYTON: The second time I saw the Cobras, Rodney Craig overslept and was late, so Joe said, “Chris, come up here and play with us!” He vouched for me, but none of the band knew me, so they kept saying, “Let’s just wait.” But the Soap Creek was packed, so they finally called me up and we launched into a song. I looked around for a cue, and Stevie was looking back at me, giving me a nod of approval and a couple of winks. It’s cool that my first encounter with Stevie was us playing together.

  CRAIG: I had a family and would work construction all day, come home, take a nap, get up to play a gig, come home at 3:00 a.m., go to bed, and start over the next day. I ended up oversleeping occasionally, and that one turned out to be historical. Chris was in the right place at the right time.