Memories of STAX - Soulsville USA

The Story Begins

Beginning in late May of 1969, I was the staff keyboard player at STAX Records.  In those days, I was called "Sandy", which was my middle name.  I went to Memphis specifically to ask for work at STAX, which, in my heart, was the best record company producing the best music anywhere on the planet.  

Previously, I played Hammond organ with the Soul Survivors, one of whom ridiculed my total obsession with STAX music.  One day, on the way to rehearsal in New York City, I made a spur of the moment decision to quit the Soul Survivors.  I had a suitcase with a few day's worth of clothes and all the money I could gather.  I got on the next plane to Memphis, that same afternoon.  (read about the Soul Survivors here) 

On that day, I knew just one thing: 926 McLemore Avenue, Memphis, Tennessee.  That's what was printed on all my STAX records.  That's all I felt I needed to know.  

I believe the plane probably stopped at every airport between New York and Memphis.  I arrived in Memphis at about 3am, and took a taxicab to 926 McLemore Avenue, where I could see the dark STAX building in the night mist.  The streetlight had a halo around it, and no marquee lights were on.  I can still remember the goose bumps on my arms.  That taxi driver must have thought I was crazy, standing in the street, looking at a dark building in the middle of the night, talking to myself.  I asked him to bring me to the closest motel - that was the Holiday Inn on 3rd Street, about a mile away from STAX.

About 10 the next morning when I arrived at STAX with my suitcase in hand, I wasn't allowed to go inside immediately, because I had no specific appointment.  After I explained I was here to ask for a job, and I'd flown down (all night) from New York, Sam Tatum, who was the security guard, kindly allowed me to wait in the lavender and purple reception lobby.   

In about an hour, Al Jackson arrived.  He looked at me (and my suitcase) kind of strangely, and asked, "Hey, baby - don't I know you?"  I introduced myself, told him I was a Hammond player and I quit the Soul Survivors yesterday.  He said, "Yeah!  C'mon, man!", and brought me in the back to the studio with him.  Buzzed through the door by the receptionist, the lavender carpeting instantly changed to deep, deep green.  I'd never seen such a clash in my life, until we walked down the hall, and the carpeting suddenly changed to bright red!  The color scheme at STAX was shocking.

I suppose my excitement was obvious, that's probably an understatement.  Duck Dunn and Steve Cropper arrived about noon, and I just hung around, sitting in the studio, or quietly following them into the control room, looking, listening, and waiting for a chance to let somebody know - I wanted to play.  My suitcase was parked right next to the Hammond.  About 1pm, Booker arrived, and I nearly fainted.  I actually had to go sit down.  I'm lucky he disappeared as quickly as he did, or I think I really would have fainted.      

My chance in a lifetime came just a little later that day.  Duck had gone out of the studio.  Al asked me if I wanted a soda.  He got some sodas, then talked to Steve about the song "Expressway", which the MGs did as an instrumental.  We were in the studio, at the piano bench, drinking sodas, and Duck came back in.  Within a minute, I was talking with Al, Duck, and Steve about wanting to play at STAX - and ONLY at STAX - and they listened to what I had to say.  I played piano and Hammond for them, heads were nodding, smiles were on our faces, eye contact, and we talked some more.  Then some more Hammond, and more talk.  I was astounded that Al and Steve and Duck really liked my playing - I was astounded that they even listened to me!

Being astounded was nothing - I was going to be there the next day! 

It was just about that loose and laid back.  Al, Duck, and Steve said, "See you tomorrow, Sandy!", then they just disappeared somewhere, out the studio door.  There was no question in my mind what that meant.  I didn't know where they went, but I was pretty sure what they were talking about.

I played more piano, played Hammond some more, and my mind was racing.  I was talking to myself and talking to the Hammond - at the same time! 

I also knew I had a minor crisis on my hands.  I had very little time to work: I had to become a session player, and stop thinking of music as if I was in a band, on a stage, playing for a crowd of people.  I remember this very clearly: playing, reprimanding, lecturing myself for playing too much, for playing stretched out 5 note chords when 3 notes would be better, for playing low octaves with my left hand - that was Duck's range, not mine.  I had to readjust my mind, and I had to do it fast.  If I ever needed a tranquilizer in my life, that was the time.

By about 5pm, my heroes had gone home, and nobody had chased me out of the building.  I can remember the adrenaline, the amazement, the excitement, even now, close to 30 years later.  I was on the border of complete overload - I was in Heaven without having to die!

That night (and for the next three or four nights), I slept on the sofa in the conference room at STAX.  I drank sodas and ate junk food from the vending machines, and took showers in the men's room stall shower.  I had to move the mop bucket out of the way to take a shower.  My suitcase stayed under the conference room sofa, it was a perfect fit.  I probably played the Hammond every hour of the day and night when studio A wasn't in use.

The next day, I played my first session at STAX, and I'm not positive whose session it was, but I believe it was for the Mad Lads.  I'm sure Al was the producer.  I clearly remember I played only Hammond, no piano parts, and we cut three songs - no overdubs.

At that time, Henry Bush was the maintenance man, and he found out by the second night that I was staying in the conference room.  He was there later than anybody else, and caught me wandering around at night after everyone had left the building.  He didn't throw me out, and I remember Henry sitting in the studio, listening to me play, snapping his fingers, encouraging and complimenting me.  I also remember I was going through a complete transformation: I had been playing live shows for so long, I recognized the need to play less, so I could fit into the simple rhythm tracks at STAX.  

During the first few days, I met a lot of people at STAX, and had a chance to "sing my song" to anyone and everyone that would listen.  My "song" mainly consisted of how excited I was to be at STAX, I would never go back to New York again, and STAX was the greatest record company in the world!  I think some of the STAX people were surprised that I felt so much admiration and love for STAX.  

When I first met David Porter, I was very confused, and somehow thought he was Dave Prater, from Sam and Dave.  I know I made a complete idiot of myself plenty of times - so many things were confusing at first. 

Another thrill happened during those first few days.  One night, maybe 8pm, Jim Stewart called down from the hall door - about 100' away - into a dark A studio where I was playing Hammond, and mistook me for Booker.  At that point, I hadn't met Jim Stewart yet, and I didn't even know he was the President of STAX Records!  Henry was there, he told me who he was, and I was speechless!  I recognized the name "Jim Stewart" from my album covers, but I thought he was a producer and an engineer - I didn't realize he was the President of STAX!

That actually happened many times - people would call "Booker" into a dark studio, and I'd respond, "It's Sandy."  I'm not sure how much sleep I got in the conference room, but it probably wasn't very much.  I would walk around STAX late at night, thinking, "Holy Jesus!  Otis Redding walked here!"  I played tapes I found in the conference room on the old Ampex and McIntosh built into the wall in there.  I knew where the Hammond was, the vending machines, and the bathroom.  I didn't need much more than that.  I realize that sounds totally crazy, but I'm telling it like it WAS.  I was 19, a child in many ways, running on nothing but pure soul.  For me, at that time, this was the epitome of what life really meant.  I was trying to live my dreams.

If you possibly can, try to imagine how a little kid might feel, if he suddenly found himself really, actually standing in Santa Claus' house.  Now multiply that feeling by ten thousand. 

Within three or four days, I'd played about 3 sessions.  Steve made an appointment, and I was sent to Jim Stewart's office to ask him for a job.  To illustrate how little I knew, I didn't even know where Jim Stewart's office was - I had to be told.  (It was right near the reception lobby, at the bend in the hall, the first door where the carpet was green.)  Judy Williams was his secretary then, and she gave me some good advice before I saw him.  I recall tying up my ponytail a lot neater and pushing it into the back of my shirt.  I was careful to keep my mouth shut when he was talking, and I did not use any profanity. 

I remember being a little nervous.  I called him "Mr. Stewart" and "Sir" several times, and he told me to relax, have a seat, he offered me a soda, and told me to call him Jim.  He asked me about myself, and I told him about running away from home when I was almost 14 to play in an R&B band, how we played mostly STAX music, and how I left New York to come to Memphis.  I told him how much I wanted to play, but I would sweep the floors if that's what I had to do, because all I wanted was to work at STAX, and have STAX music in my life.  I didn't want to work with or for anybody else.  No other record company was good enough for me.  Not only did I say that, I really, truly believed it! 

I remember Jim being somewhat "businesslike", but what's stayed with me for all these years is that he was so gracious, down to earth, and seemed very interested in me as a person, a musician, and interested in my life.  Not a word was spoken about it, but I think he also knew I was staying in the conference room.

It's amazing to think back on how idealistic and arrogant a 19 year old could be.  Maybe I was young and naive, I certainly didn't know the ins-and-outs of STAX yet, but I sure knew what I wanted. 

(As I write this, I'm also remembering that, before going to Memphis, I was living right in New York City, and never had any interest in going to Atlantic for session work.)

After we talked for awhile, Jim made a phone call, and instructed the Holiday Inn to charge my room, meals, cleaning, phone calls, and other incidentals to STAX.  He explained this would be an audition period for me, which would last at least several weeks, possibly a month or more.  STAX would pay for the sessions I played, pay my expenses, and I was even offered the use of a company car.

During the audition period, I played on many sessions, almost all with the MGs.  I recall that for the first few sessions, I was recorded on my own track, and really isolated, so I could be erased later, if necessary, without losing any other instruments.  Nobody said that out loud, but as time went on, I interpreted it as I began to learn how the sound baffles were normally used.  

After a few weeks of sessions, I was told by either Al or Steve that I had to join the Musician's Union.  I was sent to see Bob Taylor at Local 71, because I had to be a Union musician to "legally" play on STAX sessions. 

I didn't even know that, because my previous checks were given to me in the Accounting department, and I was allowed to cash them right there in the office.  If I recall correctly, the lady in Accounting office was also named "Sandy".  I thought that's how it was normally done by everyone.  Raymond brought me to the Union office, and I joined the Musician's Union the same day.  Bob Taylor allowed me to pay my initiation fees on the "starving musician payment plan".  Bob also became a very good friend to me.  Besides being the Vice President of the Union (later President), Bob also played trumpet on many huge Elvis Presley records, and a lot of other hit records.  I don't ever remember him playing horn at STAX, but he came there frequently. 

There were so many things I didn't know or understand at that time.  I knew nothing at all about the STAX-Atlantic distribution problems, company changes, or the sale of STAX.  Initially, I didn't know Jim Stewart was the President of STAX, and I had no idea where the name "ST-AX" even came from.  I didn't meet Estelle Axton for probably three months or more.  I was completely ignorant of millions of other things, too. 

I knew for sure that I loved the music that was created there, and I wanted to play a part in it, too.  I knew the keyboard parts on nearly every STAX/Volt record, and I knew that this "feel" was what I should be playing - nothing else. 

In 1969, I don't think I knew what the word "destiny" meant.

Within three or four weeks, Steve brought me into Jim Stewart's office before a session got started.  At first, Steve didn't say anything to me, except that we were going to see Jim.  I thought I was going to be told to leave.  I had a nervous, sinking feeling for a few minutes, hoping I hadn't done something wrong and blown my chance.  Then the good news:

Jim and Steve were very calm, but I wasn't.  They shook my (trembling) hand, and welcomed me to the STAX family.  I was put on a weekly salary plus my session pay, and they explained my responsibility.  It was just like a "real job" - I was instructed to be at STAX Monday through Friday, from about 10 or 11am to about 6pm.  Occasionally, sessions might be called on the weekends, too, or sometimes, they might run later into the night.  Being on staff meant anyone could call me to play, not just the MGs.  I was so damn excited, I nearly wet my pants. 

During that time, I caught rides to the Holiday Inn and the Musician's Union from Duck, Homer, Raymond, Al, Ronnie Capone, Steve, and several other STAX people.  Sometimes I walked to the Holiday Inn, sometimes I took a bus.  Same thing in the mornings.  I got a lot of strange, probably unfriendly, looks walking down McLemore Avenue to Third or College, but - like so many millions of other things at that time - I was totally unaware of the racial tension still remaining in Memphis, following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King.  Months later, I learned it wasn't a very good idea for a white, ponytailed hippie to be walking on McLemore Avenue before or after dark.

In these "early days", I didn't know anybody in Memphis, except the people I'd just met at STAX.  The weekends were hard to cope with, so I spent them practicing Hammond organ, piano, clavinet, and Wurlitzer electric whenever I could.  There was usually somebody at STAX on the weekends, and I'd spend hours, or the entire day, practicing.  I was alone in Memphis, about 1000 miles away from my last home and everyone I knew.  I had no car, (actually, I had no drivers license either, which is why I wouldn't use the car STAX offered), was living out of (now) two suitcases, eating junk food all day, and if I got lucky, and got there before the kitchen closed, maybe Holiday Inn food at night.

After awhile, Jim let me know that I should rent my own place soon.  Judy, the production secretary, helped me find an affordable furnished apartment not too far from STAX, and even helped me with the bus line I had to take. 

The time frame was somewhere around five or six weeks before I had a real job, and about two or three weeks later, when I rented my first place in Memphis.  I certainly was glad to get out of the Holiday Inn, even if my first apartment was a dump!  That part was insignificant - I was never in the apartment anyway, except to sleep, shower, and change clothes.  I was always at STAX.

The first complete album I recorded was Mitch Ryder's "Detroit-Memphis Experiment".  Steve produced that, and I still love it today.  That was an unusual project, because Mitch wasn't a STAX artist.  I believe his album was part of an agreement between STAX and Paramount Pictures (Gulf and Western), who had recently bought STAX.  When I listen to the tracks, I can easily hear that I was a little nervous, wanting to play the right thing, and be accepted.  At least, that's my interpretation of my playing, although others have commented differently.  One of the tracks, "Sugar Bee", was cut on the first take!  I still have the 1/4" rough mix tapes, where Ronnie's voice calls out "Sugar Bee-Take One!".

Raymond Jackson was a really good friend to me.  He took me to Lansky's on Beale Street soon after moving to Memphis.  I bought a pair of really wild blue check, flared bell bottoms there.  When I wore them to STAX, Isaac Hayes was wearing the same ones that day. 

Al Jackson was always very nice to me, frequently dropping me off at home after sessions.  He lived nearby, on Central Ave.  I guess he felt sorry for me, because I hadn't bought a car yet, and probably would have gotten lost even if I had one.  I don't understand why, but I regularly got completely mixed up and lost in Memphis.  I remember once when Ronnie Capone and I went to Al's house after work for a drink, and Al took Polaroid pictures.  Ronnie had some editing tape stuck on the bottom of his shoe.  It showed up in some of the pictures, and the joke was that he never stopped - he even brought STAX home with him at night.

It certainly didn't last long enough, but for a while, Steve was the main producer at STAX.  He called sessions just about every week.  Raymond played guitar on some of those sessions, too.  Later on, when Homer and Raymond and Bettye (We Three) got very active recording their own artists and songs, I did virtually all of their sessions.  I think they really liked my playing, and I spent a lot of time inside and outside of STAX with Raymond, going over ideas, changes, and just playing for the fun of playing.  By then, I'd gotten settled in Memphis, and had a "rent-to-buy" piano at my apartment.  Raymond really encouraged me to play a little more "experimentally" with Wurlitzer electric piano, and especially, with clavinet parts.  I used a wah wah pedal for the first time in my life with a clavinet.  He was one super guitar player too, and a fantastic guy. 

He bought me my first shoulder holster, just like his.  Wayne Jackson signed for my first .38 pistol, because I was underage.  Carrying a gun was a big thing at STAX back then.  I'd heard stories about a kidnapping, and some STAX people were held up and robbed right outside on the street. 

I remember Raymond's canary yellow Cadillac with the black roof, and Al Jackson's blue Mark III, and Steve's silver purple Buick Riviera - it had a "rolling" speedometer, like a horizontal tube.  I think Steve had a gold Mark III, too.  Cars were a big thing at STAX in 1969!  Limos and luxury cars all over the place.  Duck had a custom yellow Excalibur for awhile, but Isaac had everybody beat with his customized Super Fly Cadillac with all the gold plating and fur interior.  The parking lot behind STAX was probably worth $10 million.  I'm almost positive Booker had a conservative black Buick.

Some of the sessions at STAX "floated" .... Songs might have been cut for one artist, but ended up with another.  One example is "Slum Baby", which Homer, Bettye, and Raymond wrote.  I remember that song had lyrics, but I can't recall them.  I played Wurlitzer electric piano on that session - months later it ended up being a Booker T & the MGs single release.  Sometimes, I was not given credit or acknowledgment for my playing, or contributions to writing.  I'm not really complaining, yet I'd like to be credited with what I did.  I guess anybody would. 

I recall a big disagreement with Freddy Briggs over a song which I wrote with Margie Joseph, but he took writer's credit.  Margie came into the studio and asked me to help her with a song.  She had the lyrics, and needed the chord structure for the song.  We worked it out in about an hour or two, Gordon recorded the piano and voice on a 7.5 tape, and I was under the impression that I wrote half the song.  I still have the original voice/piano tape.

My complaints aside, I have to say that I always got paid - on time - for the sessions I cut.  STAX Records was the best in the world for that.  I haven't ever worked for anybody, anywhere, that was so meticulous about paying their musicians on time.

When Steve left to open TMI, STAX really changed.  I frequently started to do sessions outside of STAX.  I didn't have an exclusive agreement at STAX, but I was on staff there.  Regardless of any outside work, I was always available to "STAX first", no questions.  I worked quite a bit at Fame in Memphis, and most of the other studios around town, doing sessions here and there as they were available.  But my heart always belonged to the STAX sound.  It always will.

On a few rare occasions when he was in the building, Booker taught me.  I recall learning a verse from "Hang Em High", and seeing for myself that it could only possibly be played in that one way - left and right hands, an octave apart on the upper manual.  I'd never known that until he showed me.  Booker was a very quiet, dignified, polite gentleman. 

One of the things I remember is how much I wanted to get to know Booker.  I wanted to play music with him, I wanted him to teach me to play better.  But it was difficult because he was around so infrequently.  That was a disappointment to me.  Several times, I'd sit quietly in his office, watching him at his desk writing string charts - directly from his head to the paper, not even referring to the piano to try out the lines or harmonies.  That totally amazed me.  Booker was, and still is today, a rare combination of a schooled, educated musician, and also a "feel" player that can get down into a groove effortlessly.  If this sounds like a case of hero worship, maybe that's because it is. 

Later, as time went along, I was allowed to listen to master tapes, alone, in the evening.  I'd solo Booker's tracks so I could study them even more.  You can believe I spent many, many hours absorbing Booker's style of playing. 

On lots of weekends, I went out by Steve's property near Germantown with Eddie Floyd ("Greentree", as everybody called him), and his buddy/valet/chauffeur, "Castro" (Henry Hoskins).  We'd fish in a little lake out there, or walk around shooting blue jays or quail.  It must have been an interesting sight to those country folks to see a couple of black men, and a white hippie looking guy with a ponytail, riding around in a long blue Cadillac limousine, stopping at a country store to buy worms or shotgun shells.  And naturally, Eddie looked like he just stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalog - Eddie dressed!  One crazy thing I remember is Eddie letting me call some old musician friends in New York from his mobile telephone in the limo.  That was in 1969 - about 20 years before cellular phones were invented.  You had to dial a ship-to-shore operator back then.  He got on the phone, and they didn't believe it was really Eddie.  Some people just won't listen. 

At about the time I was put on staff, Raymond Jackson brought me over to see Joe Harwell, and I opened a bank account at Union Planters Bank, on Bellevue.  STAX, and most everybody from STAX, had their accounts there.

This is where I met the love of my life - Rebecca, my future wife.  I actually met Rebecca for the first time in Eddie's limo.  To make it easier for Eddie, Castro drove into the drive in teller the wrong way at Union Planter's Bank - that would put Eddie right near the teller's window, without having to lean across me.  Rebecca, who worked at the bank, gave us a lecture for going in there the wrong way .... I still hear about that, even today.  And Rebecca still adores STAX music just as much as I do. 

I didn't have the courage to ask her for a date that day, but I did a few weeks later, when I went inside the bank and had a few minutes to talk with her.  Even though I'd played on the road for years, I didn't know how to ask a girl for a date.  I know one thing: I was 19, and Rebecca was the first and only girl I ever asked for a date.  That was October 3, 1969. 

Can you guess what we did on our first date?  Dinner?  A movie?  Dancing?  No - I invited Rebecca to come to STAX to listen to a recording session.  She sat on the piano bench with me while we cut tracks and did overdubs!  I think it was instantaneous love.  On October 5th, we moved in together, and then rented a beautiful townhouse in December.

Raymond brought us to a furniture store in Memphis, and with no more than his "say so", I had enough instant credit to buy thousands of dollars of furniture for the townhouse we rented.  "You work at STAX?"  Presto!  Credit!   Just like that.  In retrospect, I'm totally amazed - we picked out furniture, and I just signed a paper.  The next day, all the furniture was delivered!  They gave me a coupon book, and I just mailed a check every month. 

I wish I still had that super king size bed with the tufted velvet headboard and matching tufted velvet bench.  It was exactly like Raymond's, but ours was blue and Raymond's was purple.  Homer (known as "Brew") had one, and Al Jackson did, too.

---

I also remember Johnny Baylor and Dino Woodard.  I had some run-ins with Dino.  I believe he deeply resented white people, or maybe it was just me.  Actually, I think he hated me - why, I don't have a clue.  Since my hair was long, I had a beard, an earring, and it was 1969, I suppose I was considered a "hippie" by some.  Whatever the case may be, Dino took pleasure in regularly ordering me around, telling me I couldn't lean on Judy's desk, etc.  He was a very confrontational person.  One day, we had some words, he hit me in the head with a gun, and I bled all over the carpeting in STAX's hallway.  He was pretty well known for hitting people with guns - it was his sport.  Deanie and David came to the rescue, but it was a really traumatic day, and required a trip to the doctor.  Johnny Baylor never gave me a problem, and I remember him being a very nice guy to me.  But I suppose we were never in a situation where we might disagree on anything.  There was a whole lot of tension in the building whenever those two guys were around, though.  I think they were really part of Isaac's "faction", where I was more part of Steve's and Raymond's.  STAX was sort of "divided" in some ways, but I never understood the how and why until a lot later.

After Steve left, STAX used some other rhythm players.  Cornell McFadden played drums, Jerry Norris played bass, Raymond Jackson did most of the guitar work.  Duck and Al still played on many sessions, but things were definitely changing.  I recall doing a couple of sessions with Bobby Manuel playing guitar, I think they were probably Raymond's and Homer's sessions.  I did plenty of sessions with this "second" rhythm section, and plenty more with the BarKays.

Very early when I first went to STAX, Allen Jones and I talked about joining the BarKays.  I declined - I couldn't do the traveling, and stay on staff at the same time.  At that time, Ronnie Gorden was playing organ with them and also worked in STAX's art department.  He wasn't much of a keyboard player.  The BarKays had him restricted to playing mainly 2/4 chord punch parts.  I sat in with them several times at club gigs in Memphis, and really enjoyed it.  They eventually found a very good keyboard player, I believe his name was Winston.

I did Albert King's tracks in B studio with James Alexander, Willie Hall, and Michael Toles.  Those were the very first sessions cut in B studio - it was recently built, and was actually still under construction.  Albert bitched at all of us because we were too young to understand the blues.  The air conditioning didn't work yet in the studio, and it must have been 100 degrees in there.  B studio was just a fraction of the size of A, so it really got hot in there - quick.  When the session started, Albert was wearing a beautiful pastel suit, matching hat, tie, vest, shoes, handkerchief, everything.  He progressively took off almost all of his clothes, and ending up sweating rivers in his underwear and socks.  It's amazing how fast you can get the blues when you're sweating like that!  Listening to playback meant we had to climb all the way up those narrow metal stairs to the control room - with Albert hardly wearing anything - and that was a sight to see!  Albert was pretty funny too, sometimes.  He'd start a song in one key, run it down, and we'd learn it with him.  Then he'd tell you it was in some other key.  (He tuned his guitar differently - probably in F# or something?) 

STAX had annual Christmas parties at the Rivermont hotel, and one year, Albert dressed in a formal white tuxedo, tails, top hat, cane, the whole works.  He danced with Rebecca, my sweetheart from the bank, and you couldn't even see her - she just seemed to disappear - it looked like Albert was dancing alone.  He was a huge man!  And Rebecca was a tiny woman!

I never saw drugs or alcohol in STAX, except maybe a bottle of scotch in somebody's desk drawer.  In those days, I guess everybody tried smoking pot, but you never saw that or smelled it anyplace in or around STAX.  And nobody ever seemed to want to drink alcohol in the studio either, except for some really rare occasions.  I played at several other studios in Memphis, and in some, we never even got started unless everybody dove into a case of beer and a few joints first.  

The atmosphere at STAX was a lot more "businesslike", but it was also loose, friendly, and a lot of fun.  Everybody at STAX was almost always cheerful, happy, and enthusiastic.  I remember a constant ongoing excitement in the air there.  It was like everybody was looking forward to the next hit record.  Let's say you saw 30 people in the production department in one day - all 30 of them were smiling and happy.  In those early days, STAX was a happy place.  It's no surprise that the best music in the world was cut in that building. 

Another thing I remember - nearly all the sessions were cut in the daytime or early evening.  STAX was like a ..... business.  Like a regular job!  I think everyone at STAX respected that atmosphere, and also refrained from some of the things they might do after working hours, or away from STAX.  I remember smoking pot with a few STAX people, but we drove away from the property first.

Another really crazy thing I remember is when STAX put in the WATS lines on the phones.  I learned that all you had to do was dial #83 or #86 from any phone, and you could make long distance calls!  I constantly called some old musician friends from STAX.  I still feel a little guilty for using the phones so much.  

I was there when Gordon Rudd started engineering at STAX, and also when David Purple started.  I went to many of Ronnie Capone's Saturday engineering classes, and was very interested in learning more about the technical side of recording music onto tape.  Henry Bush and William Brown from the Mad Lads were real active in those classes, too, and both became exceptionally good engineers.  I'm pretty sure they are both still engineering in Memphis today.  Steve also taught me a lot about engineering, tape, recording, mics, and anything associated.  I never stopped asking him questions.  I bet he spent an hour one morning showing me how tape slapback worked, and taught me how to edit tape.

When I first went to STAX, Duck and Al had their offices in the little hallway leading into what would become the B studio, but one was converted to an editing room, and the other was suddenly expanded into a big room, I think for engineering and additional tape storage.  STAX was an architectural nightmare.  Offices and walls could - and they did - just spring up or disappear overnight.  That's how things could happen at STAX - on Friday an office - on Monday, a complete editing room.  About the time that David Purple got there, they also got a mastering lathe.

Some nights, Gordon and I would sit in the control room and listen to the original 4 track masters of the STAX tours in Europe and lots of other old masters.  The tape library was between the A and B control rooms - a couple steel steps up from A, a couple wooden steps down from B.  There were literally hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of boxes of 4 and 8 track masters in there, with shelves from floor to ceiling, an entire world of soul.  We could just grab a few boxes, go into either control room, and get as much soul as a human could possibly stand.  As loud as we wanted, too!  And we could do the mix: more vocals, more horns, whatever.  I could have run off some quarter inch copies, but I never even thought of it.  I think back then, we all believed things would never end - they'd be there forever.  Some of those tapes were awesome.  The B control room was really pretty small and cramped, so A was the choice.  Plus, it had this old, worn out, brown leather sofa in front of the console.  That might have been the most comfortable sofa in the world.  

I remember when they got the new Auditronics (SpectraSonics) console in the A studio, and also the 3M-56 16 track.  Auditronics, a Memphis company, was owned by Welton Jetton, who built several of the better studios in Memphis.  I recall him being a very nice, patient man when I went there to visit, watch, and learn.  I never stopped asking questions, I wanted to learn everything about recording. 

I remember helping Ronnie, Raymond, and Gordon carry in a new EMT plate reverb unit to the room under the B control room.  That's where STAX's famous live echo chamber was located.  If I remember right, it was just a cinderblock room with a door, and had no parallel walls.  Inside were a speaker and a microphone, and sometimes, a few crickets.  One STAX story I recall was that somebody went into the echo chamber, and fired a couple rounds from a gun, because the crickets in the echo return drove him crazy while he was trying to mix.  I'm pretty sure you can hear crickets on some older STAX recordings, if you're really listening carefully.

While I'm thinking of the echo chamber, I remember something else that happened the same day we moved the EMT unit in.  This was on a Saturday, when very few production people were in the building, and the building was nearly empty.   

Raymond and I found a big sheet of clear plexiglass down there.  For some reason, I picked it up, and leaned on it.  It bent, kind of "bowed out" away from me, and made a sort of "whoomp" sound.  Raymond's eyes lit up and so did mine.

We brought it into the A studio, and I "played" it.  Gordon engineered the overdub - he thought we were completely crazy, and couldn't stop laughing.  Listen to Shack, "Too Many Lovers", it's used in the intro and in the middle.  I think we used it on a Chuck Brooks song, too.  Raymond swore us to secrecy - he wanted to keep this "new sound" to himself, so we hid it under the B control room again. 

I also remember cutting a lot of percussion parts: vibes, maracas, tambourine, wood block, cowbell, etc.

I remember when STAX changed over to the JBL monitors in the control rooms and studios.  The company sold those huge Seeburgs to anybody who wanted them.  They had 2 15 inch speakers, the old Altec cast horn, and the cabinet was double thickness wood.  They must have weighed over 200 pounds each.  Raymond helped me get them home in his Cadillac. 

I was so proud of them - Steve had an identical pair in his music room, with a whole wall full of Marantz and Revox equipment, built into a beautiful custom made wall cabinet.  So, of course I had to copy him.  I bought the Seeburgs, and bought some Marantz and Revox components, too.  Then I tried to emulate him by building a kind of "console" to flush mount the stereo components into.  I did my best, but it really wasn't much to look at. 

Steve smoked Winstons back then, can you guess what brand I switched to?  

Several times, on weekends especially, I'd go over to Steve's house on South Angela.  Being the 19 year old, inconsiderate, no-manners idiot that I was, I wouldn't wait for an invitation - I'd invite myself.  I'd just barge right in, and interrupt whatever he was doing.  Breakfast, family time, whatever.  I'm lucky he didn't kick my ass for me.  I remember shooting pool with him in his brand new "office" next to the house, and being beaten thoroughly.  (I'm not too sure he could beat me quite that easily today, though!)  He had a "Green Onions" doorbell that played chimes of the first few notes of Green Onions.  Undoubtedly, if I had known where he got it, I'm sure I would have gotten one, too.  This probably sounds crazy, but it was very easy to emulate the people I'd met at STAX.  

STAX had some very interesting promotional things.  They gave a lot of stuff away.  When they had that big album promotion, I bought almost all of the albums for $1 each.  I remember getting an entire armload of them from John Williams in the mail room, and the next day, I bought even more, and had John mail them to some old music friends up north. 

Another thing that I really remember was a watch with the STAX logo on the face.  It had a clear polarized disc instead of a second hand, and the logo would fade in and out of sight as the disc turned.  It was absolutely awesome - I just loved it!  I'd do anything to find that watch today.  I still have a walnut "We Three" coaster with the "Who's Making Love" gold record on it, too.

Here are a few tracks I cut.  I have a whole collection, literally hundreds, of other tracks, most on 1/4" tape, including some that I feel pretty sure nobody has ever heard before.  (Would you believe "Piece Of My Heart" - Mavis Staples and Eddie Floyd?)  Sadly, I no longer have the equipment to create mp3s of all those tapes.  Even sadder, time has deteriorated those old original tapes since 1972.

What I Did On My STAX Vacation

Every year, STAX closed for a company vacation.  If I remember right, this lasted for about 4 weeks.  I don't think that the building  was locked up and closed, but basically, music production, meaning session work, stopped for the vacation.  I think the office people still came to work, just not the people in the production department.

In my first year at STAX, just a few weeks before the vacation, Rufus Thomas was giving away a handful of tickets for the Ike and Tina Turner Revue.  I'd never heard of Ike and Tina Turner at that time, but everybody in the company was saying they were really awesome, and did an incredible live show.  So I asked for two tickets, and went to see the Ike and Tina Turner Revue with Rebecca, my love from the bank.  They were playing at Club Paradise, which I think was once a bowling alley, complete with the low ceiling.  It was pretty large, seating a thousand or more people.  If you can picture this, there was row after row after row of long tables, placed end to end, covered in white tablecloths.  And folding metal chairs.  You were sitting next to and right across from total strangers.  Half the people faced the stage, the other half had their backs to the stage.  This seemed a little unusual to me at first, but all the people at our table were very cool.  By about 9pm, the place was packed full, and I'm glad Rebecca and I got our seats early.

At about 10pm the band started.  It was a rhythm section and four or five horns, no Ike, no Tina, and no Ikettes yet.  We were in the front row center, sitting maybe 5 feet in front of the stage, and that band seriously whupped my butt!  The hair was standing straight up on my arms, and my blood pressure probably doubled.  I was awestruck at the power and energy coming off the stage.  After one or two instrumentals, they introduced Ike, he started another song, bringing out the three Ikettes, and they were just great together.  By now, the strobe lights were going, fog machines made the stage look like the moon or something, and the whole place was really getting INTO this.  After a couple of songs by the Ikettes, Ike started another, and introduced Tina.  Then the whole band went into overdrive.  I just couldn't believe the power coming off that stage!  The arrangements were so solid and tight, one song just sliding into the next, Ikettes dancing and singing, Tina controlling the whole room like magic, and that band underneath it all, just like a freight train.  That set hit me so hard, I was almost gasping for breath.  This is no joke.

After the first show, I walked over to Ike and said hello.  I told him how much I liked the show, and I thought the band was astounding.  He was real nice, asked me about myself, what I played, and so on.  Being a 19 year old wiseass, I said, "I heard you need a keyboard player."  He interpreted the sarcasm instantly, laughed, and asked me to stay until after the second show.  He wanted to hear me play.  That was easy enough to do.  They did the second show, and again, completely blew me away with the power and precision.  I'd seen James Brown, Otis, Sam and Dave, Pickett, Joe Tex, and dozens of others live - Ike and Tina just tore it UP!  Believe me, the Soul Survivors was NOTHING like this!

About 2am, after the show was over and the roadies started packing up equipment, Ike brought me over to the old grand piano at the back of the stage, and I sat down and played.  He pitched songs at me real fast, and I played them (or tried to) in the keys he was calling.  In a minute, he called into the back, "Ditta, come on out here!"  Tina came out in a robe and slippers, the Ikettes following, and half the band came out.  Tina's asking if I know one song, Ike's asking for another, and the Ikettes are still singing parts of the last one. 

The piano pedals were broken, and when you pushed one, the whole contraption swung way back under the piano.  I'm slipping off the metal chair, trying to hold the piano pedals in place with my left foot, push with my right, and not slide under the piano, all at once.  Meanwhile, my date, Rebecca, was standing there laughing at me, because I almost went under that damn piano about 30 times.  I'm sorry to say it, but Tina looked so different without her stage clothes, wig, and makeup, I wasn't really sure it was her.  I hope she'll forgive me for writing this, and understand I never saw her before.  (It gets worse than this - keep reading.)  I discovered Tina's nickname was "Ditta", because she was crazy about "Philly Dog" (MarKeys), and constantly sang the horn parts as "ditta, ditta".  Then we were invited to a great party in a hotel downtown, where Ike told me all about his new studio, Bolic Recording, and I tried snorting coke for the very first time.  Ike offered me a job playing piano, and I kind of accepted it.  We paraded around the party suites, he introduced me to about a hundred people as "his new keyboard player", and pumped my ego up to the moon.  Man, it really felt great, I'll tell you.  He asked me to leave for New Orleans with them in the morning.  But I absolutely couldn't leave Memphis until I cleared things with STAX.  I knew STAX was going to close for vacation within a week or so, and I thought this would be a great opportunity to go out to California and record with Ike and Tina.  Well, that was my FIRST major misunderstanding with Ike, but I'll get to that at some other time.  Before the night was over, Rhonda, the road manager, wrote me a check and issued an airline ticket for me with no dates filled in yet.  I was flying!

A few weeks later I flew out to Los Angeles, and Rhonda picked me up at the airport - in the Rolls Royce of course, with the BOLIC license plate.  I'd never even SEEN a Rolls before!  And I think this one had TWO phones, one in front, one in back.  She brought me up to the Turner's home, which was a really beautiful house on Olympiad Drive, in the Baldwin Hills area.  Ike was sleeping when I arrived, so I hung around in the living room and played piano for awhile.  Then, a really pretty, friendly lady asked me if I wanted something to eat or drink.  I followed her into the kitchen where she made me a sandwich, and she asked me why I hadn't spoken to her.  I said I was sorry, but I didn't know her.  It sounds crazy, but in a new situation, I get shy and embarrassed.  She was, of course, Tina.  And I didn't recognize her.  I felt like the world's biggest moron.  I probably apologized eighty times.  She just laughed about it, thank God.

When Ike woke up, we went down to the studio, which wasn't actually a studio just yet, it was a building with a lot of lumber piled up inside.  He showed me where the two control rooms would be, studios, walls, and I got a good idea of what was coming in the future.  Then we went to rehearsal in another building, a few doors away.  Ike put me into a motel right up the street from the rehearsal room, and I stayed there for a few days, rehearsing every day and hanging around when Ike or any of the players were around.  Gordon Rudd, from STAX, and his wife, Laurel, were also out in California during the STAX vacation, and they really wanted to meet Ike and Tina.  I asked permission, made the calls, Ike gave them directions, and they came over to the Turner's house.  We all had a drink and a nice visit.  Ike was very interested in some of the engineering secrets at STAX, and Gordon explained quite a few.

I think I stayed in LA for just about 3 weeks.  I played three local (LA area) shows, rehearsed a lot, and snorted a lot of coke.  On the last weekend, we flew to San Francisco - there were about 20 of us, all together.  It was amazing, just going through an airport with Ike and Tina!  We were treated like royalty!  We played at Winterland, and it was a great concert.  After that, I decided to go back to Memphis, so I flew back the next morning. 

Back home - back to Rebecca - back to Memphis.  Back to STAX.

Ike Turner:  November 5, 1931 - December 12, 2007 I'll always remember you, Ike Ike Turner Pages

(Not) Getting Rich Playing Sessions

It occurred to me that many people might not know much about recording sessions and payment for doing them.

In the late 60s, the more fortunate session musicians would play for "union scale".  In 1969, union scale was $85 for a session.  Each session was defined as three hours or three songs, whichever came first.  In theory, if you spent the whole day in the studio, you probably did two or three sessions.  The union charged the player a small percentage of the session pay as work dues.  For each $85 session, the work dues were $1.70.  The normal procedure that STAX followed was (1) the session was called and played, then (2) it was filed with the union, (3) STAX's accounting department issued the checks and sent them over to the union office, and (4) the players went to the union office, paid their work dues, and picked up their check. 

This was a simple process, and something you did maybe once every week or two, unless you needed the money right away, like I usually did.  It was a great place, because you always bumped into a lot of the other players in the union office, and Bob Taylor always made you laugh.  I'm going to write about Bob someday soon, he was a great guy.

Each session had a leader, and normally the leader was paid double union scale.  For example, if Steve was producing an album on Mavis Staples, he would call for the specific musicians, and he'd typically play guitar on each song.  He would file the session in STAX's production office with himself as the leader.  At that time, Judy was the production secretary who kept all of the information going in the right directions.  If Steve was producing, but not playing on the session, one of the players would be filed as the leader.  An example would be overdubbing horns.  Wayne, Andy, and possibly one or two more horn players would do the session, and one of them would be defined as leader.  I believe, but I'm going to check the facts carefully on this, that when horns were cut live with the rhythm section, that was actually one session, with one leader.

A slightly grey area regarding session pay was in fixing parts.  If a player had already cut a session, he might be asked to change or fix his parts, days or weeks after the session was done.  Sometimes this would be paid for, sometimes it wasn't. 

Another somewhat grey area was the "demo session".  This was a regular session, but the producer or the leader (sometimes the same person) called the session a "demo", possibly because there was no current probability of it being released as a single record, thus no budget for it.  This was never done at STAX that I know of, but it was done in several other Memphis studios in those days.  I played on some sessions and was paid for a "demo session", learning later on that the songs had been pressed and released for sale.  I'm not exactly sure how the filing was done for those sessions, if at all, but rarely was I paid the difference between regular session scale and demo pay when the masters were released.  I remember times driving around in the car, recognizing myself on the radio, and wondering if I ever got paid for that session?  On one or two occasions, Bob Taylor at the union intervened and straightened out the situation.  Some sessions, I wasn't paid at all.  But that's just part of growing up and learning. 

Looking past the ego and excitement of cutting records, it might seem at first that session players earned a whole lot of money for their work.  The truth is, if the player was fortunate enough to do a lot of sessions, and get paid union scale for most of them, or even leader scale, that player was certainly earning a good living.  Very few players were that fortunate.  In reality, a lot of players just barely got by on the session pay they earned.  And, back in the old days, things were a bit different.  Royalties, or residuals, weren't paid to the session players.  To clarify - each record sale generates a certain amount of profit.  For each copy sold, the writers, publishers, and artist get a certain amount, the record company gets a certain amount, the producer gets a certain amount.  But the session players already got paid - they didn't get royalties.  Back then, they rarely ever got credit on the album notes for playing, either.  If the record bombed, if it sold 2 million copies, or if it was never released - the session player got union scale pay - $85 in 1969 - for playing on it.  By the end of 1970, scale had gone up to $90 per session, and work dues were up to $1.80.  That doesn't seem like very much, compared to today's wages, but in 1969, gasoline cost less than 35 cents per gallon.  I believe the situation is much different today, and the session players also get royalties under the new rules.

While Thinking Of Overdubbing

During the day, I was at STAX, but in the evenings, I had plenty of free time to go to the other studios in town.  I did a lot of sessions at Fame in Memphis.  Many of those were real sessions, some were demo sessions, and I was having a great time playing, earning plenty at STAX, so I really didn't care too much about the money.  Sonny Limbo was managing the studio at that time, and he was crazy.  Fame had an 8 track Scully and a tube board, I think it was a Langevin.  It had huge knobs for gain, and it got HOT!  JBL 4320 monitors, of course, and all the standard equipment you'd find in better studios.

Somewhere around December, 1970, an artist named Sami Jo came to Memphis, and we recorded several songs with her.  One of these, "Don't Hang No Halos On Me", was written by Wayne Carson Thompson, (who wrote "The Letter"), and it was picked up by Capitol Records, for release and distribution.

I don't remember exactly who played on the rhythm tracks, I think it was the usual bunch from Fame Memphis, I'm just not positive anymore.  I initially cut the rhythm track on grand piano.  Then I overdubbed Hammond.  Then Wurlitzer electric piano.  I played a simple little "slide" thing on the de-tuned low E string of a Strat in the intro parts and turns.  (By the way, I don't play guitar.)  Then more grand piano and Hammond organ at the ending.  I really thought the "take off on that bus" lyric could use a trombone (sounding kind of like a bus?), so we found someone to overdub that one note.  The lyrics said something about "cheap hotels, dirty, dingy bars", so I played a thumbtack (honky tonk) piano in that verse.  Then, there was a lyric that said "wedding plans", so I overdubbed chimes (wedding bells?).  The ending has a kind of "Leon Russell march" line in it, and that was doubled and tripled with several more keyboards.  On the fade, I did another Hammond track with percussion.  I wrote the horn lines, but I was completely against the cello part in the intro.  Actually, I was against any strings.  I thought we had a really strong track for Sami, and it didn't need anything else.  Predictably, Sonny prevailed there.  All together, I think we counted 17 different, separate tracks that I played on the song.  (All this on 1" 8 track tape - plenty of pingponging!)  We laughed about it for days.  That one song was more like 15 full sessions.  We came up with the nickname "(Do Me A) Favor Productions", a special subsidiary of "Fame Productions", in a sarcastic, beer fueled moment.  I was paid double leader scale for those sessions, and for the first time in my life, I was given label credit, too, as arranger and co-producer.  It was a thrill for me.  But when the record was pressed in stereo, I suddenly became an arranger - no more co-producer.  Sometimes Sonny was a little greedy.  Sometimes Sonny was a lot greedy.

I'm sure it took at least 3 weeks - and I mean probably 21 separate sessions - to get that one song cut and mixed.  No complaints, but sometimes, that's how things were done back then.  And maybe even today, too.

The mp3 above is not the final mix - I'm sorry - it's the last one I could find, and it doesn't have the wedding bells on it. 

Someday, I'll go through all my old 1/4" masters, and locate the final mix.  I also cut the keyboard parts in "Get It On", "More Love", and several other songs.  It was fun doing Sami's tracks.

---

Some nights, I went over to Sound Of Memphis studio, and hung around with Louis Paul, another really capable songwriter / singer / player.  We cut this sloppy version of "La La Means I Love You", just for fun.  I played piano and Hammond spinet organ, and Louis played everything else.

I could go on and on, reminiscing about the days of STAX, Memphis, and soul.  And maybe I will.  In the meantime, I listen to STAX music nearly every day of my life, just like I have since the 1960s.  It really never ends.  It's gravity.