Throat cancer.
If you've ever watched Austin City Limits on PBS, you are familiar with his work.
Jerry Jeff Walker R.I.P.
-
Raindog
- Reactions:
- Posts: 226
- Joined: Wed May 27, 2020 5:21 pm
- Location: In a cave, Coldwater, AL, USA, Earth, Milky Way
- Contact:
I love this version he did of Mr. Bojangles. I thank him for his music. He'll be missed.
This is one of my favorite videos with him in it. I so wish that I had a better copy.
This is one of my favorite videos with him in it. I so wish that I had a better copy.
Texas' best and most iconic singer-songwriters in that Letterman vid. Hits me in the feels every time I see it.
I love the story Todd Snider (a long time admirer and eventual close friend) tells of them walking out of a bar in the wee hours of the morning onto a deserted street and hearing a lone guitarist , sitting at the curb in the distance playing Mr. Bojangles. When they get close Snider wonders if he should tell the musician who he's in the presence of. He decides to let Jerry Jeff handle it his way. Jerry Jeff just says "That's a good song, isn't it?". And they walk away....
I love the story Todd Snider (a long time admirer and eventual close friend) tells of them walking out of a bar in the wee hours of the morning onto a deserted street and hearing a lone guitarist , sitting at the curb in the distance playing Mr. Bojangles. When they get close Snider wonders if he should tell the musician who he's in the presence of. He decides to let Jerry Jeff handle it his way. Jerry Jeff just says "That's a good song, isn't it?". And they walk away....
-
fullonshred
- Reactions:
- Posts: 505
- Joined: Wed May 27, 2020 1:41 pm
RIP JJW. Peace to all who love him.
Just posted by Bob Livingston, Jerry Jeff's bass player in the Lost Gonzo Band. I particularly appreciate it because it captures the aura of Texas and it's music in the seventies.
"Jerry Jeff was ornery. And we got down to it a few times. I mean really down to it. But we were brothers in a way, so that goes with the territory. I’ve never met a more resilient, roll-with-the punches grumpy butt. He just went for it, whatever it was. He was a master of the “Vegas Move” whereby you go for a U-turn on a 6 lane highway in full traffic. That was Jerry Jeff. That was his life.
Jacky Jack was a fearless leader who led us down twisty turny roads fought with high adventure. Musically, he was all instinct. He called a great set, there was never a set list. Most songs started with him bashing on his guitar. There was never a count-off. Jerry Jeff was the center of it all and his rhythm was right in the pocket. We were young and green and right from the get-go it was full-tilt. It all seemed somewhat surreal. The audiences loved the music so much. They loved him. And they loved the band. Every song we played was a hit to those crowd’s ears and eyes. And the joints were always sold-out whether it was, Billy Bob’s Texas, the Palomino, the House of Blues or Carnegie Hall. And a thousand more.
But he was ornery. Someone would yell out a request and he would cuss them out right on stage. And the audience would laugh and roar. They expected moments like this. He was everybody’s favorite crazy uncle and got away with a lot. He made sure that no one could tell him what to do. At any cost. In the 70’s we toured as Jerry Jeff Walker and the Lost Gonzo Band. We were all on a big record label called MCA. In Boston, the label promo guy had set up radio shows and in-store appearances for all of us to promote the shows in the area. It was going to be great. Jerry Jeff told them them he wasn’t having any of it. “F—- ‘em” he said. And he didn’t show. Time and time again. But at the concerts to follow, people were hanging from the rafters going batshit crazy. “I love that Sangria Wine!” And they bought a lot of records from those same stores and later on they bought a lot of CDs at the gigs. A lot of self produced CDs. Go figger…
In New York City we once played a punk thrash-rock club called Tramps. All the displaced Texans in town turned out to raise hell. Almost 2,000 of them. They held aloft their Lone Star long-necks, that had been flown in especially for the show, high above their heads and sang every word to every song. “The man in the big hat is buying…” It was intense and thrilling. Rocky, the sound man, said it was the loudest band he had ever heard in the club. “But It wasn’t your fault. The f’ing people were singing so f’ing loud I couldn’t hear a f’ing thing youse guys were doing. So I kept turning the f’ing PA up, and up, and they would sing even f’ing louder. I couldn’t believe it! It was f'ing madness!” It was hot, sweaty and loud in that cavern, and I always said that Jerry Jeff was the first punk rocker.
He had a good pretty good work ethic, if you can call it that. He would talk guitars all day and play every day. He’d write a song, usually about Susan who had saved his life a time or two. He said, “Write a song about your wife. It’ll get you out of a lot of trouble.” He would go jump in Barton Springs and then hit all the music stores in Austin. Make the circuit. Straight Music. Heart of Texas. South Austin Music. Erlewine Guitars. They would see him coming. He would play every guitar in the place. He might buy a rare J-45, play it for a few weeks and sell it for far more than he paid just because he had played it. I told him he should open his own shop, “Scamp’s Guitars.”
He never wanted to sleep. He would stay up for days. He had been awake longer than anyone. Sometimes the band had to be made of rubber to bend and weave with him out to the edge and back. A roller coaster! We had a kick-ass group and would go wherever he wanted. And he appreciated that our driving force might take him to places that he may not have gone otherwise. In a Texas Monthly interview, Jerry Jeff said that Michael Murphey, who we had also played and recorded with, wanted more control of the band and only recorded in world class studios. Jerry Jeff said he never told us what to play. He said he depended on that. Our energy mixed with his. And we would record in an abandoned dry cleaners, a dance hall or in his man-cave at home. He never wanted anything too organized. He would be finishing a song up to the last second. On Viva Terlingua, the song Gettin’ By, which kicks off the album, had 20 different takes, all with completely different lyrics. All his records had a live good-time feel. Recorded in primitive conditions. He always liked my bass playing. Called it “neanderthal bass.”
I met him at the Troubadour in Los Angeles in 1970. I had met Murphey a few months before and we had become friends. We heard that Jerry Jeff was in town opening for Linda Ronstadt. Murphey and JJ had been great friends, but I had never met him. Of course I knew about him, had heard Mr. Bojangles in Lubbock in about ‘67. I didn’t know who was singing at the time but it stopped me in my tracks. When Jerry Jeff walked onstage that night at the Troubadour, I knew this guy was way different. Cowboy hat, a funky velvet jacket and some loose bell-bottom pants. When he sat down to play, his pants came up to reveal the coolest boots I’d ever seen. I’d later come to know they were made by a boot maker in Austin called Charlie Dunn. He would write about it and tell Charlie’s story dead on.
This is the stuff I want to remember. The high hill country rain good time fun. Never a blue note. Everything up and happening. Leaping and the net sometimes not appearing. And he was all right with that. Now there are three gonzo’s down in 2020. Riley Osborne, Kelly Dunn and Jerry Jeff. That “old time feeling comes sneaking down the hall.”
But as the David Halley song he sang says, “I wish hard living didn’t come so easy to me.” It all caught up to him. He lived hard and played hard. I will miss you Scamp. We all will. Fly safe, Gypsy Songman. Love to Susan, Django, Jesse Jane and the grandkids."
"Jerry Jeff was ornery. And we got down to it a few times. I mean really down to it. But we were brothers in a way, so that goes with the territory. I’ve never met a more resilient, roll-with-the punches grumpy butt. He just went for it, whatever it was. He was a master of the “Vegas Move” whereby you go for a U-turn on a 6 lane highway in full traffic. That was Jerry Jeff. That was his life.
Jacky Jack was a fearless leader who led us down twisty turny roads fought with high adventure. Musically, he was all instinct. He called a great set, there was never a set list. Most songs started with him bashing on his guitar. There was never a count-off. Jerry Jeff was the center of it all and his rhythm was right in the pocket. We were young and green and right from the get-go it was full-tilt. It all seemed somewhat surreal. The audiences loved the music so much. They loved him. And they loved the band. Every song we played was a hit to those crowd’s ears and eyes. And the joints were always sold-out whether it was, Billy Bob’s Texas, the Palomino, the House of Blues or Carnegie Hall. And a thousand more.
But he was ornery. Someone would yell out a request and he would cuss them out right on stage. And the audience would laugh and roar. They expected moments like this. He was everybody’s favorite crazy uncle and got away with a lot. He made sure that no one could tell him what to do. At any cost. In the 70’s we toured as Jerry Jeff Walker and the Lost Gonzo Band. We were all on a big record label called MCA. In Boston, the label promo guy had set up radio shows and in-store appearances for all of us to promote the shows in the area. It was going to be great. Jerry Jeff told them them he wasn’t having any of it. “F—- ‘em” he said. And he didn’t show. Time and time again. But at the concerts to follow, people were hanging from the rafters going batshit crazy. “I love that Sangria Wine!” And they bought a lot of records from those same stores and later on they bought a lot of CDs at the gigs. A lot of self produced CDs. Go figger…
In New York City we once played a punk thrash-rock club called Tramps. All the displaced Texans in town turned out to raise hell. Almost 2,000 of them. They held aloft their Lone Star long-necks, that had been flown in especially for the show, high above their heads and sang every word to every song. “The man in the big hat is buying…” It was intense and thrilling. Rocky, the sound man, said it was the loudest band he had ever heard in the club. “But It wasn’t your fault. The f’ing people were singing so f’ing loud I couldn’t hear a f’ing thing youse guys were doing. So I kept turning the f’ing PA up, and up, and they would sing even f’ing louder. I couldn’t believe it! It was f'ing madness!” It was hot, sweaty and loud in that cavern, and I always said that Jerry Jeff was the first punk rocker.
He had a good pretty good work ethic, if you can call it that. He would talk guitars all day and play every day. He’d write a song, usually about Susan who had saved his life a time or two. He said, “Write a song about your wife. It’ll get you out of a lot of trouble.” He would go jump in Barton Springs and then hit all the music stores in Austin. Make the circuit. Straight Music. Heart of Texas. South Austin Music. Erlewine Guitars. They would see him coming. He would play every guitar in the place. He might buy a rare J-45, play it for a few weeks and sell it for far more than he paid just because he had played it. I told him he should open his own shop, “Scamp’s Guitars.”
He never wanted to sleep. He would stay up for days. He had been awake longer than anyone. Sometimes the band had to be made of rubber to bend and weave with him out to the edge and back. A roller coaster! We had a kick-ass group and would go wherever he wanted. And he appreciated that our driving force might take him to places that he may not have gone otherwise. In a Texas Monthly interview, Jerry Jeff said that Michael Murphey, who we had also played and recorded with, wanted more control of the band and only recorded in world class studios. Jerry Jeff said he never told us what to play. He said he depended on that. Our energy mixed with his. And we would record in an abandoned dry cleaners, a dance hall or in his man-cave at home. He never wanted anything too organized. He would be finishing a song up to the last second. On Viva Terlingua, the song Gettin’ By, which kicks off the album, had 20 different takes, all with completely different lyrics. All his records had a live good-time feel. Recorded in primitive conditions. He always liked my bass playing. Called it “neanderthal bass.”
I met him at the Troubadour in Los Angeles in 1970. I had met Murphey a few months before and we had become friends. We heard that Jerry Jeff was in town opening for Linda Ronstadt. Murphey and JJ had been great friends, but I had never met him. Of course I knew about him, had heard Mr. Bojangles in Lubbock in about ‘67. I didn’t know who was singing at the time but it stopped me in my tracks. When Jerry Jeff walked onstage that night at the Troubadour, I knew this guy was way different. Cowboy hat, a funky velvet jacket and some loose bell-bottom pants. When he sat down to play, his pants came up to reveal the coolest boots I’d ever seen. I’d later come to know they were made by a boot maker in Austin called Charlie Dunn. He would write about it and tell Charlie’s story dead on.
This is the stuff I want to remember. The high hill country rain good time fun. Never a blue note. Everything up and happening. Leaping and the net sometimes not appearing. And he was all right with that. Now there are three gonzo’s down in 2020. Riley Osborne, Kelly Dunn and Jerry Jeff. That “old time feeling comes sneaking down the hall.”
But as the David Halley song he sang says, “I wish hard living didn’t come so easy to me.” It all caught up to him. He lived hard and played hard. I will miss you Scamp. We all will. Fly safe, Gypsy Songman. Love to Susan, Django, Jesse Jane and the grandkids."
-
Raindog
- Reactions:
- Posts: 226
- Joined: Wed May 27, 2020 5:21 pm
- Location: In a cave, Coldwater, AL, USA, Earth, Milky Way
- Contact:
You mean Sammy Davis Jr. didn't? Was very aware of that fact. I meant that I loved that particular performance that I posted. Intimate, with very clear sound. I've found that intimacy enhances performances for me in my latter years.
Here's a great description of him from some names you might recognize - https://www.texasmonthly.com/the-cultur ... PzeuHPPuAg