Mystery 45s

From 'The Twilight Zone' of Bakersfield singles releases

Sid Silver is a mystery. Who was he? Tom Sims, a San Diego, Calif., collector and lawyer told me he bought a garage full of items from Bill Woods out of Woods' Bakersfield garage in the mid-1980s. "One item was a box full of unplayed 'Bumble Rumble' singles by Sid Silver," Sims said. That is the sum total of my research on that one. Also lost to antiquity: Bonnie Blue Bell. "Let's Go" is too good of a recording to raise such question marks. It is without question not Bonnie Owens, who was a friend of mine and whom Merle Haggard once described as having an "odd voice." Bonnie Blue Bell sings "Let's Go" with a Leon, whom I theorize might be Leon Roach, a vocalist with Bud Alden's band. And then there is Duke Dickson. I've dug and dug and not found even a clue. He took his "Walking Shoes" and walked on, if you'll pardon my corniness. After coming up mostly empty and banging my head on these three, any sense of humor I have left is welcome for my well-being.
Bakersfield rockabilly. Tele friend.

Me and Wanda Jackson Finally Meet

My Visit With Wanda Jackson
By Bryce Martin

If I find Wanda, it will not be the first time I have seen her in person.

Back in 1963 in my mostly wasted youth, I left my hometown of Galena, Kan., and drove in the direction of the small town of Arma, nine miles north of Pittsburg, to see the greatest singer on the planet perform. I paid at the door. Wanda Jackson, I had trouble believing, was on stage at the Blue Moon Ballroom, a place I had never visited before. It was a large building, resting off the highway about a hundred feet and the only place of any size in the vicinity.

She wore a bare-shouldered gown and looked stunning. Her voice was impossible to describe, accented with trills and lilts, smooth and clear when need be, growly, mean, impudent, and nimbly naughty at intervals. She was wild and raw, her lyrics often wonderfully bizarre and delivered in a frenetic rhapsody of rock and roll the equal of any man. Then she would deliver a soothing country ballad, in as soft and artful a voice as you would imagine from an angel.

There was a closed-off wraparound balcony that some of the boys had sneaked up the stairs to find. They wanted to peer down and get a better view of Wanda’s cleavage. It didn't appear to be a good angle for that, and the small group soon disappeared.

I walked outside when the show bid finale and stood in the gravel driveway. Wanda, with dark hair and eyes, came out and entered a waiting Cadillac. A man assisted her entry and closed her door for her. Someone whispered that it was her husband. She smiled politely, and rather sadly, I thought, as she acknowledged those of us nearest her and waved with a delicate raised hand in a goodbye gesture.

The Cadillac soon disappeared in the dark and the distance and produced a final crunch of gravel before smoothing out on the asphalt. Wanda Jackson. Here. In this place. In my universe. Tonight.

Wow. There goes my 25-year-old, grown-up prom queen.


I arrived at the Baptist church complex in Bakersfield not as early as I would have liked. I found Wanda down the sidewalk from the building where she was about to make an appearance. I introduced myself and told her I would appreciate a short interview. Her husband, Wendell, interrupted.

"I'm Wendell, her husband, and you should have notified us sooner. There is not enough time now as we're heading to where we need to go. Join us if you like."

"Afterward then," I said.

"No, we'll be leaving right after for another appointment," Wendell said. "Like I said, you should have let us know beforehand."

Since Wendell was doing the talking, I aimed my conversation toward him as we walked along, but I wanted to make sure Wanda heard. I mentioned how I had seen her perform with her Party Timers in 1963 at the Blue Moon Ballroom in Arma, Kan. She had toured with her then-boyfriend Elvis Presley while still a teenager and had made hundreds, no thousands, of appearances of the years. Still, I thought it might ring a bell since her manager at the time, Jim Halsey, was based in nearby Independence, Kan., and part of her band was from nearby Pittsburg.

"The only thing I recall, other than Wanda's singing," I said, "was some of her stage patter. In introducing one of her songs, she turned to one of the musicians backing her and said, 'We picked this song up in Russian while we were there from a little Russian boy. What was his name? Ivan Snatchertitsoff?'"

"Things have really changed since then, haven't they?" Wendell said.

I guessed that he meant going from telling bawdy, and bad, jokes in those days to holding church rallies in present day.

Wendell confirmed that the man driving the Cadillac that evening in Kansas would have been him and that the two at the time had not been married long.
...
To be continued

Here's to you, Bill

Bill Woods of Bakersfield
(To "Werewolves of London")
By Bryce Martin

Saw him at the the Blackboard with his Orange Blossom Playboys band
after Walkin' through the streets of Bako in the hot sun
He was bowin' on his fiddle and fingerin' a fast hand tellin' Buck
"Play it hot now, sonagun"

Chorus:
Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Aaahaaw
Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Aaahaaw

Crowd doin' some howlin' and roarin' round about midnight
Buck's Telecaster bigger than the downtown clock tower
Playing some Bob Wills and ah-hawin,' it was a fright
Music playin' in all its power


Chorus:
Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Aaahaaw
Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Aaahaaw

Well, I heard Bill singin' 'bout a truck drivin' man at the wheel
About headin' on down to San Antone
I heard Billy Mize backing him on a cryin' steel
The music all combined to give out a moan
I saw a long line of dancers arranging to form a square
And all their hands a-holdin'

Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Huh-big stuff
Aaahaaw
Bill Woods of Bakersfield

-30-

Give Me Back My Dancin' Shoes

Bill Woods of Bakersfield
(To "Werewolves of London")
By Bryce Martin

Saw him at the Blackboard with his Orange Blossom Playboys band
Walking through the streets of Bako in the hot sun
He was bowin' on his fiddle and fingerin' a fast hand
Tellin' Buck, "Play it hot now, sonagun"

Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Aaahaaw
Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Aaahaaw

Crowd doin' some howlin' round about midnight
His Telecaster bigger than the clock tower
Playing some Bob Wills and ah-hawin' and havin' fun
Music playin' in all its power

Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Aaahaaw
Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Aaahaaw

Well, I heard Bill singin' 'bout a truck drivin' man at the wheel
About headin' on down to San Antone
I heard Billy Mize backing him on a cryin' steel
The music all combined to give out a moan
I saw a long line of dancers arranging to form a square
And all their hands a-holdin'

Aaahaaw, Bill Woods of Bakersfield
Huh-big stuff
Aaahaaw
Bill Woods of Bakersfield

-30-

Confusing song titles that weren't odd just to be odd

1. "From Boulder to Birmingham"
2. "Big Iron"
3. "Iron Fire Shootin' Pony"

1. I knew there was a Boulder, Colo., but I never thought of it in the context of the song's title.
2. I should have guessed by all the cowboy songs Marty Robbins had done previously that "Big Iron" was a pistol.
3. I had to read the liner notes on the vinyl album to know that was the name of the singer's big rig truck.

-30-

Act Naturally, But Beware of the Consequences

Buck Owens: The Biography (Chicago Review Press, 400 pages, June 24, 2010)

For years during his long career, Buck Owens received mostly favorable publicity. He even had his own public relations staff. He had it his own way, by his own account, until now, when someone came along and decided to balance the ledger.

Eileen Sisk wrote -- finally -- what every citizen in Bakersfield had already known for years, or should have known, the truth about Buck Owens, the truth local journalists apparently feared to tread -- even after Owens' passing. By now, after the inevitable feedback, I am sure she realizes she just scratched the surface on ol' Bucko, the person. She has mined the past in a city where others in her trade feared to even shake the timbers.

-30-

Is Don Schlitz really world famous?

It's not Tootsie's Orchid Lounge. It's The World Famous Tootsie's Orchid Lounge. The shrine dive on Broadway in Nashville really is famous in some circles.

I've often wondered though, as I'm sure others have, why it has to be spelled out that something is world famous if it is world famous. Wouldn't we know without being reminded?

When you think of the song "The Gambler," as popularized by Kenny Rogers, what do you think of other than that? The movie of the same name? The songwriter?

Not the songwriter. Almost no one knows the songwriter of any given song. Most people can't even recall who sang a particular song, nor the exact title.

Yet, the daily Tennessean in its July 6, 2010, issue offers this:


"Don Schlitz
Schlitz is a world-famous songwriter who has penned some of the biggest singles ever in country music, including 'The Gambler' and 'Forever and Ever Amen.'"


It goes on. But that's the gist of it. I would argue that the two songs mentioned, one actually - "The Gambler" - received some worldwide notoriety that still holds up. That in no way means that anyone is familiar with the name Don Schlitz on anything remotely approaching a worldwide scale.

And to be absouletely accurate about it, Schlitz's contribution to "Forever and Ever Amen" was as a co-writer with Paul Overstreet. Does that make Overstreet world famous as well? There is some truth to the idea that the songs are world famous, but not the songwriters.

So what, you say. It's a journalism problem. It's flack work, or public relations, serving as journalism. It's inaccurate, misleading and irresponsible journalism right here in Music City.

--Bryce Martin

-30-