Raisin' Cain: The Wild and Raucous Story of Johnny Winter (Kindle Edition) (42 page)

Read Raisin' Cain: The Wild and Raucous Story of Johnny Winter (Kindle Edition) Online

Authors: Mary Lou Sullivan

BOOK: Raisin' Cain: The Wild and Raucous Story of Johnny Winter (Kindle Edition)
4.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“We tried using the mike, but Sonny wasn’t used to it—he wasn’t comfortable doing it,” says Johnny. “He played straight into the studio mike, which made his harp playing a little cleaner. I played piano on that record ’cause I thought it needed a piano. I liked that record a lot.”
“Sonny could play electric harp; it’s just not his thing,” said Homnick. “He made a living as an acoustic Georgia boy harmonica player and he wanted to do what worked for him. I was disappointed because it would have made things completely amazing. Believe me, being with Sonny nine months a year, I heard him do things that nobody’s heard. He could play Chicago blues like Little Walter. He could do it, but nobody can get him to play through an amp and get that sound. I know I tried.”
Johnny’s energy and enthusiasm sparked the players, who finished the album in record time. The band spent only three days in the studio (including the first day’s jam), with all but one song recorded on the first take.
“We did the whole thing in pretty much one session,” said Homnick. “We just played a live show. We didn’t know until later that they recorded the jam session. The first thing we did spontaneously, ‘Sonny’s Whoopin’ the Doop,’ became one of the songs on the album. That’s why Johnny called it
Whoopin’.
I’ve recorded and worked with a lot of different blues guys, but I never worked with anybody like Johnny Winter. He had an energy in the studio that overwhelmed everybody. He’d be jumping around yellin’ ‘Yeah!’ and making everybody enthusiastic. Every tune was wonderful; there’s only one song where we did a second take. He didn’t want me to play drums on one song, and decided later that he wanted them. So I had to play the drums listening to the headphones.”
Johnny was thrilled to be working with Dixon again, and found the sessions more enjoyable than the sessions for
Johnny Winter.
“Willie Dixon picked up things real quick,” says Johnny. “He played standup bass, which I like better than electric bass. Big Walter was such a pain in the ass, it wasn’t much fun working with Willie on
Johnny Winter.
This time it went a lot smoother.”
Although Johnny was pleased with Dixon’s performance, Homnick was critical of the bass, as well as the drums.
“Willie’s bass didn’t come out that strong in the recording,” he said. “Willie hadn’t played bass in a long time; I don’t think his fingers were as dexterous. He was getting on in age; he wasn’t at his peak at that session. I was very disappointed with my drumming because Johnny steered me to using the brushes the whole time. I use brushes on every darn song and I wanted to use sticks. The album could’ve been bumped up five notches if I was lightly slamming the sticks.”
Homnick may have been disappointed, but Johnny wasn’t fazed a bit. “Johnny thought, ‘Oh man; this will get a Grammy award!’” said Homnick. “He was Mr. Grammy at that point; he had gotten a bunch of Grammys. He thought this is something different; everybody’s gonna freak out. He was so nuts. I love that guy. He’s one of the
nicest
people I’ve ever met. He’d get pissed off at me when I gave him a hard time but he was easy to work with. When it was time to perform, it was like seeing somebody from another planet. He brought everybody up.”
Johnny released
Whoopin’
on Mad Albino Records, a label he formed specifically for that record.
Whoopin’
was pressed on red vinyl with a line drawing of Johnny’s face as the logo. “I came up with the concept for the logo and asked a friend of mine to draw it,” he says. “Susan took the picture for the cover.”
Susan’s photograph depicted all four musicians, whose names were also on the cover. “I almost fainted when the album came out and Johnny put my name in script, along with Sonny, Johnny, and Willie’s name,” said Homnick. “It was a real honor, another thing that showed me he was a true democrat. He said, ‘You played drums, you brought us all together; I’m going to give credit where credit’s due.’ That’s Johnny Winter for you, an amazing guy. A lot of love.”
Running a label would have taken more energy than Johnny wanted to invest, so he pressed 300 copies through Baldwin Productions with the idea of using those records as demos to get it released on an established label.
“I didn’t want to do the whole record company thing,” says Johnny. “Starting your own label is more bullshit than I would like to worry about. Paperwork and everything else. I don’t remember all that I had to do, but it was a pain in the ass, I remember that. I didn’t do much with Mad Albino really—I just used it as a way of getting Sonny’s record out.”
When Johnny played the Dr. Pepper Festival at Pier 84 in New York that August, he billed Terry as a special guest. Much to the delight of the audience, Terry, Dixon, and Homnick joined him for five or six songs. “I figured it would help him some,” says Johnny. “The audience seemed to like him real good.”
Whoopin’
eventually got international distribution when it was rereleased on Alligator Records in 1984.
“I told Bruce Iglauer, I’d go with him if he’d put a record out with me and release my Sonny Terry record on Alligator,” says Johnny. “That was one of the prerequisites of me goin’ with him. I knew Alligator would be better able to promote it and market it than me because I didn’t know what I was doing.
Whoopin’
did pretty good. Bruce was really surprised he sold as many records as he did.”
Iglauer was happy with the sales but doesn’t remember it a part of the deal. “It was on top of the deal with Johnny,” he said. “We released
Whoopin’
and
Guitar Slinger
as a double release at the same time.”
Terry was thrilled with the distribution and sales. “Sonny was happy too; I don’t think he had ever sold that many before,” says Johnny. “It was Sonny’s first electric album, and he said it was his favorite record. That made me feel great.”
“Sonny played it on the cassette player till we finally got a CD,” said Homnick. “‘That’s the best record I ever did’—he’d say that all the time. He loved the way he had a group behind him, and everybody followed him. He loved his singing, the way it was recorded, the tone, the arrangements. He loved everything about that album; he was tickled pink.”
 
Working with Terry reminded Johnny of the good times with Waters, so he made a surprise appearance during Waters’s performance at the first Chicago Blues Festival in May 1981. During a September break in his schedule, he followed Waters’s tour, traveling to shows at the Paul Masson Mountain Winery in California; the Delta Blues Festival in Mississippi; and clubs in New Orleans, Austin, Houston, and Dallas.
“I had been workin’ with Muddy for a while and I decided I wanted to spend more time with him,” says Johnny. “We stayed in little cabins in California wine country and had lunch and dinner with him. Muddy’s whole band was there. It wasn’t that good a band; they were pretty rotten. His band had given him notice they wanted more money, and Muddy gave them notice they were all fired. So he had to get another band together real quick. We flew to Mississippi and I played with him at the Delta Blues Festival. We drove to Texas to see Muddy too.”
When Johnny and Edgar went to see Waters at the Savoy in October 1981, Memphis Slim and John Belushi were in the audience. Johnny didn’t talk to Slim (“he seemed very standoffish—not like the kind of guy you could get close to real easy”), but had a few unkind words for his buddy Belushi.
“John Belushi was pretty big,” says Johnny. “I was drunk and called him a fat pig. He just laughed. He didn’t take me seriously. I’m glad he didn’t. I shouldn’t have said nothing.”
Susan remembers that night and a later phone conversation with the comedian. “I was so mad at Johnny,” she said. “Johnny sometimes speaks without thinking, but John forgave him.... I’ll never forget the night John Belushi called. He was ranting and raving for about two hours. He told me to call him the next day and when I did, he didn’t remember talking to me at all—he was so out of it when he called.”
Belushi continued his downward spiral. Less than five months later, he died from an overdose on a speedball—a mixture of cocaine and heroin.
Waters’s health was also on the decline. That January, he was diagnosed with lung cancer, had part of his lung removed, and began radiation. Waters wanted to keep his condition quiet, and his manager Scott Cameron respected his wishes. By late spring, his cancer was in remission, and he booked a new tour. But the cancer returned and he wasn’t strong enough to undergo another operation. He died on April 30, 1983, without Johnny ever knowing the extent of his illness.
“He didn’t want to be around his friends too much then, so I had no idea he was sick,” says Johnny. “I never saw him after he got sick.”
When Waters died of a heart attack, Johnny attended the services, even though funerals made him uncomfortable. “I went to Muddy’s funeral; I just felt like I should,” he says. “B. B. King was there; there were a lot of people there. It was a hard thing for me to go through. I was crying. I was trying to talk to B. B. King and I couldn’t even talk to him I was crying so much. It hit me hard. I missed all the times we had recording together and getting to know him. All the good times we had together that we weren’t going to have anymore. It was a hard thing for me to deal with. Seeing someone in a coffin is scary to me. You know you’re not gonna ever see that person again.”
At the beginning of the service, Waters’s slide and vocals came alive over the sound system with “They Call Me Muddy Waters,” “Hoochie Coochie Man,” and “Got My Mojo Workin’.” The sermon unnerved Johnny as well.
“Hearing Muddy’s music was strange,” he says. “It was so final. You know you’re not ever gonna hear him playing again. The sermon was pretty lame. The preacher didn’t talk about how Muddy got to be the person that he was. I don’t think he even knew him.”
Johnny traveled to the cemetery for the burial, devastated by the loss of his friend and mentor. That feeling stayed with him for quite a while. “Muddy’s death affected Johnny a lot,” said Susan. “They were close; he was very upset. He really loved Muddy after working with him. Spend a little time with him and you can’t help but love the man. He was just a wonderful person.”
Johnny eased his pain through music, appearing on
Tribute
to
Muddy
on MTV and playing several tribute shows, including a Lone Star gig with John Mayall and Canned Heat.
1982 was hard on the blues and on Johnny. Earlier that year, he lost another hero when Lightnin’ Hopkins died at the age of sixty-nine. “Nobody sounds like Lightnin’,” says Johnny. “He really had a unique style. Lightnin’ didn’t like me too much. I did ‘That Girlfriend’ and he thought I was stealing his songs. That’s just the way he was—he was a character. So I didn’t ever really get close to Lightnin’ but I still respected him a whole lot.
“When the older guys are gone, it makes it harder on the blues. So many of the good players have died. I don’t think people are as good today. Blues is a little more planned, not as spontaneous as it used to be. Not as real, not as much from the heart. It’s the way people go about makin’ their records; they’re more concerned with sales. If the blues is gonna live on, there has to be new people coming on. Like Derek Trucks—I played with him and I like him a lot; he’s real good.”
Although Paul still wasn’t having much luck getting Johnny signed to a major label, he arranged Johnny’s appearance on MTV’s
Tribute
to
Muddy
,
Late Night with David Letterman,
and
Nightline
(with B. B. King), in the spring and summer 1983. Paul’s strategy was to showcase Johnny to wider audiences. “TV appearances are always good and those were good TV shows,” said Paul.
“Steve wanted to get me as much TV coverage as possible,” says Johnny. “I thought it was good but to actually perform on a show is hard. You have to know how to talk to a host. I was expecting Dave Letterman to be real shitty, but he was real polite, nicer than I thought he would be. He wasn’t trying to make jokes about me or anything. I played ‘Johnny B. Goode’ with Paul Shafer and the band. Paul was always a real nice guy and his band was easy to play with because they were good musicians.
Nightline
was on a strange time at night, so you had a lot of night people on it and watchin’ it too. Me and B. B. played little parts together and talked about what it was like to play the blues. It was just the two of us—I played one of my songs; he’d play one of his. I don’t think TV appearances helped my career much. I still wanted to change managers ’cause Steve wasn’t gettin’ any record deals.”

Other books

Norman Invasions by John Norman
A Horse Called Hero by Sam Angus
The Chocolate Touch by Laura Florand
The Reluctant Wife by Bronwen Evans
Maxed Out by Daphne Greer
Monstrous Beauty by Marie Brennan
The Empire of Gut and Bone by M. T. Anderson