Memphis
In the afternoon, one group went to the Stax Museum of American Soul Music and raved about how interesting, well thought out, and moving it is. I went to visit Winston Eggleston regarding a project to project some of his dad’s photos onto the side of a massive former Sears building here in November. This project would coincide with dad Bill’s upcoming retrospective at the Whitney in New York City. Jenni and Graham stopped by Willie Mitchell’s studio, where so many amazing records were and are recorded. On my way to the Eggleston Trust, I took a phone call from Teenie Hodges, co-writer of “Take Me to the River,” while I was biking down Poplar Avenue. (Teenie played guitar on most of those great Al Green songs and hundreds of others.) We agreed to connect in a few hours.
Between the richness of the Country music that we had soaked up by osmosis in Nashville and the Soul music that still lives in this town, a big part of my cynicism that continually dogs me about the U.S. got lifted, slightly. The beauty and depth of the music from many of these places is simply astounding. There are scoundrels and greed and things are fucked up, but look at the music these folks have produced and you sense there’s a lot of soul and heart beyond the highways and strip malls. Not just the music — Teenie joined us on stage for our version of his song wearing a bright yellow and blue outfit with an open shirt revealing a kind of shiny blue spandex wifebeater. I am reminded of Elvis’ outfits too, and all those spangly Nudie suits the Country artists used to wear — a whole world of haberdashery untouched by the fashion and tastes of the big coastal cities.
We sat around the catering table backstage after soundcheck as Teenie told stories about being mistaken for Al Green (he signed a lot of autographs) and playing on an Albert Collins session without knowing who he was — thinking to himself, “Who is this unhip guy with the process? And why is a white man carrying his amp for him?” After the Collins session got underway, they cut maybe 7 songs in 3 hours. Teenie, nicknamed Cool Breeze by his bandmates (many of whom were his brothers) was nudged by one of them who said, “What do you think NOW, Breeze?”
At the end of our set, as I began to introduce Teenie as “someone many of you will know,” someone in the audience shouted out his name, confirming my suspicion that these guys — Teenie, his brothers, and many others — are not completely overlooked and unknown in their home town. Sometimes there is a little tiny bit of justice.
