by Alan Paul
RODGERS: Stevie was not one bit intimidated. Working with him was a breeze. He did all his solos in a day or two. He loved what he’d heard and knew it was important. He just listened down a few times and tore into each song.
CLEARMOUNTAIN: He worked incredibly fast, immediately cutting three solos on three songs, and what we used were mostly first takes. He listened once and then started playing. It was pretty incredible to witness.
ROJAS: He played the outro to “Let’s Dance,” and he just kept playing better and better. I used to go see Albert King and Hendrix at the Fillmore East, and Stevie was dishing out the same kind of soul, touch, and heart I heard from those guys. I was amazed that someone else had nailed something that seemed to be in the past, that I thought I’d never experience again.
RAY BENSON: I saw Stevie when he came back from the Bowie thing, which blew my mind. I asked him what he played, and he said, “I just sprayed Albert King all over the fucker.”
CLEARMOUNTAIN: I think Stevie had only heard “China Girl” once before he started wailing away perfectly. At the end of the section, there’s a chord change, and he lands on the wrong note, so it sounded a little dissonant. We played it in the control room, looked at each other and winced, and I said, “Let’s fix that.” But David said, “No. It’s perfect.” He liked dissonance, and he loved first takes.
RODGERS: Stevie actually went out of his way to make us comfortable by having ribs shipped up from Sam’s Bar-B-Que. At the start of every session, I’d have someone take everyone’s lunch order so it would be ready for a short break. Instead of ordering that day’s lunch, he ordered the next day’s lunch for all of us: amazing barbecue expressed from Austin. Everybody loved this Southern stranger from that moment on.
EDI JOHNSON: Stevie called me and said, “We need some real barbecue here. Go over to Sam’s and send it up.” They packed it in dried ice, and I drove it to the airport.
While in New York, Vaughan also cut a solo for bluesman Johnny Copeland’s Texas Twister album and participated in Texas Flood mixing sessions. By the end of the month, he was back in Texas, playing a series of club dates with Double Trouble.
The Downtown tapes were in the hands of several record label A&R executives. The first to express interest in the band was John Hammond, the seventy-two-year-old Columbia Records executive who had signed Billie Holiday, Benny Goodman, Charlie Christian, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, and other icons.
GREGG GELLER, Epic Records executive who had worked with Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, Jeff Beck, Willie Nelson, Eric Clapton, and Merle Haggard, among others: John came into my office in early 1983 with an acetate of Texas Flood, and he was very excited to put it out. I had some awareness to Stevie because I’d been hearing his name for some time. John Hammond had his own label, HME, that he wanted to release Texas Flood on, but he had run into financing issues. So he turned to me, and it didn’t require a lot of genius to get behind signing Stevie to Epic. I was completely taken by what I heard. “Pride and Joy” was the first or second track, and I was won over immediately.
HARVEY LEEDS, Epic Records head of album promotion: By then, some people at the label thought of John as a pain in the ass, but I thought he was Godlike. I would call radio stations with him. Any radio programmer worth their salt would want to talk to the guy who signed Billie, Bessie, Bruce, Bob, Aretha Franklin—and now Stevie Ray Vaughan!
Stevie and producer John Hammond, who signed him to Epic Records. (Don Hunstein © Sony Music Entertainment)
AL STAEHALEY Spirit bassist, Austin lawyer: There were other labels interested, and I said, “Let us entertain other offers so we can get the best possible deal,” but Chesley understood the power of being a John Hammond signing. As a lawyer, I was doing the right thing, but as a manager, he grasped that the significance of being John Hammond’s last signing meant more than some extra bucks or points.
JIMMIE VAUGHAN: John Hammond had that history, and his track record was impeccable. He would champion people, and his endorsement was a huge stamp of legitimacy.
MULLEN: We felt we’d done a good job on the mixes, but it was viewed as a demo that would be used to try to get a deal. Hammond heard it and said, “This is great; let’s just release this.”
FREEMAN: It wasn’t just me and my friends who thought Stevie was great; he was killing people for years, and it was hard to understand why people weren’t jumping all over him. It took John Hammond to say, “Don’t you hear this?”
GELLER: We were mired in dance/disco/electronic music. Stevie represented the type of music I’d always most believed in, and there was this gaping void for what he was doing. The audience for that music never dies; they just were not being provided with anything new that would appeal to them. Stevie was that thing, and I had absolutely no reservations about getting behind him.
LAYTON: Signing Stevie made sense, because he was on Bowie’s next record, which they figured would blow up huge, and he was going to tour all over the world with him; there was our marketing right there. It was the perfect time to sign him for a modest advance and investment.
GELLER: I quickly became aware that there was an audience very ready to buy this release: the state of Texas. We had a great head of sales there, Jack Chase, who virtually guaranteed that we could sell eighty thousand records in Texas alone. Soon after hearing that acetate, Stevie, Chris, and Tommy came to New York, and the deal was made very quickly.
Stevie Ray Vaughan signed with Epic Records on March 15, 1983. They sent Jackson Browne a horse from Manor Downs as a thank-you. Millikin had always found Stevie’s devotion to Layton and Shannon annoying at best. He still didn’t think the band should be billed as Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble, seeing no need for a name that tied him to backing musicians he considered eminently replaceable, and he certainly did not think they should be partners in any deals.
EDI JOHNSON: It was very rare for the head guy to split everything with his band as Stevie did. He thought of the band as a unit, not just individuals with him as the star and them as the sidemen. Chris and Tommy were very lucky to be with him. Chesley thought it was ridiculous, but I thought it was a very kind gesture, and what was wrong with that? The money was the only way he could reward them and thank them for their loyalty.
LAYTON: We had a meeting about the Epic deal, and Stevie wanted us there in Chesley’s office to learn what our part of the deal would be. Chesley said, “You are here because Stevie wanted you to be. I fucking disagree!” I actually appreciated that, because he wasn’t saying one thing to our faces and something else behind our backs.
SHANNON: Later, Chesley really tried to separate Stevie from us. The three of us were very tight, and Whipper started to have questions about the finances. The normal business thing to do would be to get Stevie away from those dissenting voices. We were causing trouble.
LAYTON: He really wanted to get rid of me.
SHANNON: He’d point out bands and say, “Now, you need a fucking drummer like that in your band.”
LAYTON: Stevie was better than anyone anyhow, so he might as well play with guys who loved him. We were like a family. And family doesn’t just happen because you’re paying someone.
STEVE JORDAN, drummer/producer with Eric Clapton, Keith Richards, John Mayer, the Blues Brothers, and others: I wasn’t a huge Double Trouble fan. I didn’t think they were heavily ensconced in the groove. I was super opinionated, but I’ve since come to appreciate the importance of chemistry and a family feeling in a band. Stevie and Eddie Van Halen are very similar. They both carry the rhythm, melody, and lead and drive the band with the way they play the guitar.
KUNKEL: A lot of people overlook a key thing: that’s the sound of three people not overplaying. Chris Layton is such a great, economical drummer. Stevie had all the motion and musical subdivisions: rhythm, lead, and vocals. Chris and Tommy held it down. Tommy on the bottom end with really basic blues parts and Chris with the deepest blues drumming. That’s what made it so powerful; you could hear every single thi
ng they did. The three of them weren’t battling it out. They played as a unit.
COLONNA: When I was playing with Delbert McClinton, we shared the bill with Stevie. I stood there thinking how I would love to be playing with him again, and that I could make it sound better. My dad said, “Why don’t you ask Stevie if you can play with him again?” so I did. And he said, “Well, I’ve already got a drummer, unless you know something that I don’t!”
LOGAN: Doyle always said Chris was the right drummer for Stevie.
LAYTON: I heard other drummers play with Stevie who thought, “I can play things with everything he does!” It always sounded like a mess. I could have played other things than I did, but the music was telling me what I should be doing. Stevie was an absolute virtuoso, so it’s easy to think everyone in the band should be the same. Tommy and I usually played pretty simple things because Stevie was doing so much, and that’s what worked best.
JORDAN: The most important thing in a band is liking each other and having a brotherhood or sisterhood thing. And Stevie had that with Double Trouble. It’s like Neil Young and Crazy Horse: they get on his back and go. They’re like a family, and that kind of chemistry often translates to the audience more than expert musicianship does.
LAYTON: I took the Texas Flood demo tape on a visit to my family in Corpus Christi, looking forward to playing it for people, but they didn’t hear it at all! They said, “It’s good, but it’s just shuffles and slow blues. Are people interested in that kind of music right now?” They couldn’t hear what was special about Stevie’s playing; blues was something Texans had heard for years.
MULLEN: Stevie had been kicking around Texas for a long time, and that tape sounded like him live, so people there may have shrugged. But people elsewhere heard a supertalented guy playing with aggression and soul, and it didn’t matter if the form was familiar.
GIBBONS: The proficiency Stevie developed required very little in taking the style elsewhere. It simply got a little louder, a little faster, all with spot-on satisfaction. The importance Stevie carved for so many other aspiring guitarists is nearly immeasurable. The exacting delivery that appeared to be so effortless raised the bar and established the value of true dedication.
BRUCE: I remember a change in Stevie after the Bowie sessions. He came back from New York more confident. He was on his way to becoming a star.
LAYTON: Being validated by someone of Bowie’s stature certainly had an impact. Stevie understood his talent, but how can you not doubt it when you’re struggling to be noticed?
Just before signing with Epic, the group took another step toward becoming a national act when they dismissed Joe Priesnitz and Rock Arts as its booking agent and hired Alex Hodges and his Empire Agency, based in Marietta, Georgia. Hodges had worked closely with Capricorn Records’ Phil Walden, booking Otis Redding, the Allman Brothers Band, and others. The first gig he booked for his new act was opening for Gregg Allman at Atlanta’s Electric Ballroom on March 4.
ALEX HODGES, Stevie’s booking agent, 1983–1986; manager, 1986–1990: I kept hearing about Stevie from Ray Benson and some folks around the Rolling Stones. When Chesley, whom I had known for a decade, asked me to work with him, I sent Rick Alter, who worked for me, to check him out, and he came back and said, “He is great. This is for you.” I didn’t realize just how great he was until I saw him.
BENSON: Alex was our agent, and he called and said, “I’m getting pitched on Stevie Vaughan,” and I told him that Stevie was the best guitarist around and he was about blow up and that he should go for it.
PRIESNITZ: We got a letter from Chesley that they’d switched agencies and basically said, “And about that money we owe you…” It was rough. They were in debt to us for over $5,000 for commissions and were only paying us back $100 a month. Eventually, we sent a letter to Classic Management threatening to bring a suit against them for the owed monies. The matter was settled after months of haggling. Stevie had come by and said, “We’re stepping it up.” He was a good man.
HODGES: I think he had gained confidence and was entering a new phase. I met them all for the first time at the show in Atlanta, and my eyes were opened. The entire Gregg Allman Band was wide-eyed, which validated my own feelings. Gregg listened from his dressing room and said, “That guy’s amazing.” [Guitarist] Dan Toler was out front with most of the band, and he came back and said, “Alex, this is unbelievable.” My whole team and I became instant believers, yet there was no album, no vehicle for advancement except booking him live. Chesley put a new requirement on me: no dates under $1,000. That sounds so little now, but when you’re establishing yourself nationally on the club circuit, it’s pretty difficult to achieve.
Let’s Dance was released on April 14, 1983, and became Bowie’s first platinum studio album in the United States. The title song was a number-one hit around the world, and for the first time, Bowie became an international superstar commensurate with his critical acclaim and influence. Let’s Dance went on to sell seven million copies, making it by far his most successful album.
JIMMIE VAUGHAN: That was a great opportunity for Stevie. There he was playing his Albert King licks on the number-one record in the world. It was amazing! When they played the record in Texas, the DJs would always say, “And he’s our own Stevie Ray Vaughan.” For me, it was such a proud moment. It was an exciting take that! moment.
LAYTON: Using Stevie was a stroke of genius on Bowie’s part. His guitar playing really jumped out and got people’s attention. He hit everyone with something so strong it spun their head. Everyone has a story about the first time they heard Stevie, just as we do.
ERIC CLAPTON, guitar legend: I was driving, and “Let’s Dance” came on the radio. I stopped my car and said, “I have to know who this guitar player is today. Not tomorrow, but today.” That has only happened to me three or four times ever, and probably not for anyone in between Duane Allman and Stevie.
STEVE MILLER, guitarist, rock star: The first time I heard Stevie Ray Vaughan was seeing “Let’s Dance” on MTV, and I was jumping out of my seat screaming, “Who the hell is playing guitar?”
GUS THORNTON: I was pretty hip to what Albert sounds like after playing with him for years, but Stevie got me! When I heard “Let’s Dance,” I thought, “Well, this is real nice. Albert with David Bowie!” Stevie is the only guitar player I’ve ever heard who could approach Albert’s touch, tone, and attack. Hearing that sound on the radio was real cool.
JORDAN: The solo on “Let’s Dance” is iconic. It’s just a devastating, landmark moment in recorded history. It was pure greatness, a bolt of lightning screaming, “I’m here!” And you kept hearing it everywhere you went. It was a serious thing to walk into a club and hear that solo booming. And it sounded better every time!
Bowie’s Serious Moonlight tour, which would kick off May 18 in Brussels, Belgium, and end in December in Hong Kong was set to be a huge sensation. Stevie and the Bowie band convened for rehearsals in Las Colinas, Texas, near Dallas in late April 1983. Guitarist Carlos Alomar, who had worked with Bowie for years, was the musical director.
ROJAS: Rehearsals went great because Carlos is one of the best on the planet. Stevie was phenomenal on the stuff he had recorded and on songs like “Jean Genie,” but he struggled to find his place on some of the headier, more eccentric songs, because as musical as he was, that style just wasn’t him. Carlos would just take over, and we worked around it.
CARLOS ALOMAR, David Bowie’s guitarist and bandleader: I immediately realized the problems that I would have, cutting the first rehearsal short because Stevie Ray Vaughan does not read music and only knows basic blues chords. I can’t tell him to play a minor seven flat five or ask him to do scale-wise progressions. Holy smokes, I can’t even write him a dummy chart where you just get G, A, D. My job is just to make every guitarist sound great, and I got along with all of them. We’re all guns for hire, and I needed Stevie to understand that he would be comfortable working with me, that he’d be able to dig in deep and imp
rovise. His comfort was important, and after we shedded, he was able to bring his thing to the rehearsals. I was happy, he was happy, and David was happy.
ROJAS: The morale was really strong and got better every day. Stevie gravitated towards the more urban guys: me, Carlos, Tony Thompson [drums], and Lenny Pickett [sax], because that’s who he was. You could have dropped Stevie in a ghetto anywhere and he’d get along just fine.
LAYTON: He felt black, culturally. He identified more with the black race than the white race. What that really meant to him is hard to say, but some of that could have started with things he said about growing up, being a scrawny little kid, pushed around a lot.
SHANNON: For a long time, he was honestly torn up that he wasn’t black. He felt like he could have gotten closer to the music had he been.
ROJAS: We all understood each other, and we loved to jam during downtime, playing blues and “Mustang Sally” and just blowing.
SHANNON: There was a part of the show where Stevie was supposed to walk down a ramp, and they wanted him to do these choreographed moves, but he’d walk exactly the same normal way every time. They could never get him to do what they wanted, because Stevie was incapable of pretending to be something he wasn’t.
ALOMAR: He was going to remain true to the blues, and we were going to work with him. I thought it was amazing to have a real blues player. One day, Stevie said he can’t make a rehearsal because he was in mourning. I said, “I’m really sorry for your loss. Who died?’” “Muddy Waters.” “Oh, did you know him?” “Not really.”
At first, I said, “I understand mourning, but we’ve got a rehearsal to do.” But no, no, no, brother, you do not tell a bluesman to just keep on walking when Muddy Waters died! That is a sacrilegious thought, so rehearsal was canceled, to Bowie’s chagrin. I had to respectfully say, “You cannot make the man, a true bluesman, come, David. I’ll cover his parts, and we can rehearse without him, but you’ve got to leave him alone.”
