by Alan Paul
MULLEN: If you got close enough to Stevie while he was doing his thing, it was like he was in a trance, like something else was playing through him. I was around Stevie all of the time, but I’d go to a show and hear him play things that he’d never done before, like he was tapped into a higher plane.
JIMMIE VAUGHAN: Stevie could get so deep into his playing, where you could feel that he was just in the zone. Flamenco guitar players have a name for it: it’s called duende. Duende is the same thing that blues guys call soul, when you get so excited and wild, it evokes this magical feeling that takes you over. It’s like a visitation from a spirit.
Stevie, 1983, wearing a Tsingtao beer hat given to him by David Bowie. (Tracy Anne Hart)
There is a legend of Mexican conjunto bands, where they are playing a gig, and everyone is dancing and the whole place is going crazy, and you go in the bathroom and there’s this beautiful, handsome guy with a suit on, very sharp looking, and you look down and he’s got chicken feet! You know you are having a good gig when the guy with the chicken feet shows up! There are legends about visitations like these.
SHANNON: I don’t think guitar playing was ever hard for him. I never saw him struggle to learn a part. He’d never play a lick over and over, struggling to get it together, like every other musician I’ve ever known. He’d go over something in his head until it was just how he wanted it, then he’d pick up the guitar and play it.
LAYTON: He’d already have it down by the time he picked up the guitar. He had one of the best ears ever! He was actually against copying things exactly, though. He was interested in getting into the spirit of how a song was played. Even with our own songs, he’d say, “We can’t copy what we’re doing. All we can do is try to get back to the same kind of spirit we put towards it.”
SHANNON: One time, I asked him to teach me Jimi’s “Castles Made of Sand.” Then I asked him about his fantastic vibrato, and he said, “Here’s how I do my vibrato. If you do it this way, you’ll learn it. I only need to show you once.” Most people cannot learn something from being shown one time, but Stevie didn’t see it that way. He’d start at the first fret with one string, get the right vibrato going, go all the way up the neck, and then he’d move to the next string. The feel of the vibrato changes with each fret and each string, and he’d move the vibratos to every part of the fretboard.
MULLEN: On Couldn’t Stand the Weather, Stevie was coming into his own and branching into things that were more ambitious than Texas Flood. During the Weather sessions, [mix engineer] Lincoln Clapp said to me, “You did such a great job on Texas Flood—everything is so consistent.” And I laughed and said, “No wonder, because it took two hours to cut and not a knob was moved!”
SHANNON: Stevie was exploring the power of a three-piece band, which allowed him to venture into uncharted territory. I really felt that we kept the same “live” intensity on the records. We still all played at the same time. We didn’t get into that click track and “you do your part and I’ll do mine” thing. We did a few overdubs, but it was still pretty much a live album. That was the only way Stevie would do it, and I loved it.
On March 19, 1984, Stevie and Double Trouble performed at the CBS Records Convention in Honolulu, Hawaii. Couldn’t Stand the Weather was completed but not yet released, and the appearance was in part to stir the enthusiasm of label staff, which was easily accomplished with a dynamic performance. Jeff Beck, one of Stevie’s original guitar idols, also appeared, sitting in with Double Trouble, as did Jimmie, T-Birds drummer Fran Christina, and singer Angela Strehli.
LEEDS: Stevie was very cooperative, but Jeff was not. I wasn’t sure if they didn’t get along because Jeff was not really informed why he was jamming with this person or jealous that this young kid was going to pass him on the highway. I never knew what happened, but he was not a happy camper.
SHANNON: Hawaii was the first time they jammed, and Stevie felt really intimidated by Jeff, which is not something he felt very often.
STREHLI: Stevie and I were never close friends, so his inviting me was strictly musical respect, and I certainly appreciated that. He made this breakthrough and brought a bunch of us along with him whenever and wherever he could.
Brothers backstage at the Austin Opry House, 1984. (Tracy Anne Hart)
LONG: As their careers blossomed, there was often talk about a rivalry between Stevie and Jimmie. I knew nothing about their sibling dynamics, but coming from a family of seven brothers myself, I had an inkling—misinterpretations, feeling overshadowed, different approaches, outside pressure, wanting to establish individuality. Fans always wanted to compare them. That was impossible.
16
IN THE OPEN
Released on May 15, 1984, Couldn’t Stand the Weather solidified Stevie Ray’s standing as a guitar icon and illuminated the band’s breadth more clearly than their debut had. The album opened and closed with instrumentals, kicking off with the scorching “Scuttle Buttin’” and ending with the cool swing of “Stang’s Swang,” songs that highlighted his debts to Lonnie Mack and Wes Montgomery, respectively.
With covers of Jimi Hendrix’s “Voodoo Chile (Slight Return),” Guitar Slim’s “The Things (That) I Used to Do,” and the blues standard “Tin Pan Alley,” the album featured a limited amount of new original material, but the title track and “Cold Shot” underlined that the band was further developing their own sound and approach to blues-based music. As a composition, “Couldn’t Stand the Weather” is much more rock-oriented than any of the Texas Flood material, revealing a range of influences, with a soul/R&B bass line, a distinctly Hendrix feel to the rhythm guitar part, and sharp Albert King–style soloing.
The album was an immediate hit, selling 250,000 copies in its first three weeks. The band simultaneously made videos for “Couldn’t Stand the Weather” and “Cold Shot” with two directors, and Layton recalls running from a scene in one video to a scene in the other.
“After the release, we hit the road with all of these new, fresh songs that no one had ever heard, which was great,” says Layton. “We were told we were selling fifty thousand albums a week, much of it in Texas, Arizona, Oklahoma, and New Mexico, thanks to Jack Chase, who headed Sony’s southwest branch and was a great record guy.”
SHANNON: We didn’t start out with an agenda. The music led us, and as we drew bigger crowds, the validation gave us more strength to take off to a higher level. We were growing from gig to gig, secure that we belonged on the big stages.
LAYTON: There was something particularly exciting about this time because it was the actualization of the things that I felt from the very first time I saw Stevie play and had a vision of where we could go. The three of us were so much on the same page, in terms of personal ethics and morals, social justice, politics, and how you treat other people, and that crossed over into the music. We shared a deep connection and chemistry. I think the audience got a reading of the type of relationship the three of us had, that they could feel it, and it had meaning to them.
CLARK: I’ve seen other white boys play up close, including Eric Clapton himself, but they didn’t show me what I saw from Stevie. I saw that from him and him alone. Even my mama saw it. She saw us play and said, “That is a guitar-playing little man, isn’t it?” and I said, “I am, too, Mom. Why don’t you give me a compliment like that?” Jimmie heard that, laughed, and said, “Welcome to the boat, man.”
SHANNON: I don’t think Stevie ever knew how incredible he really was.
LAYTON: I only once heard Stevie acknowledge his talent. He and I had gone to Buddy Guy’s club in Chicago, and someone shot a video of Stevie and Buddy jamming, which we took back to the hotel and popped in the VCR. There was a part where Stevie had the guitar up on his shoulder, like a violin, playing with one hand, and it was amazing—like Stevie Ray Hendrix. He looked at me, paused, and said, “I’m good.” I thought that was cool because he was usually so self-effacing.
Concerned about replicating Jimmie’s rhythm parts on “Couldn’t Stand
the Weather” and “The Things (That) I Used to Do” and about simultaneously covering his guitar and vocal parts, Stevie talked to guitarist Derek O’Brien about joining Double Trouble.
Doing that violin thing, Palace Theater, New Haven, CT, 11/14/85. (Donna Johnston)
“He gave me a cassette of the record, and a week later, I was onstage at Antone’s when someone said I had a phone call,” says O’Brien. “I said, ‘Tell them I’ll call them back!’ And the guy goes, ‘It’s Stevie!’ I ran offstage and got the phone. He said, ‘The time is now. Do you want to do this?’”
O’Brien and Angela Strehli joined Double Trouble for an eight-city Texas tour, starting July 10, 1984, in Amarillo and ending July 21 back home in Austin. The guest guitarist and singer would join the trio for a few songs midshow. Strehli says she has no recollection of actually discussing becoming a band member, but that was Stevie’s pitch to O’Brien from the start. Millikin made his displeasure known before a note was played.
O’BRIEN: Before the first show, Chesley called and said, “I don’t agree with this, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s not going to happen. You can play these dates, but I don’t know why Stevie wants you. This is one of the only trios left in the world, and it should stay a trio. He doesn’t fucking need a fourth member in his band.”
LAYTON: Stevie said he wasn’t comfortable with how his playing sounded on some songs that were hard to sing over. He said, “Let’s just get Derek to handle that,” and kudos to Chesley for saying, “You can’t have another fucking guitarist in this band.” He was absolutely correct, and I think Stevie knew it.
O’BRIEN: After the final show [July 21, 1984, Palmer Auditorium, Austin], Stevie said, “Hey, man, is this something you really want to do? ’Cause I’m fixing to talk to Chesley about it,” and I said, “Count me in.” They went into a dressing room, and I was just hanging out backstage as everything got loaded out. I finally went outside into an empty parking lot. Chesley eventually came out, and I said good night to him. He didn’t make any kind of greeting but just turned around and yelled from across the parking lot, “This ain’t gonna fucking happen! Everybody is against this!” I heard from Tommy before the next run that I was not going to be along for the ride.
SHANNON: It went over like a lead balloon! Chesley said, “You’re gonna fuckin’ fire ’em, and you’re gonna fire ’em right now!” Stevie actually saw that it wasn’t working, so he apologized and let them go.
Stevie and Derek O’Brien, during the latter’s brief run as Double Trouble’s second guitarist, July, 1984. (Watt M. Casey Jr)
LAYTON: It was really a cop-out, Stevie being lazy. We love Derek, a great friend of ours for many years, but Stevie’s idea to have someone else play a handful of guitar parts that were hard to do while singing didn’t make sense, and he eventually agreed. It wasn’t the solution Stevie was looking for.
GRISSOM: I saw Stevie at the Majestic Theatre in San Antonio [July 13, 1984], and they put his Dumble 4×12 cabinet in the basement and mic’ed it because it was too loud to be on the stage! I went down there and it was deafening, about 140 decibels. The only thing you could hear was his guitar, and there was nothing remotely close to a stumble or missed note in the twenty minutes I stood there. No drummer was needed, because the pocket and the groove were just impeccable. The groove of it all made a huge impression on me.
Isolated like that, his guitar playing took on another dimension. It was like this righteous freight train; the thread that ran through everything and tied it all together was this incredible groove. The whole room could have danced to the guitar by itself. It was that strong. In that moment, I realized that there was another level to this whole thing.
Vaughan’s desire to add another trusted member was doubtlessly his way of saying he needed help. On the road, the drug and alcohol use was consistently escalating.
SHANNON: When we went back on the road, it got a little crazier still, and some people who knew us started noticing it, too, and tried to talk to Stevie.
LAYTON: After Cutter left, Jim Markham became our road manager. We were at Constitution Hall in Washington, D.C. [October 11, 1984], and after the show, Jim was sitting on the bus crying. Jim was a great guy, an experienced road manager, and he said, “I have to leave.” He looked at Stevie and said,”You guys are killing yourselves. You seem to have some kind of romantic notion about doing drugs and playing music, that the drugs are the driver of your creativity. All that is a bunch of bullshit. I’m watching you guys kill yourselves, and I can’t stay around and watch that happen. So I’m leaving.”
When Double Trouble crossed paths with Eric Clapton on a 1986 tour of Australia, the elder statesman assessed Vaughan, watching the hungover guitarist sit at the bar and shakily down a few shots of Crown Royal. Understanding that he wasn’t ready to be helped, he simply said, “Well, sometimes you have to go through that, don’tcha?”
Vaughan’s mentor Albert King took a more direct approach when the two played a show together. “He walked backstage and said, ‘We gonna have a little heart-to-heart,’” Vaughan told Guitar World in 1988. “‘I been watching you wrestle with the bottle three, four times already. I tell you what, man: I like to drink a little bit when I’m home. But the gig ain’t no time to get high.’ He was trying to tell me to take care of business, give myself a break, but I did my usual deal of trying to act like I had it all together.”
BUDDY GUY: I cussed Stevie out ’cause I saw him and Johnny Winter once and he didn’t even know who I was. I got in his face about the drugs.
CLARK: We didn’t get to see each other as much after Double Trouble took off. One night, he flew in from Hawaii and came straight to where I was playing, walked up on the bandstand, and hugged me, and he was trembling. Trembling! That really bothered me for a while.
LICKONA: Stevie worshipped W. C., revered him almost as a father figure. W. C.’s personality is so gentle, and he shows so much love towards people, and I think Stevie really needed that, especially during that tough time. When life started to getting more confusing with his success and figuring how to deal with it, W. C. provided great comfort and helped Stevie to cope with everything going on in his life.
CLARK: We had a real special friendship, and I think he came to me for some type of spiritual feeling. He didn’t ask me for anything, and he didn’t have to. He was seeking God and he knows I’m real religious, and I think he just needed to come around me. I gave him the guitar and got the bass, and we tore the house down for a while.
FREEMAN: As Stevie started to have success, he would rent nice places, but most of them looked like a tornado had hit them. He had nice houses that were big wrecks. He never established a real home.
EDI JOHNSON: That was not who Stevie was. He was not a nester. He wanted to play music, hear music, be around people in music, and work at music. He worked very hard at it. He loved going down to Antone’s and jamming with whoever was playing for as long as they were allowed to play. If I had walked into Stevie’s house and saw him on a couch watching TV, I probably would have asked him if he was feeling okay.
STEELE: The true Stevie was the one playing the guitar. I don’t know if he played the guitar or it played him, because Stevie and his guitar became one unit. The expressions on his face—you could feel the passion he had.
EDI JOHNSON: He loved working and improving his talent and being on the road, which he was most of the time. During the first three years with Classic Management, they were probably playing three hundred days a year. They were the band that kept going, and they got better and better at what they did, and Stevie just took off. He seemed happiest when he succeeded playing his music the way he thought it should be heard. That was his living room.
Stevie at home, with kitty. (Courtesy Tommy Shannon)
LAYTON: We toured constantly. We’d only be home for a day or two here and there.
SHANNON: We were on the road forever! I didn’t even have my own place to live. My “home” was the Imperial 400 motel! Or I�
��d stay with Stevie and Lenny.
LAYTON: Tom was like Howard Hughes! I’d go over to the Imperial 400, knock on the door, and he’d yell, “What?” “Hey, Tommy, it’s me, Whipper.” “Yeah, hang on.” He’d unlock the door, and by the time I opened it, he’d already be back in bed. It would be like forty-eight degrees in there, the AC was blastin’ so hard, with the windows completely blocked off so not a speck of sunlight could come through. He’d have a liter of vodka, and if we wanted something to eat, he’d call Roy’s Taxi and say, “It’s Tommy. Can I get a cab over here?” The cab wouldn’t take Tommy anywhere; they’d just make stops to pick up food, cigarettes, and whatever else and bring it to him. Tommy had a system goin’ over there!
SHANNON: I called it “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
Stevie playing “Texas Flood” with the song’s composer, Larry Davis, circa 1985 at Antone’s. Clifford Antone on bass. (Andrew Long)
LAYTON: We were happy with the success of the band, but we all had issues that we weren’t looking straight in the face.
SHANNON: We were enjoying what we had, but our lives were getting complicated. Happiness is an elusive word.
LAYTON: We were working our asses off every single day. “Caught up in a whirlwind.” It was like being in the center of a storm that you are having a great time being in. You wake up, fly here, TV station interview, radio station interview, sound check, do the gig, celebrities are showing up … “Hey, there’s Matt Dillon!” “Mick Jagger’s back!” You don’t ask yourself if you’re happy.
