A Man Called Destruction: The Life and Music of Alex Chilton, From Box Tops to Big Star to Backdoor Man

by George-Warren, Holly

  Mickey Newbury, a Texan who was making a name for himself as a cutting-edge songwriter in Nashville and was a favorite of Johnny Cash, auditioned some of his songs for Penn. His first big pop hit would come from the First Edition (Kenny Rogers’s combo) in May: “Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In).” For the Box Tops Dan chose a rather old-fashioned but lovely waltz, “Weeping Analeah,” which featured Reggie on mandolin, Spooner on upright piano, and Wayne Jackson on trumpet. Newbury’s other contribution, the quiet “Good Morning Dear,” found Alex engaging his soft vocal style.

  Dan finally let the boys in the Box Tops have some fun in the studio on the album’s final cut. Their cover of Vanilla Fudge’s heavy version of the Supremes hit “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” featured Gary on psychedelic-tinged guitar, Rick Allen on organ, Bill Cunningham on bass, Tom Boggs on drums, and Alex’s vamping on the vocals, which he ended with a nod to the Doors’ “The End”—“Walk on down the hall” and a Morrison-style shriek. Though the band members were thrilled to do their own thing, it must have been disappointing when they heard the finished version: Dan left in the mix Alex’s preparatory cough and the producer’s count-off, “On your mark, get set . . .”

  During the sessions a camaraderie developed between Alex and the Memphis Boys, who sometimes spent eighteen hours a day in the studio. “At American, there was no clock,” says Reggie. “The Box Tops were pretty much our in-house group, so we didn’t have any time limit. Sometimes we’d spend all week just doing one song.” He was referring to a track for the band’s third album, for which Alex and the Memphis Boys would reconvene in less than two months.

  Unlike Dusty Springfield, who Reggie recalls as being intimidated in the studio in ’69, Alex was relaxed and self-confident behind the mic. “I never sensed him being nervous about anything he sang,” Reggie remembers. “He had confidence, and he never sang off pitch.” Dan agrees: “Whatever I asked him to do, he always tried—he never questioned. He always treated me with respect. I never saw a cocky bone in that boy. He wasn’t hard to upkeep. He didn’t take up a lot of space.”

  Though Alex got along well with Dan and the others in the studio, it rankled him that he had no say in the choice of the album’s songs. He had pitched Willie Dixon’s “Wang Dang Doodle” (previously a hit for Koko Taylor and later for the Pointer Sisters), to no avail. “Dan said, ‘Oh no, we can’t cut that, that’s about razor totin’ and carryin’ guns,’” Gary recalls. (Thirty-plus years later, the reunited Box Tops made “Wang Dang Doodle” a highlight of their live sets.)

  Privately Alex began to disparage the Box Tops’ material: “Dan didn’t have his finger on the pulse of teenage pop/rock taste that I knew. I was listening to Hendrix and Buffalo Springfield . . . British rock, and soul music, but what Dan was doing was this very strange blend of country and soul, and it wasn’t quite my cup of tea. . . . You had music going this way and that way, and the Box Tops were going the wrong way.” (Years later, though, Alex would look back at some of the Penn tracks with much more admiration.)

  As Alex became a worldly pop star, he occasionally broached financial matters with the guys in the studio. “He and I always got along,” recalls Mike Leech. “He would ask me for advice from time to time, mainly about money. I advised him to be very careful, that his career might be short-lived, as most artists’ careers are, and to save as much as he could.” Alex may have taken Mike’s words to heart, but when he was home, he enjoyed treating his old friends to dinners and movie tickets, generously spending his money.

  • • •

  Soon after the new year, the Box Tops jetted off to California to appear on American Bandstand, which aired on January 13, 1968. “Dick Clark seemed really interested in you when he was talking to you,” Gary recalls. “He had a way of focusing on you. He was very friendly.” The band also performed on a local L.A. TV program called Boss City to promote their upcoming San Diego Sports Arena gig, their most prestigious bill to date, with Buffalo Springfield, the Byrds, the Stone Poneys (featuring Linda Ronstadt), the Turtles, Brenton Wood (whose “Oogum Boogum Song” Alex would record in 1999), Sonny and Cher, and others.

  Alex continued to meet plenty of women on the road but kept thinking about Suzi Greene in Dallas and flew to Texas for visits between tours. One night at a bar there, after getting into a brawl with an undercover cop who hated hippies, he was thrown in jail for disorderly conduct and assaulting a police officer. Later, the charges were dropped.

  “Cry Like a Baby” was gradually climbing the charts, and the band’s schedule was packed with television appearances and concerts. Memphis guitarist Jerry Riley filled in for Gary, who’d been hospitalized for severe headaches, the result of impacted wisdom teeth. Bell scheduled a photo shoot for the new LP cover, using Riley. “They placed him way in the back of us,” says Bill Cunningham. “Then they drizzled rain over the window [behind which the group stood, along with a miniskirted model clutching a teddy bear] to distort his face, so people wouldn’t realize he was Gary’s substitute.” The decision emphasized to Alex’s bandmates how replaceable they were.

  Liner notes for the album were penned by Mark Lindsay, vocalist of hitmakers Paul Revere and the Raiders, who’d been recording at American. Lindsay was a big fan of “The Letter” and wanted to work at the studio where it originated, as he explained:

  The Box Tops, with lead vocalist Alex Chilton, record their unique commercial sound in Memphis, Tennessee, in American Sound Studios (which, according to the “big boys” on the East and West Coasts, supposedly has limited facilities). This is just not so. . . . Besides being the “soul center of music,” it is becoming a focal point for contemporary Top 40 as well.

  “For years I tried to cut a song that could get it all done in 1:58 [like ‘The Letter’],” says Mark. “I never could match the time of getting the whole song in a compressed, precise way without feeling that something was left out. ‘The Letter’ was great acoustic theater. It came, said everything it had to say, and left.”

  Awards dinners for the tenth annual Grammy Awards were held on February 29 at regional gatherings in Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, and Nashville. Some segments were filmed for a May TV broadcast. The 5th Dimension and their hit “Up, Up and Away” (written by Jimmy Webb) swept four categories, beating the Box Tops in two of them.

  In March Alex was called back to American to start work on the next album, even before Cry Like a Baby was released. The lead single, “Choo Choo Train,” a kind of prodigal son–themed number, was written by a pair of Muscle Shoals songwriters: Eddie Hinton, who’d played guitar on the Box Tops’ debut LP’s “Break My Mind” cut at FAME, and Donnie Fritts, who’d later tour with Kris Kristofferson, in addition to recording solo albums. A reference in the lyrics was made to “The Letter”—“Choo Choo Train, I know you’re not a jet aer-e-o-plane” (this time pronounced in four syllables), which Alex kicks off in his raspiest voice. In general the third album, which would be entitled Nonstop, was instrumentally sparer, with few strings, but more diverse in the songwriting. Among the eleven tracks, another was penned by Hinton-Fritts, with only two by Penn-Oldham: the small-town snapshot “People Gonna Talk” and the gospelly “I Met Her in Church.” The latter featured pedal steel guitar; such C&W sonics also appeared on several other cuts, including a cover of the Hank Snow classic “I’m Movin’ On.” Among the album’s standouts are a funky version of an obscure 1967 R&B single by Clifford Curry, “She Shot a Hole in My Soul,” and a loose-limbed “Rock Me Baby.” For the first time, a Box Tops LP included a Chilton composition: “I Can Dig It,” a gritty blues number, fueled by the Memphis Horns and Spooner’s B-3. Undeniably catchy, it shows promise as a first effort, with lyrics focused on picking up a hot chick. Months after its July ’68 release, Nonstop was belatedly noticed by such rock pundits as Robert Christgau and Lester Bangs, the latter of whom hailed it as “quite authentic as rock & roll, as self-expression.”

 
On April 4, not long after Nonstop’s completion, the unthinkable occurred in Memphis: the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., who had been in town to lend support during a citywide sanitation workers strike. Places like Stax and American, where black and white musicians had worked together for years, began to feel a strain. “Something seemed to change,” says Reggie. “People seemed to be more aware of race. There was a lot of anger.” Never again would the Box Tops play in an all-black revue.

  Alex was on the road when King was murdered and caught only glimpses of the coverage on hotel room TV sets: “In many ways, I was just too busy for 1968. . . . I could look over and nod and say, ‘OK, that’s happening,’ but I didn’t have time for it.” April saw the Box Tops return to the Top 10 with “Cry Like a Baby” and also brought the return of Gary, recovered from his health problems. The group spent weeks on the West Coast, appearing on television shows and playing large venues, such as the Anaheim Convention Center (on a bill with Country Joe and the Fish and Canned Heat) and the Long Beach Arena (with the Rascals). Much of May was filled with gigs in the Northeast. A big fan of girl groups, Alex relished a Moravian College gig with Motown’s Marvelettes (“Please Mr. Postman”) on May 3.

  Around the time the band’s sophomore LP was released, “Cry Like a Baby” peaked at #2, where it stayed for two weeks (kept from the top spot by Bobby Goldsboro’s “Honey”). More TV appearances were booked in New York, including a spot on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. While the group was in Manhattan, Roy Mack arranged a choreography lesson from master dance instructor Skip Cunningham, who’d worked with Motown artists on their stage moves. It was a disaster, with the band telling their manager in no uncertain terms that they’d not be doing synchronized stage moves. They did, however, agree to go to a New York tailor, who outfitted them in matching blue double-breasted suits, flowing silk paisley scarves, and Italian leather shoes. The outfits would be seen on the cover of Nonstop, which was shot by Joel Brodsky, who’d famously photographed the Doors (including the bare-chested Morrison). Brodsky took the boys to Ringoes, New Jersey, and posed them on various train cars at the Black River & Western Railroad.

  In the meantime, on their own, Alex and the guys shopped downtown in the East and West Village for funkier apparel. By now Alex’s hair had grown into a long shag. He’d learned how to pout for the camera and flaunt his good looks, which Brodsky captured for new promo photos (though all five guys are broadly smiling for the album cover). Alex had become a bona fide teen idol—yet he kept hoping that he’d be taken more seriously than being asked what his favorite color and foods were. He was now playing guitar onstage, sometimes switching to bass.

  Photo ops abounded in New York as the Box Tops were feted at the nighclub Arthur by Bell Records. The band was awarded its second gold record by label head Larry Uttal, who told the group that “Cry Like a Baby” was heading toward two million in sales. The plan was to not let up the momentum, and the label was ready to release “Choo Choo Train” while “Cry Like a Baby” still resided in the Top 10. During a May 17 performance at the Broadway nightspot Space, the Box Tops played “Choo Choo Train.” According to a Billboard review, “Alex Chilton, the quintet’s dynamic lead singer, almost was overpowered by the amplification system at first, but the force of his personality helped carry such numbers as ‘You Don’t Know What I Know,’ ‘The Letter,’ and ‘I Don’t Want Anybody to Lean On.’ . . . The Box Tops’ steady rhythms proved infectious as they almost demanded dancing from their listeners.”

  In late May Billboard reported that “riding the crest of the demand for the new Box Tops single ‘Choo Choo Train,’ Bell Records shipped more than 400,000 singles during the week of May 6–10, breaking all previous sale marks of the firm. Larry Uttal, president, said ‘Choo Choo Train’ accounted for 150,000 of the sales.” It was clearly a marketing ploy that didn’t convince the DJs and record-buying public, and “Choo Choo Train” would move fewer copies than “Neon Rainbow,” reaching only #26 on the pop chart. The same article, however, noted that the Cry Like a Baby LP had sold more than 100,000 copies in seven weeks.

  Regardless of sales figures, the Box Tops were booked for numerous summer events and television programs, including The Dick Cavett Show and a return visit to Johnny Carson, with George McGovern among the other guests. Gigs ranged from a televised Grand Ole Opry appearance with Tammy Wynette, who’d just crossed over to the pop charts with “D-I-V-O-R-C-E,” to a California festival with a new “psychedelic soul” group, Sly and the Family Stone, who’d just scored their debut hit, “Dance to the Music.” When Nonstop was released, in July, its title described perfectly the band’s lifestyle. They were about to join the Beach Boys once again, for their most extended tour to date, taking them, from early August until fall, across Canada and the United States.

  CHAPTER 9

  “I Slept with Charlie Manson”

  “Here I am at the top, doing something I don’t understand and don’t really have any feeling for and getting really famous for it. Gee!” That’s how Alex remembered being a seventeen-year-old pop star. “But it’s good to find that out when you’re young: Fame can make you money, but it’s a big pain in the ass. There are real advantages to being unknown.”

  During those rare moments when Alex was back in Memphis and not in the studio, he visited with friends like Michael O’Brien, who was heading off to the University of Tennessee in Knoxville that fall. There he’d major in philosophy, inspired by Howard Chilton’s studies. (“The Chilton family had a big influence on my life,” says Michael, whose high school graduation gift from Mary Evelyn was a two-volume set by Kierkegaard.) “I remember being amazed at how unfazed Alex was with all of it,” recalls Michael. “His fans were always clamoring, and he became famous, all at sixteen, yet it didn’t seem to affect him. Alex was not surprised or impressed by any of it.”

  “I don’t know that anybody’s prepared to handle fame,” Alex ventured years later. “But then again, I think it would’ve made a lot more difference if I’d been a true believer in my own fame, too, but as it was, [I was] doing the bidding of producers and recording songs that were not [my] own. It was sort of a job to me. I wasn’t such a great fan of our group that I was really caught up in thinking that I was a tremendous great artist or anything.”

  Alex’s old buddy Paul Jobe had moved into the Chiltons’ backhouse, “restless,” as Paul put it, and preferring the laissez-faire atmosphere there to his family’s home. When Alex would make a brief appearance on Montgomery Street, he would usually work on honing his guitar chops, as well as the craft of songwriting. He’d played a few songs for Dan Penn, who had discouraged him, recommending he stick to singing professional writers’ songs. Paul encouraged Alex’s efforts, however. “We’d get together in his backhouse, play guitar, and stay up all night,” says Paul. “He’d gotten a little more serious about music. He didn’t particularly like the Box Tops’ music that much. But that was his bread and butter, so he didn’t resist.” Paul, as usual, agreed with Alex’s musical judgment: “I saw the Box Tops twice, and I wasn’t terribly impressed with them.” In addition to music, Alex and Paul occasionally found time to play tennis, which, to Paul’s amusement, Alex managed to do with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  Alex also started frequenting a ramshackle Midtown party house on Madison. Occupied by a trio of art students, it was a magnet for hippies-in-waiting looking for a place to smoke dope, hang out, and listen to music. One of the residents, a Jackson, Mississippi, native named Gordon Alexander, had moved to town to study at the Memphis Art Academy the previous year. “It became the main hangout in Midtown for artists, musicians, and other hippies, ’cause we had a cool house,” says Gordon. “Everyone knew that our house was the place to come for drugs. We may as well have had a neon sign out front. Some friends would go to Mexico, buy pot, and bring it back.” Also a musician and writer, Gordon met Alex at one of the house’s frequent free-for-all parties, and the two
hit it off.

  One day that summer of ’68, Alex stopped by with some surprising news. He’d just returned from Texas, where he’d seen Suzi Greene, whom he’d visited a few times since their meeting the previous September. During their emotional reunion she informed him she was pregnant with his child, due in December. Alex nonchalantly told Gordon that Suzi was moving to Memphis to live with him. “I’d only known Alex a few months before this,” Gordon recalls, “but I always thought he didn’t really want to get married. He was so young. But with her being pregnant, he felt like he was obligated.” Sidney and Mary Chilton, extremely upset by this turn of events, told old friends like the Browns that they were devastated by the repercussions of their seventeen-year-old’s reckless lifestyle and what they suspected was his increased drug use.

  As usual, though, Alex’s Box Tops commitments kept his mind occupied, and he looked forward to reconnecting with the Beach Boys for the monthlong tour. They would be flying to many of the dates in the Californians’ DC-7.

  The string of shows began August 2, at the new Civic Center at Lansdowne Park in Ottawa, Ontario. On the road Alex mostly hung out with Carl Wilson. “This was when I was really starting to get serious about playing the guitar,” Alex remembered in 1992, “and I learned more at the hands of Carl Wilson than I learned from anybody else. He taught me a fuck of a lot of guitar playing. That man is a good guitar player. Carl’s a good man and he’s just so much fun to be around, too. I was like Carl’s puppy dog. I was just with him all the time.” For decades to come, Alex waxed nostalgic about the group: “Believe me, I spent over a hundred nights of my life with those guys, and in some ways they were like my own family.” In 2007 Alex told one friend that if he’d had three sons, he would have named them Carl, Dennis, and Brian, after the Wilson brothers.