Every Night Is Saturday Night

by Wanda Jackson

  Ever since Wendell and I met him, we tried to do what God wanted us to do, and, in 1979, Wendell discerned that this was God’s plan for our family. I wanted to be faithful to God’s leading, but I didn’t want to leave Oklahoma. When the time came, however, we bought a house in the North Dallas area and headed for Texas. There were a lot of tears accompanying our departure. It was especially tough for our kids. Gina was a junior in high school. She was a popular cheerleader with a lot of strong friendships, and it just broke her heart to think that she wouldn’t be able to join her classmates for their senior year.

  Adjusting to life in Texas was a challenge because we didn’t know anyone there. If we needed a doctor or a dentist, for example, we had no idea where to go. Soon, however, we joined the First Baptist Church of Euless, Texas, where Jimmy Draper was the pastor. He was a great preacher and became a close friend. We had a beautiful home down there and, for the first time in my life, I had the experience of being a stay-at-home mom. I got into exercising during that period and also started cooking. I had put on a few pounds in the ’70s, but having the time to focus on my physical well-being resulted in a good health kick for our whole family. That part was fun, but I grew restless pretty quickly. All I’d ever known was travel and acclaim and getting patted on the back. Suddenly, all that was gone.

  Everywhere I went in Oklahoma City people would know who I was, but that wasn’t the case in Dallas. I’d write a check at the grocery store and they would ask to see identification. I recall one time I was in a health food store talking with a girl who worked there. I mentioned that I was a singer.

  “Oh, have you been on the Grapevine Opry?” she asked.

  That was a local show that featured amateur talent. I said, “No, I haven’t.”

  “Well, honey,” she said, “you can go up there and audition, and they might let you on the show!”

  Well, that just about did it for me. I can’t even remember how I responded, but I know I didn’t like it. I knew that my identity was rooted in God’s love and not at the bright end of a spotlight, but I also enjoyed the accolades. I don’t know if it was ego, but I struggled with not being known because that meant I wasn’t out there connecting with audiences. I loved performing so much, and I began to feel like I wasn’t living up to the full potential of the talents God had given me.

  Meanwhile, every time Wendell would find a piece of property for the Dallas ministry, there would be one hitch or another. It began to seem like Jerry, who was the primary financial backer, vetoed every option, and we began to wonder if he might be regretting getting into the venture for one reason or another. He had not moved from his home in Anchorage, and our other partner, Manley, already lived in Dallas. We were the only ones who’d uprooted our lives for the endeavor, so we bore the brunt of the pressure to see something materialize. We never lacked anything we needed, but these were leaner times for us than we were accustomed to. We had to rob Peter to pay Paul and shuffle funds around to keep our household going. God blessed us and met our every need, but we had to really trust Him. It didn’t come easy.

  Wendell finally took a job with a ministry of the Baptist Sunday School Board that brought teaching via satellite TV to every church that had the connection. They used the technology to teach the local Sunday school teachers during a weeknight to prepare them for their classes that coming Sunday. He had to do some traveling for that job, and I was longing to go with him. I didn’t like it when he was away, plus I was itching to be back out there on the road, too.

  After several months, Wendell and I were left scratching our heads. Why did God lead us to Dallas if the ministry opportunity was going to fall apart? Were we missing something about His plan for our lives? We were frustrated and confused, but wanted to hang in there if that’s where God wanted us. We fasted and prayed for three days to seek God’s direction. He seemed to be telling us both the same thing, which was, “I really don’t care where you live as long as you continue to serve me.” That gave us the freedom to go home to Oklahoma, which we did in 1980. Wendell used to say we “got out after eleven months on good behavior.”

  When we came back to Oklahoma, we built a house in the same neighborhood where we had been living before we moved. In fact, the house we built upon our return is where I still live today. We got back into doing church appearances, but we were also selling Amway products, which is a pyramid sales program. If Wendell and I got into something, we got into it all the way. We’d invite people over for coffee, have meetings at our house, and try to interest them in the program. That experience taught me that I’m not a salesperson. I’m an entertainer!

  In the early 1980s I cranked out some country releases for the budget labels Gusto and K-Tel, but they weren’t particularly inspired. The material was mostly comprised of re-recordings of earlier hits or covers of songs that had been popular by other artists. I also recorded a couple more gospel albums for a small label called Vine Records, but they didn’t get much attention. By the mid-1980s I hadn’t had a Top 40 hit in nearly a decade and a half. I wasn’t even fifty yet, but I felt like I’d been forced into an early retirement as time had passed me by. It wasn’t a good feeling, but I tried to adjust to my new reality and appreciate the fact that I still had the opportunity to sing for church audiences.

  Then the strangest thing happened. Wendell and I had gone out of town to perform at a church. We were staying in a hotel suite with a separate living area so I could have an afternoon nap before the evening service, while Wendell got some work done in the other room. At one point he came into the bedroom just as I was waking up. It’s hard to describe, but there was almost a glow around him as he walked by the bed. It was so beautiful, but so startling that I couldn’t even say anything. Later he said, “Wanda, when you were taking a nap I was praying, and I had an experience that was almost like a waking dream or a vision. It was like our lives were a line. The line was going one way with your country music career, but then it took a ninety degree turn. That represented gospel music. I don’t know what it means, but the line continued on in that gospel direction, before taking an abrupt turn again. I don’t know what to make of it.”

  I didn’t know what to make of it either, but I knew a change was coming. And I knew that God knew exactly what was in store for us.

  Chapter 23

  ROCKABILLY FEVER

  By 1984 I hadn’t played a country show in years. And my rockabilly days were so far in the rearview mirror at that point that I’d nearly forgotten them. I assumed everyone else in the world had probably forgotten them, too. Apparently, at least one person remembered.

  Wendell and I received a phone call in the summer of 1984 from Harry Holmes, a Swedish newspaper man who had started his own label called Tab Records. He was a fan of mine who explained that there was a big rockabilly revival going on in Scandinavia and that he’d like me to come over and record an album. He said he could also put together a tour for us while we were there. Going from gospel back to rock and roll was an unexpected turn in my life, but Wendell and I both realized that this was what his vision was preparing us for. God was redirecting us once again for His purposes. I just didn’t yet fully understand what that would mean.

  We traveled to Sweden, and I was absolutely shocked to go into these little towns and draw sold-out crowds. I didn’t know I had any fans in that part of the world, and I was even more surprised to discover that these were the most diehard fans I’d ever met! Kids would come in with stacks of albums for me to sign, and I could barely believe it. Harry put together a wonderful backing band for the tour, and those dates became the first rattle out of the bag in terms of getting back into secular shows after a long gospel era.

  In September I went into a studio in the city of Kumla and recorded my first rock material in twenty years. With producer Kenth Larsson and a backing band of Swedish rockabilly fanatics, I did my take on some classic songs like “Stupid Cupid,” Buddy Holly’s “Oh Boy” and “Rave On,” and Otis Blackwell’s “Breathless,” w
hich was made popular by Jerry Lee Lewis. We also recorded some country sides, and I even squeezed in a disco-tinged gospel track to close out the album called “Ain’t It Gospel.” The album, Rockabilly Fever, was released in Europe and was well received.

  Harry hired a photographer to take some shots of me for the album cover. Before long, I was talking about my faith in God and sharing my testimony with this young man. “It’s the strangest thing,” he commented during the shoot, “when you started talking about God your whole countenance changed. Your face softened and you began to look so happy.” He began asking me questions about Christ and we had a really great conversation.

  I soon discovered that there was an openness to spiritual conversations in Europe that I didn’t find in America. In the States you can mention God briefly on the radio, and they’ll just change the subject of the interview. Over there, however, people are more open to it. I think maybe they’re not immune to it because they haven’t heard as much about it. I could go on the radio in Europe and give my full testimony. They would ask me all sorts of questions, and we would have nuanced discussions about the meaning of life. That was a new experience for me.

  I came to understand that my longing for the spotlight back in Texas wasn’t actually self-centeredness. I had struggled to keep those feelings at bay, believing that wasn’t the kind of attitude God desired. I had wrestled over my feelings toward some of the gospel performances. I was starting to get tired of having to work with tracks and not having a proper stage a lot of the time. I would fuss at myself, “You shouldn’t feel that way. You’re doing what God wants you to do.” But the truth was I was getting unhappy. Now I see that all those feelings I was fighting out of a desire to live in God’s will was actually the process of God drawing me back to the world of secular music. I came to understand that you’re not going to win the world to Christ if you’re not actually out there in the world. I love the church community, but you can’t stay in the four walls of the church if you want to make an impact.

  Wendell and I both realized that God was going to use our testimony in places that needed it. It was a tricky adjustment at first. Initially, I felt a little guilty because I’d thought of my secular career for many years as something I’d walked away from out of obedience to God. It was hard to feel right about singing in bars again, but God confirmed in my spirit, time and again, that that’s right where He wanted me and that’s where I could be most effective. I came to feel like I was in God’s will singing my little rockabilly songs and sharing His love. I was ready. I wanted to get back out there!

  During that Swedish tour it seemed that nearly every night the audience would start chanting, “Mean, Mean Man.” I’d tell them, “I know I wrote the song, but I haven’t sung it in so many years, I don’t even know the words anymore.” One morning we were getting out of the elevator in a hotel lobby when a young man ran up to me with a piece of notebook paper.

  “Wanda, here are your lyrics to ‘Mean Mean Man.’ I wrote them down for you. Please start doing it again. We love it!”

  So I did. And it’s been on my set list ever since. I still can’t believe that people who weren’t even born when I was recording those songs know them even better than I do!

  I continued to release gospel and country material on the independent Amethyst label in the 1980s as Wendell and I toured Europe on a regular basis. Sweden opened that door for us and, before long, German promoters were calling. That led to all kinds of festivals. There are festivals for everything in Europe. They’ll do just about anything as an excuse to enjoy beer and dancing! From there, things opened up for us in the UK. Later on came Spain, Switzerland, Hungary, the Czech Republic, and so on. I was the Queen of Rockabilly in those places, so touring overseas was very successful for us. We would make four or five trips a year, and I felt like I was back where I belonged when I was onstage with a live band.

  Discovering my new fanbase in Europe was one of the great joys in my life. Unfortunately, that time period also brought about the saddest moment. I was traveling in Norway in March of 1985 when I found out that Daddy had died. He had been ill with kidney problems and had had several operations, including open heart surgery. His body was breaking down on him. We were just finishing the tour when Gina reached us in our hotel room. Wendell answered the phone and I couldn’t tell who he was talking to. When he hung up he said, “Honey, sit down here on the bed a minute.” He knelt beside me and took my hand. “I hate to have to say this, but you need to know that Tom has died.” I broke down in tears. The young guy who drove us arrived just at that time to take us to the airport. I ran out to him and sobbed, “Peter, my Daddy has died!” I cried all the way home. They could hardly get me through the door at the funeral home. Brother Paul and Wendell had to help me. I had always put Daddy on a pedestal and it was hard to believe he was gone.

  Despite my grief I took comfort in knowing that Daddy received Christ just a few days before he died. It was our preacher who led him to God, but Mother had been praying for him for forty years. She lived a faithful life in front of him, and after Wendell and I became believers we tried to do the same. I had the chance to speak with him afterward from Norway, and I said, “Daddy, I’ll be singing while you’re having that operation, but it’s going to be really hard for me because I’ll have you on my mind. Would you pray for me during that time?” It felt so good and so strange to ask Daddy to pray, but he said he would. He didn’t get to live a Christian life, but I know that he’s in the presence of God today and that I’ll get the chance to see him again in Heaven. That thought brings me great comfort.

  In 1986 a US label picked up the Rockabilly Fever album and released it under the title Rock ’N’ Roll Away Your Blues. By that point there had been quite a rockabilly resurgence in America. The Stray Cats were the most popular rockabilly revivalists, but bands like The Clash, The Blasters, X, and The Cramps blended rockabilly with punk and created a whole new subculture of young rockabilly fans who dressed exactly like we did in the 1950s, but added a whole lot of tattoos and piercings to the equation! I discovered that many of these musicians were fans of mine. Even country artists were getting into the game by the late 1980s, including Marty Stuart, who had a hit with “Hillbilly Rock,” and my friend Rosie Flores, who released her debut album in 1987 and became one of my biggest champions.

  In 1995 Rosie released an album called Rockabilly Filly. I joined her for two songs, “His Rockin’ Little Angel” and a cover of my own “Rock Your Baby.” She also featured Janis Martin on the album, who had signed with RCA in 1956 and came to be known as “the female Elvis.” Like me, she recorded both country and rock material and was also rediscovered in Europe during the rockabilly revival. Even though Janis and I have both been championed as the female pioneers of rockabilly, and even though we both became friends with Rosie Flores, we never actually crossed paths. I regret that I didn’t get the chance to meet her and swap stories about our rockin’ days in the 1950s. Rosie produced a really good album for Janis, and was glad she took the opportunity when she had the chance. Janis was diagnosed with cancer and died not long afterward.

  I give Rosie a lot of credit for my rockabilly resurgence in the US. When she first reached out to me, I wasn’t familiar with her. She said she was a fan of mine and she sent me her record. I really liked what I heard. She ended up coming to Oklahoma City and visiting us at our house. That’s where we recorded my parts on the songs for her album. I just thought she was wonderful and I was so glad she contacted us. Rosie had a good following and was the one who helped me realize that I did, too. She ended up reintroducing me to the new rockabilly scene and they really embraced me. Wendell and I started to get calls from her from time to time, inviting us to do shows with her. Before long, she arranged for an agency to put together a tour for us. We spent five weeks zigzagging across America and up into Canada. It was like old times being on the road again, except this time I wasn’t the only girl on the bill. I had another gal there with me to share the exper
ience.

  One of the dates we played was in Nashville. I’d always felt like a black sheep in Music City and didn’t think that anyone there would even come out to see me perform. I never did pursue any dates around there. Other than the time I appeared on the Grand Ole Opry, the first time I played a show in Nashville was with Rosie. We played one of the clubs there, and the room was packed. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t think anybody there even knew me. And if they did, I figured they didn’t like me! I was pleasantly surprised to find out I was wrong. In fact, I even donated my Martin D-28 guitar to the Country Music Hall of Fame. I thought it was fitting for them to have the one I was holding on the cover of my Salutes the Country Music Hall of Fame album. It was the second good guitar I ever owned, but I’d worn it out over the years. In fact, I felt like I’d made peace with Nashville, and it was nice to feel embraced by the community there.

  In some ways that tour with Rosie was a little scary. We’d been in a lot of clubs and honky tonks in our day, but some of these venues she was playing were a whole different thing altogether. Everything was painted black, and I couldn’t believe some of the stuff that was written on the walls! In Europe we usually played festivals, so rock clubs were a new thing for us. It was kind of eye-opening. Even though the rooms were a little frightening, the audiences couldn’t have been sweeter. They came because they loved the music, and it was just so wonderful and so amazingly unexpected to be embraced by a new generation of kids. It also introduced us to a whole new circuit of venues and booking agents. When I was playing with Rosie, a lot of the managers of the clubs would talk to Wendell about booking me again in the future. Before long, work just began to open up for us in the US. We didn’t have to make four or five trips per year across the ocean. We enjoyed traveling overseas, but we were nearly sixty by that point, and it wasn’t as easy on us as it had once been.