About this English translation:

The book was written in German; my mother tongue, it is the only language I know as a writer, with all nuances. My story about J.J. Cale's music and his artistic career would of course have deserved a professional English translation - but unfortunately, as an independent musician and author, I really lack the necessary money for this. That's why I translated the book here for you with deepl.com - it is currently the best online translator worldwide. I have additionally enhanced the Deepl-translation, but my English is limited - the subtleties of my mother tongue are lost, partly also the humor, and there will be some mistakes in presentation (f.e. with some "-characters) and maybe also grammar errors here and there. So if you have the feeling that certain phrases don't make sense or sound strange - just think "the computer is inferior to humans" - or for my sake "they're crazy, these Swiss guys!" :-)

I'm sure you as a J.J. Cale fan will understand and enjoy the story anyway, and maybe here and there you'll learn hitherto unknown details about the wonderful J.J. Cale and his immortal music.

Sincerely: Richard Koechli

Remember, this is a gift, a free supplement to the CD and the Vinyl-Double-LP "The Real Chill, Remembering J.J. Cale" ...

Table of contents

Prologue 6 Chapter 1 - Tim's crazy idea 10 Chapter 2 - The Strange at Home 20 Chapter 3 – Tulsa 36 Chapter 4 - Los Angeles 91 Chapter 5 - The happy pill 151 Chapter 6 – Nashville 156 Naturally (1971) 168 Really (1972 223 Okie (1974) 242 Troubadour (1976) 283 Five (1979) 290 In Session At The Paradise Studios (1979) 303

Chapter 7 – The ride goes on 305 Shades (1981) 317 Grasshopper (1982) 317 #8 (1983) 319 Travel-Log (1990) 326 Number 10 (1992) Closer To You (1994) Guitar Man (1996) J.J. Cale live (2001) 335 To Tulsa And Back (2004) 336 The Road To Escondido (2006) 339 Rewind (2007) 341 Roll On (2009) 342

Epilogue 344 J.J. Cale the silent master

A dreamlike ride through the history of laid-back music

by Richard Koechli

Prologue

John Weldon Cale (December 5, 1938 - July 26, 2013), called J.J. Cale. With his cool mix of blues, rockabilly, country and jazz, he made an invaluable contribution to music history. His records enjoy cult status, his songs have been covered by famous artists such as Eric Clapton, his guitar style was a steep pass for Mark Knopfler, his aesthetics of quiet singing remain unrivaled, his laconic lyrics are impressionistic works of art, his recording milestones in the history of recording studios. All achieved - and yet hardly anyone outside the fan zone seems to know him. Cale was not made for the big hype. For half a lifetime the loner has worked to remain unknown; for a long time, especially here in Europe, hardly anyone knew what face was behind this ominous songwriter, because he didn't want to be depicted on his albums. Music, nothing but music was his concern. His own person seemed unimportant to him; he wanted to have his privacy. Not that he was cold or dismissive, quite the contrary. John was naturally modest, humorous, self- ironic. He knew what he could do, sought his luck, but never took off, never came too close to the sun. Success yes, but please only as much as necessary to live and work in a relaxed way. He wanted to be normal. Nothing is more inspiring than writing about normal people. And his music - a never ending source of joy! His laid-back sound is groundbreaking, timeless; his role in music history is grossly underrated. Cale's famous students are all long since in the Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame, the Blues Hall of Fame or in any list of the best guitarists of all time - he himself is not. There is this wonderful documentary "To Tulsa And Back" by Jörg Bundschuh. No substitute for a book, though; the two media are too different. My story here is not meant to be a documentary anyway, not a biography in the conventional sense, and certainly not an authorized one. Only someone from his private environment could write something like this; his widow Christine Lakeland Cale, for example, or his longtime manager Mike Kappus. We all hope that this will happen soon - which is why, by the way, this publication here is deliberately not appearing in bookstores in order not to provoke unnecessary competition. I do not want to profit from J.J. Cale's legacy. For my book I have chosen the concept of the non-fiction novel. A very personal view of Cale's life's work. The novel form makes it possible to improvise, to embellish, to interpret; as a blues musician and therefore also as an author I cannot exist without this scope. I think it suits J.J. - when you hear how freely he dealt with his songs on stage, you know that he was a player too. So how much of this is fact and how much of the novel? The story with Alvin, the young music journalist, and with Brian, the old man and Cale fan from the first hour - that's fiction. Alvin and Brian talk for a week about J.J. Cale's music and the course of his career, and of course I tried to research as precisely as possible. The data, factual content and original locations are based on information that is publicly available. In many cases they are secured, but as always there are some question marks and contradictions, even with official information - and that's why you hear Brian and Alvin sometimes saying "I don't know", "probably", "possibly" or something like that. Another topic is the rumors, the strange myths that surround Cale. Some of them have been debunked and refuted, others may not. Perhaps some of them even belong to the game of hide-and-seek that Cale used to distract from his private life. It makes him all the more exciting. The music is clearly the focus of this book. But I am also fascinated by the story around it, the music-historical context. No artist in the world grows up alone; there were a lot of exciting people involved in Cale's career, famous and not so famous. Those who shaped him, accompanied him, or otherwise supported him in some way. Those who inspired him, were inspired by him, or were simply on the road at the same time. Although not everything is directly connected to J.J. Cale - I am interested in such details. If we understand the history of style better, we can feel the songs even deeper and maybe even discover other artists. When Alvin and Brian discuss J.J. Cale, many of their statements refer to statements Cale made in interviews. I would find it rather boring to take them literally. That's why I generally refrain from original quotes and use the content only in the sense of its meaning. In dialogue, these statements are sometimes spun further in a playful way. In my opinion, constant references would stand in the way of liveliness and reading pleasure - it's like when you keep on shouting while improvising, "I heard this lick at Muddy Waters, this one at Elmore James, and this one at Chet Atkins". That's not going to work out, so I'll take the liberty of thanking the esteemed journalists and media who enabled me to acquire the basic knowledge, only in the epilogue. In certain moments, for example when they discuss show business or the philosophy of laid-back music, this has nothing to do with J.J. Cale. They are either subjective views of two fans, hypotheses or parts of my own thoughts. Well, if a few private insights from my thirty years of involvement with music get lost in the story here, then indirectly it has something to do with J.J. Cale again - because he accompanied and inspired me all these years. You can turn it any way you want, the story here has only one purpose: to arouse and deepen interest in J.J. Cale and his unique music. It works best in a double pack - the book in one hand, the audio player in the other. On the Internet, practically without exception, every song mentioned in the book can be listened to legally, and even closer to the secret of his music is who gets his albums!

Enjoy this dreamlike ride through the history of laid-back music! I am giving this book as a free supplement to my album The Real Chill, Remembering J.J. Cale; so it's probably the most comprehensive CD booklet in the world. If you want to thank me for this, you can support an animal welfare organization - J.J. Cale's explicit wish. If you want to support me as a musician and book author in these difficult pandemic times, you can buy more Koechli products (they are all listed on the website richardkoechli.ch/en) or throw something into my paypal hat (www.paypal.me/RichardKoechli). Thanks!

September 2020 Richard Koechli Chapter 1 - Tim's crazy idea

Alvin drives slowly, takes his time, is overtaken left and right. I hear there are countries that only allow left-handed overtaking. That's an odd idea. It works perfectly here. Best on one of the two middle lanes, there's no stress with stressed out people. Highways are for everyone. Alvin Lindley knows the track, he drives it every day. From Temecula to San Diego to the editorial office, sixty miles. If it's urgent, it can be done in less than an hour. Not today. He's been working for the San Diego Reader for more than ten years. Not a bad job; a newspaper with a good reputation - and with enough budget also for stories about music. Interviews, reviews, concert reviews, announcements of events. A daily hour there and back, that's worth such a job. And the ride is really fun here in this area. A paradise. Alvin wouldn't want to live anywhere else in the world. Golden State! State beyond measure. Here you will find the diversity and richness of all America; forests, sequoias, mountain peaks, deserts, wild coasts, white sand beaches. And culture without end, entertainment at its best. Three of the most exciting cities in the world; San Francisco, Los Angeles - and San Diego, of course. A city to fall in love with! The pulse of a big city, spiced with Mexican influence. And then you get in the car and in less than an hour you can be a hermit somewhere in seclusion. The climate too - just the way Alvin likes it. Mediterranean, but not too hot. Mild Mediterranean climate; a long, warm and dry summer. It is June, Monday morning. It is the year 2015.

Anything but a normal Monday morning. Alvin's not going to the newsroom. He's on a week's vacation. Vacation is probably not the right word; he will be working - on a completely extraordinary project. But he has set himself the goal of working in a relaxed manner. This week is dedicated to none other than the master of relaxed music, the king of "laid-back" sound. If it feels like work, it's not laid-back, it's simple. The anticipation is boundless, but there is also nervousness mixed in, because it's pretty uncertain. Maybe deep breathing helps. This chance here never comes back; he has to be relaxed! Alvin lets himself be overtaken. A pleasure, this Mountain Freeway. "Mountain" is perhaps a bit exaggerated; the passing hills here, left and right, they are not really high - most of them barely six hundred meters above sea level. But they are close by, and will easily outdo you by three hundred metres. That looks like something; but never mighty, because they are not pointy. The four-lane road curves around the hills in a nice and easy way, showing the splendid colours, the Mediterranean mixture of green, brown and red. Up and down it goes. Not abruptly, and yet two hundred meters of altitude difference are already there. As if made for a laid-back ride. There is Pala Mesa in front, probably the deepest point of the track, only a few dozen meters above sea level. "Avocado Highway" is the name of the Interstate 15 section. Because here, on thirty thousand hectares, a large part of the Californian avocados are cultivated, picked and transported away. A business worth billions. Ten minutes to the exit, he estimates. No, we can't get to San Diego today, not even to Escondido. Alvin's gonna take Exit 41 to visit the strange man. At Valley Center! Valley Center isn't the same as Escondido, it's just nearby. Even the late laid-back master must have lived somewhere in this area. Not in Escondido - the title of this record was cool, but staged. Also the album cover, this photo with the two of them at the roadside. It is not the road to Escondido; the picture was taken at the Paramount Movie Ranch in Los Angeles. In the Santa Monica Mountains then, on a Western property where TV series like "Dr. Quinn - Doctor of Passion" were shot. Was it Clapton's idea?

Alvin thinks back to the story told to him by Ralph, a former colleague from the editorial office. The story about Clapton and Cale. Eric Clapton recorded this famous album with his great idol in the summer of 2005, "J.J. Cale & Eric Clapton, The Road To Escondido". One year later the songs were finally mixed and J.J. Cale took his time as usual. The release was finally scheduled for November 2006. A few months before the release, Clapton came back to the area for a photo session for the album cover. A concentrated series of interviews was organized for Cale and Clapton in a hotel in Los Angeles to get the press hot. Ralph had apparently only been in the editorial office for a few days at the time; just to try it out, still without a permanent job. As always in such cases, they'll snarl you up as an assistant first. He helped out as a cable carrier, lighting technician, and he had the job of keeping things quiet during the interview. And then, when the whole thing was over - the big disappointment! Ralph had his old guitar and a felt-tip pen with him, approached superstar Clapton shyly, wanted to shake his hand and politely ask him to sign the cheap instrument. But his guitar hero had no time; Ralph stood there like petrified. J.J. Cale noticed the situation, approached the young assistant and squeezed his hand with a smile: "No stress, man. Eric doesn't mean it. I think he's tired. The next interview starts in two minutes; it's been going on all day, yesterday it was the same thing." Ralph complained in his usual dramatic way that a world had collapsed for him back then. Alvin wonders today how much of the story is true. It's not impossible that the good guy put a lot of flourish on it back then. To make himself important? Whatever. Ralph no longer works for the San Diego Reader; his style wasn't very well received on the executive floor. But Alvin liked him. And in the end it was Ralph who made him aware of the master's music. So in a way, it was fateful. Alvin had hardly noticed this J.J. Cale before, and suddenly the inconspicuous songwriter entered his life. And how! He became the center of attention in a very short time. And not just because of the songs. Of course, Alvin had gotten all his records, could hardly get out of his amazement and enjoyment and knew that he had dug up a musical treasure for himself. But that's not all, not by a long shot. Cale's music was like a miracle - and saved his family. An incredible story.

Alvin has been married to his wife Sandy for thirteen years. In the beginning it was all like a fairy tale. But then they noticed the strange behavior of their only son Tim. When he was four, they diagnosed him with Kanner Syndrome. Tim suffered from infantile autism. Life became difficult, the nerves often lay bare, and the relationship with Sandy ended up more and more on the test bench. Tim could usually only express that he wanted something by screaming and hitting - and nobody but him knew exactly what it was. The boy's speech was very limited, he could hardly communicate and was restless almost all the time. Until this miracle happened. At home they had heard a lot of music from the beginning, sometimes all three of them together. Alvin always had this idea that sounds and melodies could somehow help Tim, too. Sometimes he actually thought he could feel an effect. In everyday life, especially outdoors, there is noise everywhere; autistic people react to it very strongly. Tim always gets dizziness and headaches. When he listened to music, he sometimes became a little quieter - depending on what kind of music it was. It didn't have much of an effect, but it did. Then eight years ago the big breakthrough happened. Alvin put on a record of the treasure he had just dug up: J.J. Cale. He can't even remember which album, but the magic was incredible. Tim seemed transformed, within minutes. You could tell by his features, his posture, his whole being. There was something that he had never seen before. A mixture of serenity, joy and discovery. The little boy, who otherwise avoided almost any eye contact, looked his parents in the eyes, open and with an expression of familiarity. Alvin and Sandy were crying with joy - and at the same time they were getting scared. It couldn't be right, it was like a spook. And the haunting did not stop. Tim started talking on the second song. The way he talked was extraordinary. Mostly Tim spoke very little, and when he did, he spoke monotonously, sometimes stuttering, but always with unnatural emphasis. Now he talked completely authentic, relaxed and concentrated. Only a few words, but they hit the heart: "I can see it. Please turn the music up a little louder, so I can see it more clearly." Alvin and Sandy looked at each other questioningly, and the boy kept concentrating. "The sound is real, I can see it, I can walk around in it." Now he closed his eyes. "When my eyes are closed, I can see it even better. I see the sounds, I see colors and shapes. I never told you this - it's always been true, but mostly it's blurred. Now it's sharp, very precise. It's never been so beautiful as this music." The doctors seemed more or less familiar with the phenomenon, but they were very surprised at the unusual progress Tim was making in a matter of weeks. Of course, the boy was still autistic, often with very difficult moments. But whenever he grabbed the headphones to listen to J.J. Cale's music, this incredible change came. And then it disappeared again, but as time went on, the effect stayed longer. It was as if the effect stubbornly tried to implant itself again and again in Tim's brain and in his soul, until a small remainder of it finally stayed in to give the boy a new form and strength. The changes were obvious. And Tim emphasized again and again that he only wanted to hear this music. "The others just play the piece, but the music is missing. J.J. Cale makes a perfect sound, this man has character." It's amazing how he put it, when he was nine years old.

None of this would have happened if Ralph hadn't been here. No, Alvin has nothing against his former colleague - and after all, Ralph was the only one on the editorial staff who had the good fortune to meet the master in person at that interview in Los Angeles. Awesome! Apparently not even the strange one had this luck. Alvin takes a deep breath, looks left and right out of the side windows. Soon comes the exit, which will lead him to the strange one. A good-natured little slap on the wheel - a Ford, pretty inexpensive car, family-friendly, environmentally friendly. He slows down the speed once more to enjoy the moment even longer. "As a side effect, I send even less exhaust fumes into the air," he thinks contentedly. I wonder at what speed car freak Clapton might have been driving on this route at the time. In a Porsche or a Ferrari? It doesn't matter. Alvin smiles and thinks of his son again. This spook that was and still is not over. The coronation is still to come. Tim soon grabbed his father's guitar to strum it. It sounded pretty strange at first. But the boy hardly gave the instrument out of his hand anymore - and that contributed to the improvement of his general condition. Suddenly Alvin and Sandy noticed that the boy wasn't playing anything, but the songs of J.J. Cale. No one had taught him how to play; he wouldn't take any advice from Alvin. He wanted to find out for himself. As time went by, it all took shape, got better and better - and Alvin couldn't believe his ears. The boy played the licks and riffs with incredible aplomb. It sounded loose, yet intense. And the most amazing thing: Tim didn't just play the notes. He doesn't replay anything - and nothing twice in the same way. The boy plays "in style of", he improvises. Sometimes he gets tangled up, sure; but when he's in a good mood, it comes across as incredibly real and groovy. The little one has long been playing better than Alvin, and that after only a few years, at this age! Alvin is not very talented; it doesn't matter, he is indescribably happy for his son. It's a gift, it's J.J. Cale's gift. And because of this, Alvin had wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. Last fall, at the Escondido Music Store, the guitar store in town. A certain Brian Hartley gave an exclusive J.J. Cale workshop there; a fundraising event for the benefit of the local shelter, in the spirit of the late master. The store was pumped full, although there was little publicity for it. Hartley is considered a freak in the area. Nobody knows exactly how old the man is, probably around eighty. He is said to be an incredible Cale fan, and a connoisseur; one who pretends to know just about everything about the Tulsa Sound. He is said to have studied the master's songs like no other, especially the guitar parts. In the local music scene, he's almost a cult; everyone knows him, most respect him. But somehow Brian Hartley has an ambivalent reputation. There are people who call him an impostor, others a slightly crazy person or a looser. In any case, everyone wonders why the man obviously never made a living from music in the past, given his skills. Nobody knows exactly what he did all his life; as a guitarist he would have gotten jobs for sure - obviously he didn't want to. And another thing people ask themselves: Why has this guy never met the great master in person? Since he has lived in the same area as J.J. Cale for many years. There's something about this old man, they say, that he's strange, mysterious. And that's why Hartley's been called "the Strange Man" in the scene, quite simply, for many years. Anyway, he was very easygoing at that workshop, the Strange Man. He told some stories, strummed some guitar phrases every now and then and seemed to be surprised that there are people who hope to learn something concrete from him. "You're all better at it than me anyway," he said with a smile. "And don't get your hopes up - you can't imitate J.J. You can't buy the mojo." Alvin and Tim waited in the store during the workshop, at a safe distance behind the crowd; the boy couldn't have stood it otherwise. When the event was over and the people slowly disappeared, the two of them approached the strange. Hartley was still busy packing up his instruments and still greeted them friendly: "Hello you two - nice you came. You are Alvin Lindley and you write about music, right? The shop owner warned me. And that young man is your son, isn't he?" Alvin didn't waste any time; it was time to use it. "Yes, that's Tim. He's dying to play something for you, just for a minute. We won't keep you long." Hartley looked at him friendly and said, "That's cool, Tim. Go for it. I've gotta roll up all this cable clutter here - but my ears are with you, don't worry. I can hear everything..." Yeah, and then the boys just went on without saying a word. Alvin had counted on everything, he couldn't know what shape his son would be in. But Tim was wonderful. He didn't play a particular song - he just started with a typical J.J. Cale groove and improvised on it. Economical and relaxed, as if the child had sixty years of life experience. Alvin struggled with the tears, it sounded incredibly good! The strange man stopped fiddling with the cables with a jerk, turned around and watched the boy with fatherly sparkling eyes. One or two minutes - and the spook was over. Tim got into a rage, made an angry move, put the instrument aside and ran away wordlessly into the next room. Alvin tried to explain the situation to Hartley as best and as quickly as he could. "Okay, no problem," the old man said calmly. After much persuasion, Tim finally came back. "I don't want to play anymore, I want to go home," he shouted excitedly. The strange man put his hand on the boy's shoulder, looked at him buddylike and said in a soft voice: "Hey Tim, you're the man. You do what you want to do, understand? Don't be fooled in this world. You're the man. You're not gonna be a circus act. This is coming good, boy. You're the man." "Keep me posted," Hartley said as he scribbled a phone number on Alvin's paper as he said goodbye; "... but don't make a monkey out of him at the zoo - we've got enough of these child prodigies already." Those were his last words before he calmly and carefully continued to roll up the wires on the floor.

Alvin is overjoyed. He turns on the turn signal - there's the exit: Gopher Canyon Road / Old Castle Road. The spirit of this musician has changed his life; serenity, trust and hope floats over his family, and his love for Sandy is blossoming again like in the beginning. He actually kept the strange man up to date with this longer phone last week. But Alvin did not want to tell him about Tim in the first place. Incredibly, he still can't believe that Hartley bought the idea from him. "Okay, if you think so," mumbled the odd one through the receiver, "come by, preferably first thing Monday. I've got all week - let's see if we can't come up with something clever." For once, even Alvin started to stutter with excitement. "Oh, um, really? That's f-fawful, Mr. Hartley. The old man laughed, "We'll see. I don't talk much unless you ask me good questions. Oh, yes, and... will you take the boy with you?"

Tim didn't want to come; he can't explain why. He doesn't have to. Would have been pretty complicated to sign the boy out of special school for a week anyway. "My son is going to spend a week with a strange old man to talk about the music and life of world-famous songwriter J.J. Cale" - they would have thought he was crazy. Maybe he'll come along this weekend, if the exercise hasn't been cancelled by then. Hartley is said to be quite unpredictable, it is rumored; if he doesn't feel like it, it's fun to finish quickly. Does the strange man simply want to imitate his idol? Even the master is said to be unpredictable and gnarled at press meetings. Or is that just a myth? It doesn't matter. J.J. Cale could afford to be headstrong. That's a position to be in! A couple of annual, kick-ass royalty checks, no matter what. This pillow was made by Clapton, no question.

All these rumors and Ralph's story about Clapton, they don't count now. Alvin wants to talk to Brian Hartley in a relaxed and focused manner about the art of the Tulsa sound. What a project! Hey, they're gonna love this in the newsroom. Nice and shady here on the Old Castle Road. Trees, bushes, beautiful. That little valley up ahead - "South Fork Moosa Canyon", not exactly modest, that name. "Canyon..." smiles Alvin. There must be some car dealer here, and a small restaurant, if the road map on the internet is correct. Right, here it is. "The Pointed Roof Delicatessen." Sounds cool. Maybe even the great J.J. Cale once ate here, so quickly for the small appetite - he is said to have lived somewhere in this area. Don't know where exactly. Anyway, it's none of his business. Alvin must find the strange man, at least from him he knows the address. It's only two or three miles from here to Lilac Road. Pretty twisty now all of a sudden, and there's hardly any shade on the road. But the view of all the small hills and valleys is wonderful. Again these mediterranean colours; astonishingly much green especially - considering how often the fire raged here already.

A small, modest house in the mountains; this is what Eric Clapton calls the home of his friend J.J. Cale, in the impressive autobiography "Eric Clapton - my life". Well, small house perhaps, but Cale's property is said to have been three hectares in size after all. Sure, the contrast must seem huge to Clapton - Slowhand owns a few luxury villas spread all over the world. He is even said to have lived in the area, back in the eighties. I wonder where that might have been? Hardly on any of these abandoned hills here. Maybe Valley Center itself? The list of VIPs who reside or used to reside there is quite impressive: Gary Cooper, John Wayne, Fred Astaire. Not bad. Alvin shakes himself awake. The house of the strange will probably be much smaller than that of J.J. Cale. Hartley is hardly very rich; he has probably kept his head above water with all kinds of jobs and somehow managed to buy a house or build one himself. But you don't know anything for sure. Soon Alvin will see the cottage; Lilac Road has to start right there. No, shit, that's not it yet. Then it must be the next one. Bingo, here it is! Another few hundred meters, then it's up to the right, a small side street, and Alvin will stand in front of the modest house of the strange one. His heart is pounding; no idea why. There is no rational reason to be afraid - Alvin has prepared himself well. Laid-back with a racing pulse? If only this worked...

Chapter 2 - The Strange at Home

Alvin is thinking about Cale's record with Clapton. "Escondido" is Spanish for "hidden". The land here would certainly live up to the name - the nearest neighbours seem to be quite far away. The surprise: The wooden gate to the driveway, it is open. What a feeling - the strange one is waiting for him! Alvin pauses for a moment to let the current situation pass before his inner eye: There's a crazy music freak living in there; one who is considered a great J.J. Cale connoisseur, one who apparently knows every song of the master, every guitar tone, every word, every interview. And yet he is said never to have met him personally. So in the end just a hardcore fan? Is the weird one really the right man for this project? Chatting with this stranger for a week about the laid-back secret? Pretty crazy idea. It's not the time to brood. It's kind of a good time. He's doing the whole thing for Tim too. Alvin loves his son more than anything. If Tim has a vision and he even talks about it, there's no reason to sneak away at the last minute. Alvin inhales, thinking about ringing the bell in a few seconds as the door shuts before him and opens as if by magic.

The small, slim man stands before him. Wrinkled face, grey- white hair, quite dishevelled and sparse. Dark jeans, light blue t-shirt. A friendly old man, you could say - and he is beaming. Not at all; no, it is a discreet glow. More of a kind of sketched glow, held in check by a natural dose of suspicion. Unspectacular in any case, but very likeable. "Hey, fine, are you there. Welcome," shouts this man. "I get to tell you Alvin, okay? Or would you prefer Lindley? "For a guitar fan like you, Lindley is not a bad name." Alvin is happy about the warm handshake - and thinks for a long time where the punch line could be. Finally: "Oh yes, David Lindley, one of the greats!" "Yeah. Did you find room next to my car?" "Yes, Mr. Hartley, no problem. You don't have any Ferraris out here on the forecourt, or it would've been harder. You don't seem like a car nut." "Neither did Cale. He did have a couple of fast cars in his life, though, especially those old-timey cult things. Also some German boxes, Volkswagen. Hey, in the '60s, the master drove a Beetle; had to pay it off in monthly instalments. For a while he even bought a Porsche. Great car, I like it too. But you can't do that up here, you have to have something practical and be able to get away for a few days - that's why I bought this camper here. From Canada. You can sleep and cook in this car. The Canadians know their way around. Microwave, a small bathroom with shower, a generator - all in." "They didn't want an Airstream 532..." Alvin asks, a little disappointed. Hartley shakes his head. "He had one of those back then, I know; American things, very different. You know this photo, of course. But that was back then, much back then." The old man makes an inviting gesture. "Come in."

They walk through the house. Alvin's too scared to look around - it might seem rude. Looks modest, but cosy, and just right tidy - not too much, not too little. In the room next door, his furtive eyes catch some of the equipment and guitars that are standing around. "We'd best go outside in this weather," says Hartley. "Afraid of dogs?" Alvin shakes his head. A Labrador comes towards them, quite excited. So the strange one seems to share the master's love of dogs. "He's still young, full of energy; a fine fellow - Blue is his name. Cale had a few dogs, you know. He loved those pals. Buddy, for example, the English jumper; and Foley, before him, was a great guy too. "Life without animals is an awful lonely business." Hartley sighs softly to himself. "Sit quietly." Alvin is surprised; he hadn't imagined this man so talkative. "It's lovely here with you. It's as homey as Cale's garden with that table and the big oak tree." "The picture on the back of the Escondido album is a fake, I must disappoint you." "What do you mean, disappoint you?" "The picture was taken at the Paramount Movie Ranch, just like the cover picture. Hey, would you want half the music world looking at your backyard?" "Excuse me? I actually thought it was Cale's garden. Even the local paper, Valley Roadrunner, titled the picture 'Eric Clapton and J.J. Cale working on their album in Cale's backyard'." "Yeah, it worked, hehe. Welcome to the world of marketing. When you buy an orange juice - are there oranges inside that are shown on the package?" "Of course not, you're right." "Speaking of which - what would you like to drink? Coffee, tea, water, fruit juice, beer, wine, whisky?" "Oh, that choice! Um, I'll have coffee; it's still morning. Can I help you?" He shakes his head. "You are a guest here. "Take care of Blue - he's up for a good time." With quiet steps, Hartley disappears into the house.

Alvin lets Blue lick his hand, thinks about it for a moment and whispers, "Of course, the song 'Old Blue' - now I know where you got your name, dear." Blue pants and takes a dive. Alvin tries to create a new image inside himself. I wonder what this Cale's garden really looked like. In any case, Clapton lived in Cale's house for a week in 2005 before they went into the studio - this is not fake, it's also in Clapton's autobiography. And they both sat in the garden with a guitar on their laps to discuss the songs for the Escondido album. Alvin takes a breath, leans back a little further. No matter what this garden may have looked like - this one is definitely beautiful. The trees and bushes; this is a great place to be laid-back.

The strange one comes back with a full tray. "Wow, lots of goodies! Very nice, Mr. Hartley, thank you very much," flatters Alvin. "Cookies go with the coffee. Something for the mood - you can use them, can't you?" "Oh, I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean." "The quips about the Ferraris - you're mad at Clapton, right?" "Uh, no, not at all. What makes you say that?" "The story of Ralph Thompson, don't kid me." "You know Ralph, my former editor friend?" "No, but the story he's been telling all over town." "Oh, I see, I'm sorry. I'm not sure how much of the story is true, but..." "Try to forget the story," Hartley tells him. "Let me tell you something. Eric Clapton did not live the life of J.J. Cale, but they were friends. You know what I mean? And because he lived that life, he made Cale's life better." The strange man looks him in the eye with a benign austerity. "Here's a free tip. Ask yourself how many wonderful moments Eric has given us with his music. And then thank him for them. That's enough - you'll fade out the rest. Clapton is not God. Alvin Lindley is not God." Alvin flinches. After long seconds of bliss, he finds back to the subject: "You're right - the Ferrari thing was childish. I just thought you'd love the humour." "I'm always up for Joke. But hey, it's a fine line - there's gotta be something positive hidden inside. Biting Jokes is for nothing." "Sorry," Alvin says, nodding softly. Straightforward and direct, the strange but full of good thoughts. Alvin wonders why people sometimes say bad things about this man. He seems to be a wonderful person after all; Cale fan with skin and hair - and at the same time uncompromisingly behind Clapton.

"It's okay," murmurs Hartley good-naturedly. "When I'm tired, I can get grumpy. That's what happens at this age. Imagine how weary Cale was at the end of each concert. After the West Coast tour in '09, for the 'Roll On' album, he must have been pretty tired. Almost the whole crew got sick, some kind of flu or cold. He had trouble with his voice. Hey, the champion was in his 70s." "Oh, I didn't know Cale and his musicians got sick on that tour. I saw the dates; after all, eight shows in two and a half weeks - no piece of cake either way. How big was the stage stress for Cale? Do you know anything about that?" "I think he got used to it pretty quickly; after two or three days he was in the groove. It's not like he was doing it very regularly. Not a never-ending tour, ha-ha - that wouldn't have been his thing. Before this Roll On tour, he had five years off, no gigs." "Not quite. I'd seen him in San Diego in 2007 - with Clapton." "Oh, yeah, right. One of the exceptions, he was a special guest at Eric's. Probably a cushy job. You were there at the iPayOne Center?" Alvin is beaming. "Of course I was there; it was a fantastic night! It was the exact time I started to love his music. I thought they were both great. Cale's voice and Clapton's are a great match, and the four-piece guitarist front - awesome!" "Yeah, Doyle Bramhall II and Derek Trucks; the guys were great, they don't play one note too many." "Right on. I thought they were very discreet, song-wise. And I was amazed at how synchronised Cale and Clapton could sing together." Hartley smiles. "Yeah, I suppose that was the part you could call work. Cale rarely did that on stage, that unison singing. Clapton was really into it; he had to get the lyrics on there and read the rhythm from the master's lips. ...which were, after all, Cale's songs." Alvin gets going: "It's the least you could do - that you'd work your ass off for Cale. He was the boss." "Boss? I think this role is usually blamed on the guy who puts a few lines of song on paper and isn't too chicken to open his mouth in front of the vocal mic. Someone has to do it, hehe - so there's a reason to jam on stage." Alvin takes a big sip of coffee. "I heard the album 'Roll On' was very well received. I'm sure the master was hot to get it on stage." "Oh, you know, Cale never got bored if he didn't feel stage boards under his feet for a couple of years. But when it came down to it, he kind of liked being with all those guys, I'm sure. Hey, they were all buddies! Buddies sitting around telling stories about the past. That's what all old men do; they talk about things that no longer exist - and can conjure them up again." "They pretend now that this is a happy senior citizens' bus tour, such a tour." "So unless the whole senior group is getting sick, it's a happy trip. For everyone else, at least. The Boss is the exception, of course; he can't take it so easy, he's the tour guide. It's a lot of stress; everywhere they want something from you, and there are all kinds of things you shouldn't forget. Of course you also have to be on the radio and all that. But Cale worked it out somehow; don't ask me how. An hour a day on his own, that was enough for him. The concert was always his reward - a thousand times over. Imagine that feeling! I mean, it's unbelievable - people paying money to make a bunch of old kids happy on stage." "Kiddies? The artists make people happy," says Alvin enthusiastically, "and a full tank can last for weeks. I know that from experience; I was at Cale's warm up show in Santa Monica on March 28th. Hey, he made my weeks!" "Yeah, you went to McCabes's Guitar Shop?" "Yeah, I never knew that store before. I really wanted to see it on this tour, and this show was the least far away. I don't regret it for a moment - it was a magical night. Were you there too? Did you follow Cale when he toured?" "I went to as many concerts as I could when they weren't too far away. I wouldn't call it following. You didn't know McCabe's Guitar Shop? Man, that place is one of the best folk clubs in the country. This place is really famous. Did you notice - it's actually a guitar store." "Yeah, there's lots of guitars hanging on the wall left and right." "A crazy story," murmurs the strange man admiringly. "You go there, in the afternoon - and stand in the middle of a big guitar store. Instruments everywhere, really magnificent. Mostly acoustic things, also banjos, ukuleles, mandolins. And then they clear everything away in the middle of the sales area, put a few rows of chairs there - and in the evening, at the concert, up to a hundred and fifty wonderful people sit there, soaking up every note played. Do you know how the whole story began? In 1969, Elizabeth Cotten was in town; some gig of hers in L.A. was cancelled - McCabe's jumped into the breach and improvised a replacement. Since then, all kinds of cracks have been playing house concerts there. The place is a history book, I can only think of a few names: Chet Atkins, Norman Blake, Michael Bloomfield, Jackson Browne, Steve Earle, Fairport Convention, Bill Frisell, Vince Gill, John Lee Hooker, John Hiatt, Joni Mitchell, Al Stewart, Tom Waits, Doc Watson ..." Hartley takes a breath of air and shakes his head. "My memory's not coming back. I'm sorry." Alvin can hardly contain his amazement. "Wow, that was more than a few names! I admire your memory. Anyway, I didn't know all that; my evening with J.J. Cale seemed historic enough already. His voice was mixed too softly throughout the show, but it still sounded magical. And when Tom Petty came onstage, I was absolutely thrilled." "You like Tom Petty? Well, at least now I know you have good taste. Welcome to my house, man." "So you're saying that Cale was a Petty fan too?" "Of course, Cale liked Petty's music." "Well, Petty seems to think the same way about Cale. A colleague of mine recently said he only discovered J.J. Cale's music thanks to DJ Tom Petty. On his weekly 'Buried Treasure' show on Sirius XM Radio, Petty plays a Cale song almost every week." "The satellite radio, I heard of that; big deal, they have a million listeners. Their own radio show, that's cool. Tom's a great guy and he makes great music - with small means. Laid- back! Cale and Petty were even label mates in the seventies, on Shelter Records. Cale released his first four albums on Shelter, Petty two as far as I know. They didn't really know each other very well, though, as far as I know..." "Tom Petty admires Cale's art," Alvin interrupts, "...and was inspired by him from the beginning - that much I know now. He also regularly plays J.J. Cale songs on stage. How did he end up appearing at McCabe's with his guitarist Mike Campbell?" "I think they were invited. Suddenly Petty was obviously standing in the artists' dressing room. Cale asked him what song he wanted to be on, and he said 'I'd like to love you baby and keep my other baby too'. Oh, man, of all things! Cale recorded this song about 35 years ago - and hasn't played it live once since. Petty showed him the song. He had a couple of minutes before the show, ha-ha." "How cool is that! I remember after the ninth song Cale made the mysterious announcement: 'There are two more guests - I don't have to say anything about their names, you know them'. Tom Petty and Mike Campbell came in and the audience went wild. It was incredible, and they were playing completely discreetly as if they were accompanying musicians." "These are the good special guests - the ones who play like they're in the band." The strange man smiles, gets up and goes into the house to get some mineral water.

He comes back with much more; fruit, all kinds of things to nibble on, an ashtray. "You smoke, young man?" "No, but go ahead and enjoy it." Alvin watches him and has the impression that his calm features would relax him too. "You seem to be enjoying your retirement, Mr. Hartley. Who wouldn't want to begrudge you that? What do you do all day long?" He's evading. "How's your son Tim doing? Didn't he want to come with you?" His features seem to be hardening a little bit. Alvin ponders for a moment. He wasn't expecting this question. "Um, well, you see, Tim is autistic, as I told you before." "So, does he have the plague? If he plays the guitar, the boy is saner than ninety-nine percent of humanity. You can hear that, right?" "You're right. He's incredibly talented, but in many other areas he has difficulties." "Do you know how many geniuses in the history of the world have had trouble in many other areas? The term didn't exist before." "Yes, but that doesn't really help. The difficulties an autistic person has in managing his or her own life are a reality, and I don't think it's wrong to give this disease a name. But we are overjoyed that Tim is making significant progress right now. The doctors are very surprised." Hartley gives a joyful, almost childish thumbs up. "Yeah, man! You see, this boy may be smarter than both of us combined. Let him have his rhythm. He wouldn't be dragged here, right? Guy thinks the whole thing's Spanish - I'd have done the same thing, hehe. He can sense when that circus cage is lurking. He's got it, believe me." Alvin looks irritated; he's not sure what the old man means exactly. But it feels like something accomplice-like. And it feels good. He feels a loving admiration when the strange man talks about Tim. "Sorry, Alvin - I didn't mean to make fun. I don't understand anything about all those diagnoses and treatments.. I'm a simple okie; when in trouble we become ironic, even cynical if necessary. But we always look for the positive. Of all the people I know from the music scene, most of them have some kind of quirk; there would be all kinds of things to diagnose. Some people are built that way, others have changed, through excesses. But almost all have survived and made something out of their craziness; they have become a blessing - for normal people. Your Tim can become something big. Or not. Either way, he's a blessing." Alvin swallows empty, his voice sounds moved. "You know something, Mr. Hartley? I haven't told you the wonderful part of the story yet. The master's music seems to have a magical effect on Tim. Since he's been listening to J.J. Cale, he's made great strides. We can't explain it, neither can the doctors, but the comparison is more than clear: only with Cale's music does he come to rest, open up, become more relaxed. And, you may think I am crazy now - he can see this music. He can see the sound..." The strange man blinks mysteriously. It is difficult to interpret his gaze. It's a mixture of childlike wonder and wise callousness. "I told you so. The boy is a blessing." For a brief moment, Alvin thinks he sees a reddish glimmer in the eyes of his counterpart. "During the week, Tim is in a special school; he's doing well there. He may be able to visit you one weekend. However, he is often very afraid of strangers. You never know in advance, it's unpredictable." "Like a guitar solo," mumbles the old man, "only if you allow this 'you never know in advance', something good can come, maybe even something big. Tim is always welcome here, if anyone's at home. Mary will be happy too, my wife. I told her about the boy who started in the guitar shop. On the property he can pass the time splendidly; there are a lot of friends waiting for him. Squirrels, raccoons, rabbits, birds, they all run around my property. It's like a Disney cartoon out here." "You told your wife about Tim?" Alvin asks enthu- siastically. "We talk a lot about these blues wonder boys; there's God knows how many of them. Most of them later become blues- rock guitar heroes - because they've been taught that you have to play with your muscles in life to get a chance. I've never met anyone like Tim before." Hartley takes one last puff before he carefully and calmly puts out his cigarette.

"You have it beautiful here, Mr. Hartley. What do you do at home when you're not playing guitar or listening to J.J. Cale records?" "Well, you know something? I don't want to hear this 'Mr. Hartley' any more. Call me Brian like all my friends do." "Oh, thank you very much, Brian. You do me a great honor." "Yeah, cool. "There's no mister in this house; we should call ourselves you." "This is gonna take some getting used to," Alvin stutters. "You'll do fine."

After a hearty sip of water, Alvin tries to find the thread again. "...Did I hear right - you're an okie, too?" "Of course I am. "You, uh, sorry, you grew up in Oklahoma? Whereabouts in Oklahoma?" "Tulsa." "Just like the master? That's incredible. And you ended up going to school with Cale?" "No. I got a couple more years on my plate than John." "But you knew each other, if you call him John now..." "No, we didn't. There's almost half a million people in Tulsa, and John was his real name, John Weldon Cale - you know the story of how he became J.J. Cale." "Yeah, I'm sure we'll talk about that later. Didn't you meet him when you were a young music freak in the Tulsa scene?" "I wasn't born a music freak, and I left Tulsa before the whole thing started with John and his buddies. Are we talkin' about the master or are we talkin' about my childhood?" "I'm sure your life story's just as exciting, Brian." "Bullshit." The old man shakes his head grumpy. "You're here because you wanna talk to me about Cale. Start with a specific question. Not sure if I can answer it - I only know what's been reported about Cale or what he's told in interviews. If that's even true. But still, I've collected this stuff, most of it, at least. So, what do you wanna know?" "I've got more than enough questions. Right now, I'm trying to picture the Master in his own home. Must have been around here somewhere. The last ten years before he died or something - I wonder what he was doing there when he wasn't working, when he wasn't on tour." "You're beginning to sniff like an IRS agent, haha. Hey, man, that was when John was semi-retired, at least. It's very quiet here in the country, you see. It's good for the nerves. I think he fiddled around with his guitars, wrote songs now and then that hardly ever came out on record. What else? He didn't play golf, he rarely went fishing. He did what everybody does - watch TV and keep house. At twenty or thirty you laugh at such things, in your old age they keep you busy. Cale was busy keeping his property in order; almost three hectares, after all. About twice as big as here - I know what that means. His wife Christine and he enjoyed these things - John told in interviews. Washing dishes, shopping, everything that goes with it. He mowed the lawn. Cale was an avid gardener and planted a lot of stuff. I heard that he was really proud of his tomatoes." "Wow, that sounds so normal." "Well, what else would it be? You think the master should have hired people to do this? Cale didn't have a staff house, heh." "I just have this image of a rock star in my head." "If there's one thing keeping you from being bored, it's not doing it yourself." The strange man smiles. Not sarcastically, but rather as if it were a matter of enjoying the advantage of age. "Concentrate on any activity and you'll enjoy it. Banal? Rather funny. When you're young, you run after that joy like a madman. Later you find out that it's almost free. What a fake! All that stuff you smoke or chuck in, it costs a fortune. A little patience and you'll get the same thing a thousand times cheaper, and without side effects. But you have to be an old man to notice it, hehe." Alvin thinks for a moment - and admits to himself that he only understands such sentences in theory. I wonder if he would ever be allowed to receive this Grail of Wisdom himself, in his old age. At the moment he feels curiosity above all else, and that is more than exciting enough. "Fortunately, there was enough time for him to puzzle and absorb it. The songs for the 'Roll On' album, they must have been written at home at Cale, right? As relaxed as they sound..." "Fiddling, of course. But only when he felt like it; sometimes it didn't come around for months. Most of the Roll On recordings, though, were not made at his house. The record has all sorts of stuff on it from different sessions." "Oh, yeah? Sounds like it's all in one piece, though." "This is the mixing job. Some of the recordings were a bit older, I think they were made in 2003 - they were in Teegarden's studio. The whole gang, all old friends from Tulsa. How do you think the guys enjoyed that." "They recorded in a teegarden?" "Yeah, fine Joke, hehe. David Teegarden, an old buddy of John's - very good recording man. He's got a studio just outside of Tulsa called Natura Digital Studios."

The studio is now called 'Teegarden Studios' since 2017 and is located directly in Tulsa; just a few steps away from Leon Russell's legendary Old Church Studio, at 1431 E. 3rd St. in the Pearl District.

"Eric Clapton plays guitar on the title track, right?" "Yeah, the number Roll On is much older. An unreleased song from the '70s; Cale had several recordings of it, one with Clapton as a guest guitarist." "And Clapton apparently wanted to use another unreleased Cale song on one of his subsequent albums, I heard. "Angel' is the name of the number." "Yeah, it's from the '80s. Eric wanted to spice it up and use John's voice and guitar from back then. The whole thing ended up on Clapton's album, Old Sock, 2013, just before the master left."

Alvin looks like a hotshot history professor and he's digging through his portfolio. Out comes a Dictaphone and a stack of full-written notepads. "I have prepared myself." "Hey, boy..." Hartley whispers. "A Dictaphone? Cool. Old school, hehe. Noble!" "I can't get along with these six-blade-knife phones. This is the original, a real Dictaphone. Olympus VN-4100PC, digital, 250 MB memory, USB port. I can record up to 144 hours and store it directly on my computer at home." "That's great, man. And what should we record?" "Your answers to my questions, Brian. so I can write the book later." Alvin pushes the button on his machine until a red light apparently gives the okay. "So, let's get started. Um, where were we? Oh, yes, Roll On. Cale's wonderful wife, Christine Lakeland - she must have been in the studio, too, right? Have you ever actually met her in person?" The old man takes a deep breath. "And you - are you sure you can handle a book with me?" Alvin senses that he may have slipped. "What do you mean, Brian?" "If you ask good questions about Cale's music, songs, guitars and stuff - I'm happy to talk for hours. If, on the other hand, you ask me about his personal life, the exercise won't take long." The strange man takes a sip of water. "His wife's name is Christine Lakeland Cale, by the way, and we shouldn't involve her in this. You know what Cale hated about interviews? He hated that they were one-sided conversations. They're not really conversations; they're all about answering questions and the interviewee never learns anything." Alvin should have known; every journalist knows. An interview with J.J. Cale was considered a success in itself, more than half a dozen questions answered were spectacular - and if something from his personal life leaked out, it was considered a real sensation. Only this documentary film, shot by a German named Jörg Bundschuh during a US tour, somehow gave hope. In this film, J.J. Cale seems amazingly talkative and personal. But the master's reputation was that of a recluse - and Hartley now obviously wants to protect that, at all costs. "Um, I'm te-t-terribly sorry, B-Brian - I didn't mean to..." "It's all right," the old man interrupts him smiling as he leans back. "What kind of book is this, exactly?" "Oh, yes. Well, it's a story about J.J. Cale and his music. He more than deserves it. Imagine all these so-called rock stars that are supposed to be..." "Stop!" cries the weirdo. "I was afraid of this." The old man takes a calm, deep breath in and out. "Are we gonna have a system?" Alvin looks at him questioningly. "Hey, this isn't gonna work. We gotta have a system. A story like this has to be chronological somehow. That's cool, 'chronological,' right?" he says with a grin. "Where shall we start, Cale's great-grandparents?" "I'm not sure now, Brian, if you're making fun of me. But I think we'd best start with his childhood." Hartley gets up, almost jerkily, and makes a defensive gesture. The whole thing doesn't seem very serious, more like a buddy. "For now, we'll do nothing. I'm hungry. Let's go out and get something to eat." "What? Time to eat already? Oh, I'm sorry, I could have brought something, being a guest." "In the garden, time passes at a supersonic pace. Maybe now you understand why John didn't come back every year with a new record." The old man runs in front of the house. "A guest should bring the food? Hey, never! Usually I like to cook well. Right now I'm tired and the refrigerator's no epiphany. Let's go to the Pointed Roof - it's not very far from here. Can I ride with you? I don't have to start my car..."

Chapter 3 - Tulsa

"Feels better on a full stomach, doesn't it?" Hartley says. Blue greets them like any dog does - as stormy as if they had been away for weeks. "Oh, yes, indeed, and it was really good. I'm embarrassed, though, Brian, that you wanted to pick up the check. The least I could have done was invite you." "Forget it, man. You take over when we get to a really expensive place." He laughs mischievously - and disappears into the house. Probably to make coffee. Alvin looks around relaxed; he can't get enough of this beautiful garden. Behind the bridle, all the animals the strange man spoke of are probably running around. Or was that just a joke? In any case, it's pretty dry here. With this climate, there is certainly a lot to do to keep the land green.

Hartley will be back, as usual, with a full tray. "Coffee is important, so I got myself a really good machine some time ago. The real thing - not these capsules from Switzerland with which they are now flooding the world. Medium-sized cup and without sugar as before, I once assumed. Hopefully real." "Wonderful, just right." Alvin is enjoying the fine scent of Arabica. "Tell me, Brian, did the fire ever get this far?" "There's been some bad fires around here in the last few years," says the old man with a serious face. "Once I loaded the car full of the most important things and was ready to go, thinking the flames were coming over the hill. It hit the houses of many people. Man, those were the worst fires I've seen in California! I'm afraid there's a really serious drought coming; they'll probably start rationing water pretty soon." "Oh, yeah, that's bad. But you got good insurance, I hope." "Yeah, insured. You can't buy fire protection, just the expensive consolation of after. Let's hope for the best. Otherwise, Mary and I will just go on a journey, by bus - somewhere rainy." The odd man makes that sip of coffee look demonstrative before he leaves. "The only people to feel sorry for are those who have no alternative. I'm not one of them, and there's a lot of people around here who belong even less. Have you ever been to Valley Center? They're not exactly trapper huts over there," says Hartley with a smile. "Oh, yes, I know, there are celebrities who live there." "Yeah. They're good people; nobody causes any trouble, everybody leaves the other alone." "For J.J. Cale, they were probably the perfect neighbours." The old man's laughing on his cane teeth. "Well, man, we were supposed to get going. It's a system, right? Get your Dictaphone up and I'll tell you about John's great- grandparents." Alvin seems like a nervous schoolboy before taking dictation. "Yes, very well, let's get started. Why don't you tell me about his childhood?" "Childhood? I told you: about his great-grandparents." "You're not joking?" "Let's say, half a joke. There's not much known about Cale's ancestors; but I hear he was proud of them. You know he had Indian Blood - and lots of Irish?" Hartley's eyes light up. "His father's mother, John never knew her, but she was Indian. Maybe half-breed, I don't know for sure, but she was Indian anyway. And his grandfathers, they were both from Ireland. Cool, huh? Knowing how much music both our peoples passed on to us, the Americans." "The Irish, of course. But the Indians? Did they have a big influence on our music?" "Yeah, of course, the Indians also had a hand in it. Never heard of Link Wray? Or Hendrix for example - hey, he had Indian blood." "Yeah of course, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware of it." "That's all right. I'm sorry. Anyway, we should be grateful to our ancestors. I often wonder what it was like back then. It's a very delicate time. I'm sure a lot of things got screwed up - but if they hadn't always managed to do something, there'd be nothing today, none of us." "How true." Alvin hasn't thought about that too much. Well, maybe he will, in his old age. "And Cale's parents, how did he remember them? Or, sorry, maybe they were still alive when he died." "John was in his 70s, man. Can you do math? His parents were quite old. He was the last child. His father was 50 when he was born, the same age as some children's grandfathers. John's daddy would be over a hundred and thirty now." "Oh, yes, indeed. I'm sorry." "Hey, Alvin, stop saying sorry. You don't know. John's mother was a little younger, but they both must have seemed old to him when he compared them to his schoolmates. Anyway, his parents were good to him, the master emphasized several times. They always made everything possible for their children, although the family didn't have much. Maybe they were even poor, but John did not feel that way. The Cales were just Okies. You know what that means? Migrant workers, humble white folks from the Midwest. To the Californians, we're still hicks to this day - I don't have to tell you that." "I always thought it was stupid and unfair, this thing with the Okies!" Alvin shakes his head and says. "Maybe we should start here with John's birth. He was born December 5th, 1938, in Oklahoma City, right?" "Yes, as John Weldon Cale." "Why he was later called J.J. Cale, that's another matter; we'll talk about that later, as they say." "We'll talk about that later, yeah." The old man leans back. "The Cales did not stay long in Oklahoma City. "If you got a family to feed, you move where there's work to be done. They moved to Tulsa. Hey, Tulsa was the black gold capital of the world back then. They discovered oil there in the 1920s. There were oil companies and oil pumps everywhere. People came from all over the world to speak at conventions about oil and pipelines. There were a lot of jobs and so his father's life was pretty stable. When John was a kid, the smell of oil was everywhere. I couldn't help it. You can still smell it today. The oil business is over, of course; many reserves are gone. Most of the oil companies have now moved to Houston. There's not much left in Tulsa." "Yes, I heard about that - the oil in Tulsa. My generation just learned about it in school." "That's why I'm telling you about it. But you've been to Tulsa, haven't you? You know that smell of oil." "Uh, I know what oil smells like, yes - but I've never been to Tulsa." "Okay, you got plenty of time. You oughta go, 'cause the music, that Tulsa sound, it's still there." "It's on my wish list, this trip. "But it's not that easy, with my job and my family." "I understand. You can die quietly without ever goin' to Tulsa. For me, the city is special because that's where it all began." "Maybe it's a stupid thing to say, Brian - but somehow it sounds too much like a perfect, protected childhood to my ears. Is that realistic? I mean, at the time, the youth was pretty hungry for revolution; the Elvis hype, later the hippies, the whole rock thing. What was John's relationship with his parents like? Do you know anything about that?" "In my estimation, it wasn't exactly all hell breaking loose at the Cales' home. Hey, man, you gotta realize - in those days you didn't show much emotion. I guess John wasn't close with his parents. I mean, close, but not really close. "I can't explain it, doesn't matter." "In the documentary, he said it in a wonderfully ironic way." The old man smiles. "Yeah; you mean the line 'they didn't hit me, I didn't hit them' - typical Cale, hehe. It's a pretty close relationship, isn't it?" Alvin laughs. "I don't think a psychologist would call that a pretty close relationship these days." "There's such a thing as discretion, but it's all about respect. None of you were in the habit of being sentimental. The Cales were happy to be left alone. They had friends, but they were still loners - but they got along fine. After high school, his parents wanted him to move out as soon as possible so they could live their own lives. Totally okay; I know this from my youth. Self-willedness is hereditary; later I never showed my face around my family for many years - because I wanted to live my own life. "And his parents were OK with John's obsession with music - or modern music for that matter?" "I guess, they were OK, yes. In fact, they thought what you call a music mania was cool. God knows there were other parents back then. People who played music often didn't have the best tickets at home; hey, musicians were considered hungry and homeless. Those are clichés. No, John's parents were okay, I think. In fact, the father was said to have been really happy when he first heard his son's music on the radio in Tulsa; as far as I know, that was the Nmmer 'Troubles, Troubles, Troubles', one of his first singles in the late 50's." "We're gonna talk about that real soon, I made a detailed plan there. Let's stay with J.J. Cale's childhood for a moment." "A detailed plan, yeah." The strange man takes his time provocatively, nibbling on a sponge cake. "His father, apparently, was a joker. There's a story of John later giving him his first proper album, Naturally. 'Hey, Dad, look, I made a record and it was released as an LP'. His father listened to the thing and just said, 'not crazy enough; I expected it to be crazier'. You know what I mean? He could have patted John on the back, but he wanted to give him a gentle slap on the back - so his son wouldn't get complacent too soon. That's cool. I'm sure he was a good father; this 'I want to be a musician' he had heard more than enough - when it finally started, he was happy with John. He also liked John's friends, understood that they hardly earned any money. He even painted advertising signs for the first concerts. Yeah!" The old man nods with loving admiration. "Wow, what a wonderful father, really." Alvin flips through his notes. "Somewhere I wrote it down. Oh, yeah, here. In this German documentary, Cale's sister says Dad was a great guy. And she thinks John, in his old age, has a lot of his father's personality. It warms the cockles of your heart, doesn't it?" "His sister Joan thought very highly of him. I think the last few years the two of them became very close. She even went on tour with him a couple of times, helping out where she could, cooking for the boys on the tour bus and all that. . . .and all that. " "Were there any other people in his family that he came in contact with?" Hartley looks a little bit distracted. "I don't know exactly. John had a lot of relatives; most of them probably left before him - there was probably just his sister and him in the end." The old man gets up and takes the dog. "Excuse me, I have to take Blue out for a quick walk; he needs exercise. I'll be back in ten minutes. If you need anything, just go to the kitchen."

It was well over ten minutes, but it seemed worth it. Hartley and his four-legged friend shine like two lovers. "Sorry," says the two-legged man. "No problem at all - this is your turf here. I took the liberty of fetching some water from the house. and I heard the phone ring." "It couldn't have been Mary. It could have been some curious person. People keep calling to talk to me about J.J. Cale; now that the master is dead, they're interested in his music. Come, let's continue; your book..." "That's very kind of you. I still can't believe you're devoting so much time to this project." "I'm available for work now and then. "I'm also doing it for Tim. I'm sure it was his idea, right?" Alvin's scared. He didn't tell him anything about it. So how does Hartley know? "Come on, don't act so clueless. It's obvious; I'm an old man, your son's a smart fox, and so the boy said, 'hey, dad, why don't you and this old man write a book about J.J. Cale? In time, while the strange man is still alive, hehe." "But Brian, you're nowhere near..." "Who knows," Hartley interrupts. "I don't think I'm gonna live to see another round of this. At my age, you gotta take the days as they come. Cale gave us a wonderful performance. Every morning when he woke up, he was happy to still be here." "Well, that's certainly a good attitude. It should apply even to 30-year-olds like me." Alvin's happy to be able to move on to this concrete level of wisdom. This whole thing with Tim's vision, he would have been embarrassed by it. "There you go. All the more reason not to say useless things. Every minute counts if your book is to be finished on time." "Um, yeah, I just lost my train of thought right now..."

"You were playing boss, talking about a plan, about staying in John's childhood for a while." "Oh, yes, of course." Alvin keeps flipping through his notes. "Sorry, Brian, you were talking about chronology - so I thought we'd wait a bit longer before he started his music career. Maybe you could tell us a little bit about the house he grew up in." "Why 'us'? You're on your own. You mean Blue? He already knows everything." Alvin laughs. "I'm sure you do; you two seem inseparable. I'm talking about the readers of the book, of course." "Uh-huh. You think some people are gonna read that?" "A lot of people are going to read that. Anybody who has Cale's records, and they're a lot of people." "You're hoping to get a pension that way, heheh." "Oh, sorry - we haven't talked about that yet. Of course we can arrange a share so you don't go empty-handed if the book is a success." "Nonsense! Got everything it takes to live. I can't take anything with me; the last shirt won't have pockets." "Oh, um, then I suppose I'd better suggest a share to John's heirs; Christine Lakeland Cale, for instance." "I would, yes. But they'll probably waive that and suggest you donate the money to an animal shelter. This was Cale's last wish. The Master was never greedy, and he didn't have money worries for the last thirty or forty years of his life anyway. Do you know what he made in royalties every year without lifting a finger? That was more than enough for John. Just the few songs that were covered all the time. Sure, a guy like Jagger or McCartney wouldn't be getting his money's worth. But over there, right across the border, you could feed a whole village of Mexican kids. Hartley shakes his head; not ostentatious, rather quiet and reserved, like Cale's music. "You man, yeah, you could use the dough! For your family, for your son. Don't be fooled in this world; everywhere they want shares. Just look at all those music publishers. Some of them don't do anything for your songs, and they take almost half of it. Be careful. Only when someone really works, he deserves something. Pigeonholing is not work. And the fact that we drink coffee here and talk to each other is no work for me either. The drudgery comes later if you want to put all this Dictaphone talk down on paper properly." Alvin's swallowing. He senses his tear ducts burning with desire. Of course he does not give in to it; it is important to keep a low profile in front of his counterpart. "Cat got your tongue, man? You find me particularly generous, do you? Ha ha, forget it. How do you think my ego would be happy if a book was published with me in it?" "It's perfectly normal, Brian. Nobody can turn off their ego. Not even the esotericists; on the contrary, they inflate it - if they're proud of being able to turn it off supposedly. Nevertheless, I think it's generous and humble of you to say that you don't want any money to be involved in this project." "Bullshit. At my age, you don't work for money anymore. No matter how humble we think we are, we can't compete with J.J. Cale on this either." "If there was the slightest doubt that what they all keep writing about him, whether it's some kind of good-natured exaggeration - they're finally out of the way now, listening to you like that." "You got it, man. John had no enemies - you could only like that laconic old codger, him and his music. But on top of that, he even managed the balancing act of not seeming pompous, not bigoted or patronising. Have you ever listened to one of his radio or TV interviews? If you listen carefully to the Master, his words, his sound, you always hear this 'hey, don't mention it, I'm no better, just lucky'. Unbelievable! I've never heard anything like it." Alvin is beaming. "Alvin is beaming. That's how I feel - you describe it wonderfully." "Another attempt to inflate my ego?" "Oh, come on, Brian. Anyway, I wonder if Cale's phenomenal modesty, as Eric Clapton tries to explain in the documentary, is simply due to these 'good values' that were given to the master in his childhood. Perhaps in the end, these values are not earthly in nature..." "The famous thorny question." "In any case, I'm deeply impressed." "If you make a saint out of him now, you're not gonna get anywhere, man. Cale knew exactly what he wanted, and he was smart enough to take it." "I guess he was just cool, cool in a natural way." "Or more simply, real."

Alvin sobers up and tries to stay sober. "Um, I was gonna ask you earlier if you could tell us about the house where J.J. Cale spent his childhood. It's on the north side of Tulsa, apparently. You can see it in the documentary; seems pretty modest. In the pictures from before, especially, you almost have the impression it's a temporary home." "Provisional?" The strange man seems preoccupied. "You think so? Hey, it looks tidy, you saw it in the film, it's been renovated. What can I tell you? I didn't grow up in this house and don't know any more than you. It must have seemed pretty big to him back then. Okay, it's not huge, but the Cales had everything they needed. His father built a small annex, and apparently John's recording studio was there. Outside there was a garden, not very big; I'd guess a good two hundred square meters all in all. I think they had some trees. Nature doesn't do things by halves - everything has grown today, John says in the film, some things have also disappeared, the cherry trees for example. When relatives came, he slept in the back of the shed. No swimming pool, yeah." "And there were no nine bathrooms like at Clapton's cottage in Provence," shouts Alvin. Hartley blinks skeptically. "Hey, man, no quips. Eric didn't have the easiest childhood, as you may know." "Sorry, Brian; you're right, of course. So there was a studio in that little annex all for John alone? Wow! Even while he was still living with his parents, he was fiddling around and setting up a recording studio?" " 'Recording studio' is probably the wrong word; hey, the Cales weren't rich. A tape recorder and a little mixer he put together himself, that's probably it." "All the same! What did he record? Or maybe we'd better talk about how he got to play and record music in the first place. How did the guitar get to him? Did he later remember the first time he held a guitar in his hand?" The old man thinks, pours himself a glass of water and takes a sip. "Yes, he talked about it, at some interview in Europe, I think. Cale's very first contact with a guitar? He was very young, maybe 10, tops. There was a kid on the street who'd gotten a guitar and was showing it off. John kind of liked the sound of it, it made him curious." Hartley takes another sip. "And he was fingering it around, the way kids do. It wasn't what you're probably thinking now. It wasn't what they call that initial spark, as they always say. Not the 'this is what I want to do for the rest of my life' kind of lightning bolt. No, John says it was normal as hell. You know, like sports or school, the normal things in a kid's life. He said that he got into the music business later, sort of by accident."

Alvin searches hard again for a certain note he made as preparation. "Exciting, exciting. Yeah, here... - he's supposed to have said that he saved his first guitar by the mouth back then. In the canteen." "In the canteen? Oh, yes, at high school. Of course John wanted one of those; guitars were really cool back then. So he just put the money for lunch in the cafeteria for a while. He didn't have to die of hunger, hehe; there was always some fruit to be found, now and then a sandwich, and in the evening there was some real food at home. He bought the guitar occasionally; a pretty cheap thing, not fifty dollars. So the fasting cure didn't last forever. I think he was a little over 12 when he took it home." "Do you know what kind of guitar that was?" "Not for sure, no. Some people talk about a Harmony." Alvin's got big eyes. "Wow! That legendary Harmony guitar that's on so many of his records - that was Cale's very first guitar..." "You mean the Harmony H162. Not expensive, but nice. Mahogany and spruce, soundhole and all. I'm just not sure if it was that one - people say he didn't buy it until the late sixties, when he was back from Los Angeles. I'm not sure. The story that he got the H162 when he was 12 years old sounds cool, of course. You can decide for yourself which version you want to put in the book. Anyway, it's clear that later he fiddled around with this guitar a lot. He got its back, sawed out a cutaway, stuffed it with all kinds of electronics. So he had both; an acoustic one for songwriting, an electric one for the studio and the stage." "It looked pretty crazy later on, the way he'd screwed and hammered on it - there are pictures of it. Eric Clapton is said to have visited him unannounced in the studio in the seventies; just because he hoped to finally get to see this mysterious instrument. industrial espionage?" "I don't know anything about that. But it seems that even today half the string world thinks that J.J. Cale had something very special; something that you can buy with a lot of money. People were often pretty disappointed when they saw the cheap stuff he made. It was sort of like opening a treasure chest and finding a piece of paper inside that said 'Go back to position 1; find your own sound and make it with your fingers' - hehe." "He was just a true master." Alvin's still impressed. "The head of this guitar is marked 'J.J. Cale' on the cover of the Troubadour, isn't it? And you can hear the instrument on countless of his songs; 'After Midnight', 'Cocaine', 'Call Me The Breeze', 'Crazy Mama', 'Magnolia', 'Lies', 'The Sensitive Kind' ..." "Okay, man," Hartley interrupts, "I realize you're well prepared. Let's be systematic; all the details about songs and guitars, they don't interest you right now." "I didn't mean to jump the gun, I'm sorry." Alvin gets scared. "Oh, um, sorry. I just said sorry again." "You're a funny guy, hehe." "One last question about the Harmony guitar. Did he still play it in his later days?" "No, it was probably in a cupboard somewhere. "Probably not in the best condition; it was damaged in a flight, they say. John hated flying."

Alvin looks at his Dictaphone; it seems to be running fine. "You can guess what the question is now, Brian." "How did J.J. Cale learn to walk on the guitar?" The old man seems rather bored. "Exactly; that's what the guitar fans of the world want to know. "How did he teach himself to play the guitar Who taught him? Was he in class?" "Lessons? Ha-ha. There was country music playing all over the place when he was young. And blues, of course. You know how John's big ears are. He could hear pretty good with them." The old man smiles and waves goodbye. "Bullshit, bad joke - forget it." "He learned by ear, that's what you mean." "I don't think the boy was too busy playing around, just playing for fun. And then this rock and roll came along. It was a sensation for him and his friends. Rock'n'roll got him hot; he started listening closely to the great guitar players. Singing was not an issue at that time - John was just playing guitar." "His sister said in the film that he was really into music for the last three years of high school. And he'd been in school bands." Hartley nods. "He got his first jobs in bands. The singers tried to imitate big stars, like Fats Domino, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis and so on. John had to learn all these songs, the guitar parts, and I tell you - this is the best school. Even today. When someone asks me for advice, all he ever hears from me is: "Join a top 40 band! You'll learn all the important stuff in a year and make a few dollars at the same time." Alvin nods devoutly. "If only I had the time, how I'd love to play in a top 40 band. Hey, why don't we do it together, Brian?" "Thirty years late, ha-ha. At least." "Oh, come on, you still got it. I heard you at the workshop." "At my age, you don't start a career." "No career; we just do it for fun - and you show me all the tricks of J.J. Cale and Co." "And I'll show you all the other tricks too. We don't have to go on stage for that. Come on, let's get on with it - the book." "That's right. So the young J.J. Cale had looked closely at the great guitarist, learned all his licks and riffs. Can you give the readers some ringing names? You know, the world's hot for great big names." "Hot for ringing names?" Strange laughs meaningful. "You got it all figured out. "But the world isn't hot on silver-tongued names. It's the people in the music business who are hot for some names that sound special. Because that's the sound that makes the box office ring." "You're a master of puns. Can you give us a few names anyway?" Alvin is surprised at his own courage in talking to the strange man so directly and almost chummy now. "You got it, man. But first, a correction: John didn't learn those licks and riffs. At least not exactly. He never managed to play anything exactly - he said about himself. He somehow managed to fiddle his way through it, omitting difficult passages, simplifying. I can well understand that. At the beginning it annoys you because you feel like an incompetent. But as time goes by, you let it happen on purpose. It's crazy: If you play exactly like someone else, it's a technical achievement that deserves respect. But if your game is full of mistakes and limitations, if you are in some way even too lazy to change that - only then are you on the way to your own style. Because it forces you to look for tailor-made compromises and shortcuts."

Alvin's confused. He's never thought of it that way before. For him, J.J. Cale is not a flawed or limited musician, but simply a genius with his own signature. It must be another excess of this exaggerated modesty, he said. Anything else is unthinkable. "It is not," murmurs Hartley. "How?" Alvin wonders if the man at the end is clairvoyant. "Isn't, I said. It's not modesty; it's facts, man. It's not even particularly wise. Although you might not realize it until you get older. I'm telling you, it's just wisdom. Your own style is cunning, cultivating your own limitations." "I have not yet reached that advanced stage of wisdom. To me, it sounds more like a low blow. But let's not get into that. So when do we get to enjoy the ringing names? You know, Brian, there are plenty of bitter pills in life. The people need something that melts in your mouth every now and then." "That's a good one." The strange one grins approvingly. "I'm beginning to wonder if you have what it takes to be a member of our club of jokers. But I can't make that decision on my own - it's best you come along when Mary and our friends from Tulsa get here. We'll take a vote. There's no way around Mary when it comes to jokes. You gotta know that." "One thing's for sure; at the Master of Distraction Club, there's no way around Brian Hartley. Are you going to let us have the names of your guitar heroes or not?" He takes his time, takes his breath easy. "Okay. "But only if you promise not to make me declare anything to any of the names. God help you, if you don't know any of these guys, I'll throw you out on your ass." Alvin ponders for a moment whether this is without a doubt nothing more than Brian's humor - or whether there might be a trace of seriousness hidden here. In any case, a feeling arises in him which he knows more than enough from his school days. Not a pleasant one. Just don't lose face now! He thought he was well prepared, knows a lot of legendary guitarists - and still, there will be a trap lurking somewhere. To prove that the old man knows more about music than he does. No question, much more! Alvin takes it upon himself to play the sovereign, to nod expertly in case of doubt. Hartley smiles. "You look out of the wash like a scared schoolboy. Hey man, relax - there are no nobodies around. All big names: Scotty Moore, Les Paul, Chuck Berry, Chet Atkins, Clarence 'Gatemouth' Brown, James Burton. Also some jazz musicians; Charlie Christian, Tal Farlow, Johnny Smith. And hey, of course, Moses Allison. "Now you can put on that connoisseur look."

Alvin breathes. No trap; he knows the names, more or less. Probably best to back up that competence with an immediate follow-up question. "Impressive! A fantastic mix that Cale was molded from. But tell me - no blues kings? He had learned nothing from the old bluesmen?" Hartley looks like he's got a grown man to explain the basics of the alphabet to. "The old bluesmen are the beginning of the chain, it's obvious anyway. Everybody learned from them, everybody stole from them. You're just asking that to avoid the issue, hehe. Because you don't know all his heroes. What do you know about Scotty Moore, for example?" "He played with Elvis, I know that." "Played with Elvis, okay." The old man is shaking his head and smiling. "So it worked out wonderfully, that story..." "What do you mean, Brian?" "He played with Elvis - that is to say, he got to play with the great king of rock and roll as an accompanist, right? That's how it's communicated in the books. So that the King will be King forever. Yeah, smart guys, the guys in the music business." "I don't understand that, I'm sorry. He played with Elvis, didn't he?" "Hey, man, Scotty Moore didn't play with Elvis - he made him! No Scotty, no Elvis. In the early fifties Scotty Moore was already a terrific fingerpicker with his own sound; the perfect bridge between country, blues and jazz, so to speak. With his thumb pick and his Gibson ES-295 he played the licks that were later imitated by everyone. Without Scotty also no Eric Clapton, no Keith Richards - and no J.J. Cale of course. Moore and his buddy Bill Black on bass had been on the road for a while when in 1954 this young singer Elvis Presley joined them. When they recorded their first record with him, for Sun Records, John was sixteen; 'That's All Right', the cool Arthur 'Big Boy' Crudup number - Cale and his friends were quite impressed. Sam Phillips had a nose; he knew that Scotty Moore would take care of the young singer. The guys formed a band with drummer D.J. Fontana, called the Blue Moon Boys and toured the South. Moore didn't just play the hot riffs; he was the girl for everything, managed the combo and taught Presley to play more than just campfire style guitar. Elvis gradually became a decent rhythm guitarist and was allowed to play some of the fine guitar claps that Moore owned on stage. When the thing really started, the band name was suddenly no longer an issue - the whole thing went over the counter as Elvis Presley. You know the rest. Hip-swinging, screaming girls, record millionaires - and generations of music journalists up to Alvin Lindley, who tell us that Scotty Moore was allowed to accompany the great Elvis Presley." Alvin feels pretty small. It was to be expected - he would hardly ever be able to teach the old music freak and connoisseur of the Tulsa sound anything new about the history of American culture. Playing the sovereign doesn't make much sense. "You're right, Brian. I'm a greenhorn." "Nonsense. I exaggerate sometimes and want to find out how cool you are. You'll get used to it." "I underestimated the role of Scotty Moore - or overestimated Elvis." "That's not the point. Elvis was a fantastic singer and entertainer. Between you and me, the girls were calling the shots in this thing anyway, hehe. But here we're talking about Cale's guitar hero, man. Presley's got no place there, even cross-referencing. Scotty Moore is the king; the string king of rock and roll! You can imagine how he brought John in just at the time his guitar fire started." "Oh, yeah, I can imagine that! I'm just not sure I understand the phrase 'the girls were in charge'." "Come on, of course you understand. "The girls loved this Elvis; so we boys did well to respect him, hehe." Alvin ponders for a moment - and decides to take a chance on something. "Uh-huh. On that, excuse me, simple level, is that what you mean? Forgive me, Brian, if I, for a change, make a show of being a feminist. I would've expected you to bring a whole other level into play there. Especially when it comes to Elvis, Scotty Moore, Chuck Berry, James Burton and so on - there is a crucial name missing. A woman's name. Are you sure that there was not a queen before Scotty Moore ..." Hartley's gaze changes suddenly. A mixture of suspicion and chummy 'I begrudge you this point' flickers in his half closed eyes. He seems to have no desire to answer immediately. Or else he uses the time cleverly to prepare for the next move.

After two cigarette puffs, a sip of water and a few amorous glances at his four-legged ally, the strange man finally reports back. "Well done." His voice sounds respectful, but somehow, calculation shines through. "I told you that Cale hated these bland interviews, these one-way conversations. You seem to get that, yeah - cool, if I could get a word in. What do you know about Sister Rosetta Tharpe?" Unbelievable, that counter. Alvin didn't count on his counterpart being two steps ahead of him already. "Um, how did you know I was interested in Rosetta..." "Hey," he interrupts with a wink, "you've been thinking hard about how you can finally get back at me, analyzing Cale's list of guitar heroes and noticing that there are only men in it, and mostly white. Congratulations, good move. But now, you have to finish the game and tell some clever things about the queen of rock'n'roll. I'm listening..." "Nobody," Alvin starts, "nobody, not Chuck Berry, not Scotty Moore, not James Burton, not Keith Richards - plays wilder and more authentic rock'n'roll guitar than this woman. Not to mention her singing and her stage presence! With her soulful and incredibly powerful gospel she was something like a spiritual mother to Elvis. If you listen and watch Elvis in his early days, you get the impression that he was obsessed with Rosetta's spirit. And he wasn't the only one. Johnny Cash, Buddy Holly, Jerry Lewis, Carl Perkins, all the boys - they saw Rosetta Tharpe, listened to her like enchanted and tried to put some of her magic into their own songs. And the thing that could be saved was called Rock'n'Roll in the business - the big revolution! A little later, in the sixties, there was another whole click of English guitarists who were watching the Rosetta very closely. Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, Keith Richards and Brian Jones travelled together in a minibus from London to Manchester in 1963 to attend the concert of a Blues and Gospel European tour. Great blues musicians gave demonstrative lessons, and that was not to be missed under any circumstances. Muddy Waters, Sonny Terry, Brownie McGhee, Cousin Joe, Otis Spann, Reverend Gary Davis. And there was another woman: Sister Rosetta Tharpe; when she started, the four British string apprentices definitely didn't get their drooling mouths closed for good. That was, by the way, a year before the legendary TV concert of May 7, 1964, on the rainy, disused platform in southern Manchester. The TV show then made everything even more clear, but already the year before, the apprentices had already been clicking. And of all those countless people who clicked, quite a few became big stars, kings, and rich as rock. Meanwhile, the real queen remained virtually unknown to the broad rock'n'roll community. When Sister Rosetta Tharpe was bidden farewell to the world in 1973, the church was barely half full, and there wasn't even enough for a proper tombstone. When you now consider the contrast between how Elvis' princely tomb is besieged every year like that of a saint, and how faithful and close to the true saints Rosetta Tharpe was, then you can only shake your head and vehemently demand a proper correction of history."

Hartley gets up, takes a lusty theatrical bow, so that Blue, the dog, is almost startled. "Wow! Hey, man, you really outdid yourself. Cool! You talk like a politician, a leftist, hehehe. Or like a hungry journalist. Anyway, compliments; you just explained the music world in two minutes. A bit cynical, but your story's not entirely false." "I'm a music journalist," Alvin replies flattered. "Yeah, you've got it down. Why can't you write a book?" "Go ahead and make fun of me." "I'm not making fun of you. There's every reason to believe it'll be a cool book - I know that now." "Oh, thanks, Brian. I'll do my best. I'm sorry, I may have gone a bit overboard with Rosetta Tharpe earlier. I didn't mean to brag. It's just that I had to write an article on her recently, so I did a lot of research on her and now I've got it all in my head." The strange man shakes his head. "It's bad. Very bad - you're ruining the move. You should never do that, you know? If you come across as confident, give people the illusion and don't come across as modest. I want an equal fighter, hehe. Come on, let's take Blue for a quick spin. After this failed game, only a pause for words can save you." The Labrador seems to have understood telepathically and runs ahead before the sentence is over. "Hey, easy, friend!" Hartley shouts. "You've got two old men for companions. Or one, at least..."

"Let's have a drink and make one last round for today, okay?" says the old man as he returns. "I'm going to get a small beer." Alvin seems to be going from one surprise to the next. He had just thought he was as close as a buddy. And then, during the walk with Blue, Brian didn't say a word. It was most strange. Perhaps he wanted to increase the distance again because it seemed to him to be too little respectful. Or maybe he was focused on Blue. At the very end he seemed to have noticed Alvin's perplexity when he laconically said, "When I say pause, I mean pause. It's not against you. Blue deserves to have me with him. Every blade of grass, every bush, every ant here - they all deserve to be with me. And when I talk to 'em, you don't hear a thing. Sorry, man."

"IPA - India Pale Ale", says Hartley when he returns with two stylish cups. "The best of all craft beers, brewed right here in California. Cheers." "Tastes wonderful, thank you very much. Tomorrow I really must have something to drink; otherwise I feel like a useless useless person." "I forbid you," growls the old man in an endearing way as he wipes the foam off his lips. "You have the overview here, I hope. Where did we get stuck? And how good is your dictating machine?" "It runs like clockwork. The battery is still half-full. We went to Cale's Guitar Hero and got lost." "No wrong way. Sister Rosetta Tharpe belongs in the history books. She was a knockout. There's probably a very simple reason she's not on John's list: The Tharpe hadn't arrived in his world at the time. Period. The story just worked, even in Cale's case." What do you mean, "it worked"? "The way I said it. The thing worked; John and his friends, they were under the spell of this revolution, as were we all. It's obvious that none of the rock'n'rollers, and certainly none of the music business had the slightest desire to shout, 'Hey, look, we're playing Sister Rosetta here. Nobody would do that. And so it happened that Cale learned from all the offshoots, from the second generation. So, what's the problem? The offshoots were more than good enough; he didn't even manage to copy their riffs exactly. And sometime later John heard Rosetta - and knew where all that stuff came from. Not only from her, there were others, of course. The old bluesmen. That's the way it goes. When you start talking as a kid, you don't care who invented all those syllables a thousand years ago." "That makes sense, Brian. I never heard anybody explain it better than you." "At my age, you get realistic and find simple words for complicated things. "Or senility. Or both, like me." Hartley smiles and treats himself to another sip of beer. "And then people think you've grown wise, hehe. In any case, things are indeed complicated. Each of these guitarists was not only influenced by Rosetta Tharpe; each of them picked up something here and there, made his own soup out of it - and passed the baton on again. And all these sticks were pelting down on guys like J.J. Cale, from which he mixed his own broth, completely without any recipe. So the blue ball spins, and if you want to go all the way back, you'll end up in no man's land. Because even the Rosetta started talking without inventing syllables." "Anyway, that's how I see it. But some people seem to have an interest in forgetting certain relay runners. And that others are treated as gods, who are said to have created everything - or who can't be outdone forever." "Such as?" "I think there are some. The Beatles, for example." "At least they were little gods. But okay, the music business has its own laws. Can't you and me change it, Alvin; this league is not our thing. It wasn't Cale's thing, by the way. Songs that gave him joy and nourished him - that was enough for him. He didn't care about the big money. Because it changes you, because it steals your calm, because it might not even let you die in peace." "That's what half the world admires - that he never let himself be seduced. Let us stay with his beginnings for a moment. I'm sure at some point, making money became an issue for him too. When and how did J.J. Cale earn his first dollars with music? And when did he realize that music would be the career of a lifetime?" "You see, we're already talking about money. It's crazy. Come on, let's stick with John's role models a little bit longer. Afraid I'll ask you again about some guy?" Cale smiles mischievously. "What do you know about Gatemouth Brown? And why do you not wonder why the name Moses Allison is mentioned in the Guitar Hero section?"

"About Clarence Gatemouth Brown, I know a few things," Alvin triumphantly says. "After all, the man has won a Grammy and eight cell phone awards, and he was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame." "Yes, but he didn't really get off to a good start until the 1980s - or maybe the mid-seventies, when the folk and blues revival started. When John first heard about him, very few people knew this Clarence Brown. I think it was 1960 and John made two or three short trips to Nashville at that time, with the dream of maybe placing one of his first songs. No success, of course, apart from a few studio jobs as a guitarist. Anyway, he heard of a certain Gatemouth Brown there, on some TV show. Brown recorded a few country records in Nashville - not exactly commonplace for a black man. Cale was impressed with that cocktail; blues, jazz, zydeco, cajun, bluegrass, calypso, all kinds of things. He always found guys with such a colorful mix exciting; it's not necessarily a particular mix that excited him, it was rather the size of the range, the variety. And Brown demonstrated this when choosing instruments; the guy played guitar, violin, harmonica, piano, mandolin, viola and even drums. You know what I mean? The man was an orchestra, he could easily record an album on his own. Just what John loved." "But this orchestra wasn't very successful in the '60s." "Yeah, the rocket wasn't ready to explode. For a while, Brown was even supposed to have been a deputy sheriff. I can just see him now - I bet he made a good class act in those clothes, hehe. By the way, you seem to have written an article on Gatemouth Brown just last week, just like you know about him." "Oh, thanks for the flowers." Alvin's enjoying the winning spot. "Typically, he also started over first, in Europe. I heard he's toured there a dozen times with top-notch records in his luggage. Among others, of course, the legendary album 'Gate's On The Heat', which he recorded together with Canned Heat in 1975. Only then, after all the hits in foreign countries, the prophet was recognized in his own country. Did J.J. Cale actually do the same? How important was success in Europe to his career?" "You might ask me some questions, man - we were at Gatemouth Brown! Europe's been important to everybody since the 1960s. They have a fine culture over there; sometimes you get the impression that on the old continent they know more about American music than we do. I don't know how many records Cale sold over there, but I think something came together. Also the few European tours he did, they were cool for him. People really listen there; the audience is made up of all the musicians from the area - and I'm sure at least one came to the dressing room after every gig to play a J.J. Cale number to the master in awe." "And that didn't bother him after a busy night?" "Hey, why would something like that bother him? That's the best damn bouquet you could get. I think John felt bad that people like that had to buy tickets for his gig for a lot of money." "Oh no, those musicians just want the star to compliment them so they can show off in the scene." The old man's face deforms into a kind of bristly skepticism - and it somehow reminds one of J.J. Cale's expression when he seemed to not understand the outside world at certain moments. "You have funny ideas," he says, shaking his head. "What's wrong with people being happy to have met a famous artist? Isn't anyone a fool who doesn't put something like that in his press kit? Do you know how damn difficult it is for all the millions of wonderful musicians in the world to push open media doors even a millimeter wide? If you're not a star, the best you can get is the 'played with X' or 'was praised by Y' card. That's how it works, and with one hair John would have become such a nobody too. He would probably have sold hamburgers all his life, written his songs in the evenings, no better and no worse than he always did - and he would have bragged until the end of his days that in his youth he jammed with the great Leon Russell or with Delaney & Bonnie. And in the local press a few lines would have appeared about him every now and then, because he was allowed to sniff the air of legends, which in turn would have given him a dozen additional club gigs with free hamburgers and free beer. You know what I mean? With John, there was even the problem that he wasn't brazen enough to kick in the wardrobe door of his idols. It's not everybody's cup of tea; good musicians are often quite shy, and then you'll remain a nobody even more so." "My God, Brian, you're beyond help. The sober modesty of J.J. Cale, with which you completely identify, it can't be from this world. I promise you this: If you leave her before me, the world - then I'll apply to the Church for sainthood." "Joker," Hartley cries sheepishly, blinking. "In the first place, I'm not ready to leave just yet - now that you're going to launch the book. And secondly, if they knew all about me, they'd probably throw me in the fire instead." He laughs and takes a last sip of beer. In slow motion as usual. "Hey, we're talking in circles here. Where were we?" "On Cale's adventures in Europe. I hear he had and still has particularly passionate and loyal fans there. In France, for example. And in Germany. Even in Switzerland."

"Yeah, Switzerland is cool. Everything is noble and massive there, and yet the people are somehow gnarled mountain people. It seems like a good mix, I think. I think John was only there once for a concert. He was in Germany and France two or three times. What are you flipping through your stack of papers, man? "At the end, you'll give me a list of all the live shows in his career." "Yes, that's what I'm coming with." "What? He's crazy, that boy!" "J.J. Cale's appearance in Switzerland was September 26, 1994, in a town called Winterthur." The old man thinks while his features soften again. "Yeah, something's coming up, I think I got it. I wasn't there myself, just watching the tour from a distance, but the name of this city seemed funny to me at the time. They were on tour and in September it's supposed to be winter?" Alvin nods in agreement. "The Swiss are a strange people. I remember an article Cale's friend Luc Baranger wrote a few years back." "You know Baranger, the Frenchman?" "I don't really know him, but I've read texts and books by him. He's a writer, after all." "Yeah, Baranger is a strange fellow. When he heard John's second record, 'Really', he broke all the tents in France and came here with the aim of meeting the Master in person. The guy didn't let up, but he was in a good mood and stayed with Cale's crew for a while. He made himself useful where he could, fetched beer or girls, was something like a tour manager. Then he started writing - Baranger is really good at it, man. Now he writes a new book every year; cool stories, all about music." "Yeah, and his first book came out in 1996; 'Visas Antérieurs' - a novel that also features a guy named J.J. Cale. Only in French, though, like most of his books." "Baranger speaks very good English, works as a translator too - but he is and remains French. In the meantime he's moved to Canada. The perfect home for him and his roots." "When was the last time John saw him?" Hartley thought about it. "I don't know. About ten years ago, at some birthday party, they say the Frenchman turned up. Now you're going to tell me what this boy is writing about Switzerland. If I remember correctly, he actually lived over there for a while." "Wow, how do you know all this?" "Of all the journalists who wrote about him, John usually hardly knew his name - and certainly not his life story. But hey, he and Baranger were obviously friends, and at some point I learned about these books. But tell me now - what did the boy write?" Alvin's going through his papers as usual. "Baranger wrote the monthly column, Dernières nouvelles du Blues, in a magazine called 'artblues'. In August 2008, he wrote about the musical legacy of J.J. Cale in his own provocative way." "Cool. So?" "First, some of the usual names; Clapton, Knopfler, Spencer Bohren, Ray Bonneville, the Frenchman Francis Cabrel. And then, quite surprisingly - extensive lines on two Swiss nationals." "I'm listening." "... How could Hank Shizzoe and Richard Koechli not be mentioned here? Perhaps it is those two Swiss who are most respectful of J.J. Cale's legacy. Switzerland with its way of life seems to be made for the laid-back spirit. Shizzoe sounds more earthy than Cale and Knopfler together, and for Koechli the laid-back style seems to be a philosophy. Just like Cale, Koechli draws from a large pot of North American but also Celtic and French traditions, which he literally absorbs. He looks ahead with one eye, and yet at Koechli you can feel the respect for the past and a great love for the instrument, for perfection. This is exactly the essence of laid-back music: a kind of pseudo-relaxation, a mask of laziness that conceals the highest concentration and decades of hard work." Hartley listens carefully. "What was the name of the first of these two?" "Shizzoe; Hank Shizzoe. Seems to be a stage name." "That was him," murmurs the old man, nodding. "What do you mean?" "I've heard the story. Shizzoe is the name of the musician who turned up in the dressing room at that Winter Tour gig. Fine guy, educated, speaks good English. He brought some tape recorder and he wanted to play Cale's version of "Mona". Apparently sounded pretty special; John always enjoyed original interpretations of his songs. This Shizzoe got the bouquet and went back to his world with bright eyes. Cool! And the second - what was the name of the second Winter Tour musician?" "Koechli; Richard Koechli. Not sure he's from this town." "Richard K... Kookly? Is that how you pronounce it? No, I don't know that name. He's one of those who doesn't dare in dressing rooms, hehe. So? What J.J. Cale song is he playing?" "None, as far as I know. He recently released an album called 'Laid-back', to which he pays tribute in places to Cale. Even in French." "I see. No wonder Baranger likes it. So no cover? Even better. Although John always appreciated covers." The strange man smiles. "Because they each played a vital role in getting the stack of bills off the table at the end of the year without any trouble." "On stage, Koechli plays 'After Midnight' now and again." "Okay, the boy gets the ticket for the club." "Anyway, they say Switzerland is very J.J. Cale-friendly. For example, they say there's a humorist who's a fan of Cale and writes songs in that style, with Swiss German lyrics. Blues Max, he calls himself." "Yeah, that sounds... Humour is always good. Let's get them together, the humorist and the musician; laid-back double." "Exactly that seems to be the case; the Blues Max and this Koechli, they are apparently sometimes on the road together." "That's what I said. They listen to me. You can also do the producer's job remotely, telepathically so to speak." "Looks like it would work." Alvin laughs. "Anyway, this Switzerland is a good place to get the Tulsa spirit going. There are some die-hard J.J. Cale fans among the journalists, by the way." "How do you know all this stuff anyway? You must read the newspapers of every country in the world every day. I'd like that much time, man." "It's the art of proper selection - and networking. At least the music journalists, they're really something of a family. We have colleagues almost everywhere in the world." "I see. That explains why you're always copying each other's work." "I've never transcribed a text in my life. I don't just copy press releases. Writing is a passion, a matter of honor. So is music." "Hey, Alvin, I didn't mean it like that. You're not used to my wacky sense of humor. You're doing a good job, I'm sure. There was a pre-Alvin Lindley era, though, and copying was all the rage. If you only knew how long the tale of Jean- Jacques Cale, for example, was around just because everyone copied it from some French editor." Alvin smiles. "Jean-Jacques for J.J. makes sense in France - and actually sounds quite charming. But, you know, in essence, false stories can only arise when the true ones are not known. All these years, the master's secrecy hasn't exactly given music journalists a buttery nut." "True again, hehe. That's what you love, the veil, so you can speculate. You may as well admit. Isn't it boring with everything on the table? But while we're on the subject..: ...Cale has always been known as a grumpy guy in the press. "If this continues, I'm gonna get grumpy too, and not just on paper." "Um, what do you mean?" Alvin's still insecure. "Don't worry, I'm kidding. All I'm saying is, this is gonna be messy and boring if we keep this up. Not that I don't enjoy all the talking, but a book like this has gotta have traction, man. And structure. Do you really think people are gonna be interested in all these sideshows?" "People wanna know what kind of person was behind J.J. Cale. But, of course, we can leave some stuff out later. Reduction is always good." "It's gonna be a tough act to cut down. If you cut out all the unnecessary stuff, we'll end up with a few pages of book, hehe." "Oh, no, leave that to me. Let me do the analysis." "Okay, man. I always thought I knew how to cut down. Cale's songs were some of the shortest in the business."

Alvin senses that he may have gone too far. Anyway, it's quite spectacular, this building up self-confidence with which he has met the strange man here for a few hours. A high like that can't last forever. Hartley is right of course - brevity is an art, and it was J.J. Cale's domain! "Excuse me. I get such pleasure from talking to you and illuminating all these scenes that sometimes I almost lose the thread." "Yeah, almost. Try to remember - where were we exactly?" "Switzerland, I think." "Yeah. Baranger is right in his analysis: it's a mask of laziness. J.J. Cale was not laid-back in real life; he said so himself. It was only in music. In fact, he wasn't even in the music - it just sounds that way. For it to sound like that, you have to make a hell of an effort. That's what most people don't understand. John made this laid-back music because he wanted to be laid-back himself. Or just because music was supposed to relax him. It's like when the chemist spends a lifetime searching for the perfect Valium mix - so he can finally come down. So now bring up the two names..." Alvin looks at him questioningly. "The one or two fellow journalists who are supposed to be J.J. Cale fans. So we can move on. The odds are slim - but maybe I've heard something from the boys." "You mean the ones from Switzerland? I can think of two right off the bat. Pretty strange names, from over there. Manfred Papst (Pope) and Bänz Friedli." Hartley takes his time, you can tell when he's thinking hard. And you can also see the signal in his eyes when it clicks. "I can score here, man. And you know why? Because they're funny names. They stay in your head. The Pope, of course, because he's got nothing to do with the church leader. Wrote about Cale every once in a while, and he's really good at it. Seems like he knows his stuff. And what's the other one's name? Friedli, yeah. He's got what it takes too; he even came over here and invited his idol for dinner after the gig. Since then he's been telling the story of the best hamburger of his life. Do you see what a lucky guy John was? He made people feel like they were in seventh heaven and he couldn't really help it." "It was his fault, all right."

The old man had to have a little break. "Lift his head," in his lingo. After a cigarette length and a trip to the house, he comes back with two loaded hands. In the left a jug of fresh water, in the right a vinyl record. And in his face a happy glow. "Mose Allison - 'Back Country Suite'; 1957, his first album. This is the original prestige pressing. John listened to this record up and down, I can guarantee you that." The way Hartley holds that record up as a trophy, he looks at least 20 years younger. Alvin gets to touch the record cover. "Wow, strong! You still have that record today?" "I've been listening to it up and down, too. It's pretty beat up, but it still plays." "It's got the Young Man Blues on it, right?" He nods approvingly. "You really seem to know, yeah. A grail, that thing. Now, if you tell me a few more things about Allison, I'll finally buy that you've prepared." "Moses John Allison Jr., I believe he's from Mississippi, well over 80 years old by now." "You don't have an encyclopedia hidden somewhere in your head?" "A white jazz pianist and singer." "Who cares about the 'white'? Mose Allison was not only a pianist and singer, he played the trumpet - and he wrote songs! Why don't you ask why anybody's Cale's hero who doesn't play the guitar?" "I wanted to ask that question, of course. And I have an idea what the possible answer might be. In any case, this man was a role model not only for J.J. Cale. Half the rock world seems to revere him: The Rolling Stones, John Mayall, The Who, The Yardbirds, The Clash, Van Morrison, Elvis Costello. His Young Man Blues, for example, covered by The Who, is legendary." "That's right, and the original is on this record right here. A fine song - at that time it met the attitude towards life of my generation wonderfully. But it was far from being Allison's only treasure. So? What is your possible answer now?" "Well, I have a hunch. I hear something in Moses Allison's singing that reminds me of J.J. Cale. It's this white, understated voice with a little swing and soul in it, but not too much. I think his voice sounds a bit higher than Cale's, but in character, the two are somehow related. Let's just say they're distantly related." Strange guy seems thoughtful. "Yeah, maybe..." - ...that's all you can get out of him. "I've been thinking about Cale's voice for a while now, Brian. His fine singing sometimes reminds me a little of Mississippi John Hurt's loving fatherly blues voice." "Never heard that comparison before." Hartley seems surprised. "I'm going to listen more closely to the Hurt. In any case, neither of them screams into the microphone like a proud rooster, neither Allison nor Hurt. They sing softly, and they encourage." "That's beautiful, the way you say that." "Ha ha; not quite as beautiful is the list of Moses Allison's disciples you enumerated. There's some names missing, and they're pretty tough to match." "Oh, of course - J.J. Cale is missing." "Joker. Missing Jimi Hendrix, for instance." "Oh, you're kidding. I never knew that." "Well, now you do. Also missing is Leon Russell - hey, you don't know his version of the Allison number 'I'm Smashed'? Then of course Bonnie Raitt is also missing; should interest a feminist like you. When Bonnie sings 'Everybody's Crying Mercy', she is a bomb. Other fans are Tom Waits, Manfred Mann and of course Randy Newman." "It's obvious with Randy Newman." "It certainly is. Piano and sarcasm from Moses Allison were the perfect template for Randy." "What puzzles me is this enormous variety of artists that were inspired by him. What is his cross-stylistic secret?" "Allison is eclectic; pop star, bluesman, jazz artist, and he appeals to both white and black people. But most important: Moses Allison is a songwriter - and what a songwriter! His lyrics hit the mark, are sophisticated and ironic, whether he sings about women or about Western culture. There is this shy objectivity, his straightforward and relaxed singing. All this comes across hauntingly and yet impudently relaxed. A pure pleasure. It's laid-back, very simple." Hartley takes a deep breath and looks into the void. "Now you know why Allison impressed John at that time - right from the start and without a single guitar tone."

Alvin is thrilled and looks curiously at his Dictaphone. What the man tells him has so much substance - if only the machine didn't break down now, it would be a disaster. Everything seems to be in order. "This is going to be a hell of a book, Brian!" "Let's hope so." "James Burton is also in this list of J.J. Cale's heroes, if I remember correctly. Another one who played with Elvis?" "That's right. Burton was a few years ahead. He'd already sucked up all the roots back then and made an incredibly hot mix. No wonder Elvis was so into him later on. James is a great guy; John met him a little later in Los Angeles, in the sixties. The boy was not stingy with guitar tricks; John learned something new every time he played with him. Burton is and always will be one of the greats." "You can say that again. I'm a big fan of his, and I was very pleased to recently read that he was on a Cale album - Travel- Log, 1990." "It's good for a record, a guest musician said; Lean On Me was perfect for James." "The recordings for this album were made between 1984 and 1989. Do you happen to know exactly when the session with James Burton was?" "It could have been earlier, by chance." But the album does say "Recorded Between 1984 and 1989". "Can't be too tight, man. Record covers are not law books." "If album credits are not mandatory, how are we journalists supposed to research?" "Good question, hehe. Trust your gut; sometimes the line between truth and myth is blurred. It's more exciting that way." "It's fine with me. As long as we're not accused of spreading myths." "You'll never hear that accusation from me. And Cale, he's been into myths since the beginning of his career. ...but not every piece of nonsense written about him. But let's not do this." "Let's just stick with Lean On Me. James Burton could just be in the studio? without knowing the song. It's amazing." Hartley smiles furtively. "It's a two-chord number. Burton could be in it if he had ten chords." "Anyway, it's a wonderful song, with that typical relaxed funk groove - J.J. Cale. And then with Jim Keltner on drums, you can't beat that. You can get into a trance listening to these Okies; if only the songs weren't so short. Tell me, Brian, can you tell me which of the two parts of the guitar solo is Burton and which is Cale?" "I think you've been in better moods, man. You can tell, can't you?" "The second part sounds very much like J.J. Cale, you're right." "Speaking of this number - there's a second guest, and not just any guest: Hoyt Axton. It's in the credits, by the way." "Axton, the country singer and actor?" "That's the one. He was also a songwriter in the case." "Oh, of course. His mother was already a songwriter; Mae Boren Axton, who co-wrote Elvis Presley's hit Heartbreak Hotel. Legendary blood flowed through Hoyt Axton's veins, which he could finally live up to - in 1968 his song 'The Pusher' was covered by the rock band Steppenwolf and ended up in the movie Easy Rider." Hartley's eyes are getting brighter and a touch bigger. "You fixed the screw-up; you can stay, man - not everybody knows these things." "So this guy Hoyt Axton stopped by the studio? Wow! And he was immediately persuaded to join in, too? What song was that?" "That's what I said. 'Lean On Me'. He didn't just stop by the studio; Christine Lakeland knew him, she had played in his band before. Christine and John went to visit Hoyt at his house, I think, and it was there that the idea apparently arose that he might do a Cale number." "Oh, yeah. 'Lean On Me'? I don't hear that distinctive deep voice anywhere." "Hoyt Axton had no lead. I think John wanted to repeat a few words in the background of the song, and it's always good at choir jobs like this if not everything is sung by one voice, even though that would be the easiest thing in the world in terms of recording technique. Contrasts are cooler, give colour; preferably a female voice and a male voice, and then maybe even double the whole thing - one time closer to the microphone, a second time further away. Christine and Hoyt were a perfect match, you hear that." The old man seems far away for a moment. "Hoyt was a fine man, they say. It's been over 15 years since he had to go." "Would you like a break, Brian? Or would you like to call it a night?" "A cigarette and some stretching exercises, that'll do it. We don't have office hours here." "You work out?" "Who said that? Stretching! You can learn it from any animal. It's very important at my age."

After a few minutes he comes back, finishes the last neck exercise while still walking, sits down and relaxes. "Ten years, minimum." "Um, how?" "Ten years younger you feel as the blood flows through the tendons and muscles again." He takes a breath and, with his index finger raised, begins to make a clear statement at the beginning of the last stage of the day: "You've forgotten a song. James wasn't there just once!" "James Burton?" "James has been there before - when Cale recorded Shades in 1980." "Shades? Shades? That's great. Oh, I almost forgot. But the record wasn't released until 1981, was it?" "After the recording sessions one more disc had to be mixed and John took his time to do that. And then there's always the mastering and all the business stuff." "Oh, yeah, a layman forgets that, sorry. We will discuss J.J. Cale's albums in detail later on; I want to do this in a pretty orderly way, so that readers can get an overview of his whole life's work. It also occurred to me in the meantime what song you're talking about: 'Pack My Jack'. It's a mystery how I could forget; after all, Cale even announces his guest during the song, like at a live show." "That's comforting - you seem to know the master's records after all." Alvin tries to concentrate as best he can; now he has to convince his counterpart in two or three movements with a perfect song description. "A 12-bar blues with a wonderfully airy swing feeling. Could also be from a black blues band, and a really good one at that. For once, Cale and his musicians are taking their time; the song is pleasingly long. Jim Keltner and bassist Emory Gordy are hanging dreamily relaxed in the groove, Glen D. Hardin shines with a fine piano solo - and the two guitars, oh God, they are a feast. J.J. Cale and James Burton, a perfect contrast with completely different sound and feeling. I admire Burton, he plays fantastically on this recording, but when Cale goes for a solo, tears come to your eyes. What inimitable phrasing." "I couldn't agree with you more. I just wonder what John would have said to such adulation. Probably something along the lines of, "If I could play differently, I would - uniqueness is not a mark of quality". "Of course it's a mark of quality! Except maybe when uniqueness drifts into decadence, which really wasn't the case at Cale." "You don't have to explain these things to me." Hartley waves him off. "It's gonna be corny though, this book, if all it's got is praise. Maybe we should talk about his life." "Oh, yes, of course we do." "We were in the '50s, right?" The weird guy leans back. His gaze seems absent. "How important do you think that time was to John. It's the teenage years that make the biggest impression on John."

"Right, let's talk about the fifties. "What do you think John's dreams were back then?" Hartley lets a deep sigh relax him and looks down at his four-legged ally; so he would envy Blue for not having to answer such questions. "Dreams? I don't know if he had dreams. In May 1956, John graduated from high school. And then what? Plans were not his thing, he once said. He'd have preferred to live in the day, as he did later, when he wasn't on tour. But his parents wanted him to make money as soon as possible. Hey, at that age you don't know how to do that. But it's a reality that won't leave you alone. John tried a couple of jobs; elevator boy, for a good dollar an hour. Or in a steel mill, where he slaved in a rolling mill for a while. Hey, man, we're not talking about dreams here. That was a harsh reality; it blows up in your face when you get thrown into life after school." "But the guitar was a great passion. Didn't he believe in feeding himself with music?" "You can't eat faith - only the dollars you earn count. John and his buddies performed in nightclubs from time to time, where they re-enacted current hits; not too loud, so that the guests could eat and talk in peace, not too quiet, so that they could dance. But there wasn't enough money to live on, and it didn't feel like the start of a musician's career, more like a low- paid part-time job in the hospitality industry. Anyway, it didn't taste like the great artist's dream - John was an entertainer. In order to achieve more, he would have had to sing and write his own songs, he didn't dare to do that back then. Even as a guitarist, by the way, he didn't feel like he was the talent of the century." "Oh, come on! Cale didn't feel he had something to tell the world about the guitar back then?" "I don't know what you felt when you were a teenager, but for me, apart from the joy of jamming with my friends, there was no conquering world vision." "You played guitar at that age? That's great! And you can hear it - the way you master this instrument today." He waves off, his eyes rather grumpy. "That's not our issue now!" "Oh, sorry, Brian, let's stick with John, as you call him." "You can call him that, he won't mind. Though some people just called him Cale. Anyway, where were we?" "The music. Wasn't it important enough at the time for him to make it his life's ambition?" "Music was important to John, but I guess the fear was stronger." "Fear? What do you mean, fear?" "Just what I'm saying. John did not feel safe playing in front of people. He didn't think he was good enough." "I don't understand that, Brian. In the documentary, old companions from Tulsa talk about Cale's natural self- confidence at live concerts; he would have always radiated this inspiring self-awareness on stage." The old man is obviously wrestling with his thoughts. "It's hard to explain, man. They're both true. But I think, first and foremost, he was shy, scared shitless, and didn't really feel like embarrassing himself on stage. Somewhere inside of him, though, there was a boss who ordered him to stick it out. Well, and then the calculation is simple: If you let yourself be persuaded to shoulder those tons, especially as a singer - hey, then you want to be respected for it. Probably something like the philosophy of the silent hero: If you are brave and pay him the price of exposure, then you can walk upright and be happy. That's probably what his buddies felt..." "A beautiful explanation. And this shyness, did he overcome it later?" "Hey, man, I wasn't his shrink; didn't know the master personally." "But you're looking for images to explain the J.J. Cale phenomenon, and I think it's great." "You think you're strong, huh? I guess you've noticed we're in the middle of a conversation. A chat room is a place for speculation, right?" "Oh, yes, of course, Brian. I just wanna tell you I like your pictures. Nobody ever explained it to me like that before." "In a chat room there might be a little bouquet of flowers somewhere on the table - that's enough, you don't have to keep waving the incense around, anyway." "Wow..." Alvin calls out with a hearty laugh, "your pictures just keep getting better and better! But okay, let's stay on topic. J.J. Cale's stage fright, did that go away later?" "Hardly at all. She lost influence. You haven't figured out the math yet? Every time you pass a dare, you get one more little trump card. If you go on stage and know that you have already spat in the face of your demons two thousand, four hundred and fifty-five times by now - then you can stand upright in front of the people. Not because you are particularly good, but because your backpack is full of fights won. People feel that. And that makes a big difference to the casualness you buy in show business." "Makes sense to me, Brian. When I hear you philosophizing like that, I'm really looking forward to getting older." "You're getting excited, man." "Anyway, I think you're talking about what's called authenticity. Right?" "And I think that in old age you lose the desire to deal with verbiage. Anyway, now you have an idea why John didn't play the clown on stage - he had to concentrate. It was very simple. And that looks pretty serious. Whatever! It's all about the music." "Right. You know, Brian, it's really starting to make sense to me now: The price of true self-assurance can only be fear, and the fruit of that is humility." "I don't know. Now you're talking like the psycho counselor in a tabloid paper, hehehe." "Maybe so. In any case, you give me courage. And I see things more clearly now. Gene Crose's story suddenly makes sense."

The old man seems pleasantly surprised. "You know Crose?" "Not personally, of course. "But I do have a pretty good idea what his role was back in Tulsa. I read an interview somewhere where he vividly describes how he discovered the shy John Cale back then." "Gene..." Hartley laughs sweetly. "I'm sure the old guy's been doing some serious redecorating The story of how he first discovered Cale, right?" "Yeah. He tells a story about how he had to reassure and encourage the shy John Cale." "The story will probably have merit, but will the readers be interested?" "Well, of course they do - it's an anecdote from the life of J.J. Cale." "Yeah, if you think so. Gene Crose was something of a leader of the scene in Tulsa. He could sing and entertain people, and people respect him. Gene gathered the best of the city around him and started this Tulsa power, so to speak, which later on gradually took over the whole West Coast. It was the summer of 1956, Gene formed a band called The Rockets and tried to persuade Cale to join. He had seen John with the Country Cousins, a small band of high school buddies, and he complimented him. A few days later, Gene showed up at John's house and talked to him; Crose needed a lead guitarist for his Rockets. But Cale turned him down and said, 'no, man, I can't do this; I'm not good enough'. Gene kept at him, saying "I heard you, I know what you can do, Johnny, I know what you can do, Johnny" - and finally he got him." "Johnny, he said to him?" "Yeah, I think all the guys in Tulsa called him that in those days, Johnny Cale was the name the Master released his first singles under." "Oh, well, I guess we'll talk about that later." "We will, yeah." Alvin concentrates. "So Cale was actually shy. But was it really appropriate? I mean, I'm sure he had no problem playing along at that level." Hartley looks surprised. "Hey man, John wasn't much more than a greenhorn back then, and the pieces weren't that easy. When he and his friends started performing in these nightclubs, he knew maybe two or three riffs, and he played them in every song. That wasn't enough. Crose went to his house a couple of times with a stack of records under his arm, and they listened to things together. Gene is not a lead guitarist, he could only play a few chords, but the guy has damn good ears and I'm sure he noticed immediately if John hit the note - or just wanted to suppress important notes. You can't fool Gene Crose; so John rolled up his sleeves, tried and practiced until he got it right. I don't know how much fun John had, but I'm sure it was a good school for him." "The Rockets with this Gene Crose, so this was the first band that John had professional experience with. You know who was in that band?" "It was a chance to get on, yeah. Crose was cool as the front man, Roger Stallings sat behind the drums, Rocky Frisco sat behind the piano and George Metzel plucked the bass. Hey, the guys were considered the best in town and played in this radio show every week, KOTV's Party Lane was their name. They performed in nightclubs and became more and more famous. Maybe it was because they were trying to get the teen hip style going - it came from the East Coast and was very popular. In any case, they were versatile, fresh and, for those times, quite virtuoso. The hits didn't sound much better than the Rockets played them, even in the original, hehe. By the way, Rocky Francisco's paths often crossed with Cale's Route later on; he refined some J.J. Cale records. Supposed to be a great guy."

Alvin listens devoutly and cheers like a child inside. This man is telling him things here that he's only learned in bits and pieces from newspaper articles. Now he suddenly hears them spelled out in great detail. For a book, such things are worth their weight in gold. Tim and his wife Sandy will be amazed. Sandy was not completely convinced of the book idea, she made him feel it. "Don't get too excited, man. You gotta get the book done right first." "How do you think that ...?" "Your face does not lie - you enjoy the fruit before it is ripe, hehe." Alvin's getting a couple of inches shorter again. It's amazing how the weird guy can see right through him. "Your storytelling skills make me happy, Brian, that's all. Shall we take the momentum and add a chapter?" "I don't mind." "What happened to this promising band? What happened to The Rockets?" "Well, you can make a lot of promises to people with your own songs, but if you cover other people's songs, you're still for sale. With John it wasn't quite there yet, but at least he tasted the air of professionalism and was able to earn something extra with music. During a few months it didn't go badly. Gene Crose, however, went intellectual and started studying at the University of Tulsa. After one semester he moved to the northeastern campus in Tahlequah. That definitely slowed the rocket down now, even though Gene came back to Tulsa for every gig on the weekend. If the boss is often absent, he usually doesn't stay at his post for long. George Metzel, the bass player, had always acted as manager and promoter anyway - now he definitely took the reins. On a Saturday night in late 1956, Crose came back to town and learned that there was a new band: The Valentines. Gene knew immediately what was going on; Valentine is George Metzel's middle name. George had hired a slippery lead singer named Bobby Taylor, who went all Elvis and damn good. Crose was out - that's the way things work. And John had a choice: Either jump on the new, faster train or get hung up on the old one. You don't have to think about that. Gene Crose tried to keep the Rockets alive with a different lineup, but by early 1957 the cards were back on the table - The Valentines were running Tulsa." "Yes! And it wasn't long before John, alias Johnny Cale, released his very first record with these Valentines," shouts Alvin with a raised forefinger. "Fourteen years before the official start of J.J. Cale's career. Just imagine - at a time when there was no Beatles hype, no Stones, no Dylan, no hippies and no rock. John Weldon Cale was a pioneer! Only very few music fans know that. Doesn't that annoy you?" Hartley beckons. "You gotta put the brakes on now, man. First you exaggerate; Cale and his friends did this rock 'n' roll thing - nothing pioneering. And two, you're rushing things; the disc didn't come out now, that was over a year later." "That wasn't Johnny and the Valentines, 1957?" "No, that was The Valentines, with Bobby Taylor as the lead singer. Bobby was a decent rhythm guitar player and a strong singer. He had seen Elvis at his two concerts in Tulsa, in April 1956 - since then he was under the spell of the superstar and imitated him quite well. John could fully concentrate on his job as lead guitarist. The boys played almost every Sunday afternoon, mostly at the Moose Lodge on East 11th Street. Also Friday and Saturday they were often on the slopes in the evening. No question, in the spring of 1957 the Valentines set the tone in the clubs and bars of Tulsa. Johnny Williams played saxophone; a fine guy, Cale worked with him a lot later. Buddy Jones was on the drums, and he was great, too." "Buddy Jones? Didn't he later drum for Leon Russell and Johnny Rivers?" "That's right. Anyway, this band was pretty good, John could improve his guitar playing, and the strength of the guys was obviously that they not only had the new rock'n'roll stuff, but also the big band swing - which was still in demand at that time. The Valentines were versatile and solid, something like a bridge between both worlds. It must have been a fine school for John; he began to understand quite a bit of this music." "How do you know all this stuff, anyway? Were you in Tulsa at the time?" The old man shakes his head. "I told you; I was already out of town. "You can look up the most important things about that time in any newspaper article, or more recently on the Internet. You'll have to check it out." "That's what I'm doing - that's why I came to you." "Yeah, let's hope my rusty head spits out all that stuff in the right order." "We'll get it done, Brian. We're talking about 1957, so Cale was ready to go". "So to speak. But first something else came up. The American male's duty." "Wow, John in the service? Tell us about it." "There's not much to tell. He was drafted when he was a reservist. He didn't want to tinker with a rifle and play war. That's why John wanted to join the Air Force. Hartley laughs mischievously. "It's just what he needs. It's not really a tough job. He spent seven months in the Air Force Air Training Command in Rantoul, Illinois, doing technical training. Cale's plan worked out perfectly; he could handle electronic equipment all the time and learned a lot about tubes and stuff like that. All things that are useful in the recording studio, haha." "Smart. Really clever; he already had his little studio in his parents' house at that time. Sounds kind of like a career plan, though, doesn't it?" "Forget it. It was just a passion; John loved working with equipment like that. Recording, editing and mixing music, it's magical. Maybe unconsciously he felt at the time that it would help him later to find his own sound - but unconsciously it can't be a plan. At least not your own ..." "You believe in the plans of fate? In higher powers?" Alvin asks mysteriously. "Why not? Now, let's not get into a discussion about what the boss's name should be, shall we? That would be time lost, for one thing, and a forbidden thing, for another." "Forbidden?" "Thou shalt not form any opinion of him. Never heard of him?" "Oh yeah, now I see what you mean. Although I don't think it's a problem to get a picture of him - you just can't force it on other people." "That's right. That's why we're staying on the ground. So Cale was on the ground for months, and when he came back in late 1957, the Valentines were still in full swing." "Now I think we're getting closer - his first single as Johnny Cale, right?"

The old man stretches, yawns heavily, trying to get his mind right. "A bit closer, yeah. Bobby Taylor didn't seem to be properly motivated any more; in the spring of 1958 he decided to leave the Valentines. He wanted to join the Air Force. Okay, now it was John's turn - he became bandleader and singer. That's how it works in the music city of Tulsa; when someone leaves the field, without hesitation a new one comes on stage and takes over the sceptre. No matter if he can do it as well as his predecessor. Cale was not a singer; no matter, he just had to sneak in there. They were now playing more instrumental numbers, so his voice didn't have to be the joker. A guitar band is cool, too. One of the instrumental songs he wrote was called 'The Purple Onion' - and I tell you, that number became a real crunch for all the guitarists in the area. Just ask Mike Bruce how long it took him to figure out the lick." "It wasn't Johnny Cale's first single, though, was this number." "No, The Purple Onion was released two years later, in 1960. In the summer of 1958, a new singer finally joined the Valentines, Jack Dunham, known as Tulsa's wild man of rock and roll. With him the boys could now also make a lot of steam as a party band. But Dunham already founded his own band, The Upsetters, in September, and with this combo he went all Elvis. Somehow this one band was one band too many and he was back out with the Valentines. That's how it goes - the singing job ended up back at Cale. Meanwhile, the group had Metzel on bass, Jim Turley on drums, Doug Cunningham on piano and Earl Johnson on saxophone. Although John was actually enjoying singing a little bit, he wanted to finally release his own record - and of course with his Joker. On the first record you're only allowed to use the joker and nothing else." Alvin is beaming. "Ahh, here comes the single!" "Right. He recorded two guitar tracks as Johnny Cale for Mercury." "Wow, right off the big Mercury label?" "Yeah, they wanted something for the Halloween market. Instrumentals for dancing and stuff. They suggested two tunes to Cale; 'Shock Hop' by David Shapiro and Mel Stark for the A-side, and 'Sneaky' by Diane Lampert and Cliff Parman for the B-side. On 'Shock Hop' John added some monster sounds, as a Halloween joke. Guitar instrumentals are cool - the Shadows have been doing stuff like this all their lives. On October 6th 1958 the single was released. Imagine that amazing feeling when John got his first record of his own." "I can imagine. I find the two numbers delicious, original and funny. I'd describe the style as pre-surf, rockabilly or popcorn sound. And yes, the link to Hank Marvin and his guitar band is justified. It's just worth mentioning that the Shadows came after Johnny Cale; 'Apaches', their first single, was released in 1960, and it seems to me that this proves that Cale could only tell stories on guitar alone, and that he was a pioneer after all." "So you're gonna go on with this exaggeration right up to the end of the book? This is gonna be fun. Okay, it wasn't a bad start, and the guys in town noticed that someone had a small studio at home, and that he made something decent out of it. Not unimportant." "And that he could play guitar!" "Didn't hurt his reputation, yeah. He continued to play with the Valentines; in December 1958 they recorded a single for the local rockabilly star Al Sweatt - 'I Hate Myself' and 'Let's Paint The Town Red' on the B-side. John also played with the Upsetters now and then when Dunham needed him, and a little later he joined the Starlighters or did country." "The Starlighters - that was Leon Russell's band, right?" "Yeah, Russell was there. But he didn't form the band, although sometimes that's how it's written. The idea came from Johnny Williams, the saxophone genius. Williams lived on the same street as Cale, and he was in the Valentines for a while. In early 1959 he formed a band himself and called it Johnny Williams and the Starlighters. He, Russell, Chuck Blackwell and Johnny Cale - that was the core. Shortly after that, another guitarist, Leo Feathers, joined the band, and as time went on, other guys joined in. The guys started out performing at private parties, then soon jobs started coming in at dance halls and nightclubs around Tulsa; The House of Blues, Homer's Danceland, Pia-Mor Ballroom, Sheridan and whatever they were all called. Over time, Leon Russell became something of a leader of the band; an awesome pianist, he was said to have been incredibly competent and ambitious, although he was the youngest of them all. There were changes in the line-up, it was like that in Tulsa - everyone grabbed the opportunities that presented themselves and played where one was needed. John must have enjoyed playing with Russell; he certainly noticed how Leon appreciated his guitar playing."

"Leon Russell and his later successes are probably something we'll talk about. But what happened with Cale? When did he smell the seeds of his own career?" "By early 1959, the Valentine's Day thing seemed to be coming to an end. They were playing less and less. John, like I said, had other guitar jobs, but I think a feeling was building in him. First of all, he began to realise that despite all his efforts, there was never gonna be enough money coming in that way. Tulsa had a vibrant music scene, but there wasn't much money to be made. One reason was Prohibition, the stupid ban on alcohol. If there were raids again, the guys sometimes didn't get any money at all at the end of the gigs. It didn't taste like the future, so most of the Tulsa boys went to California to find their fortune." "And the second thing?" "Second of all, John started to check out the most important thing - and here we are at your roast. There are two types of musicians, and you gotta know where you belong. Neither guy is better or more important, but they're fundamentally different. There is the sideman, who plays for others - and there is the bandleader, singer, frontman. Of course, I don't have to mention that all this also applies to women. In any case, both need each other, but every musician knows at some point which type is closer to him. That comes up, this insatiable desire to do your own thing. The really fat alpha animals already know it as a child; with John it apparently came gradually. You have to imagine - first a diffuse dissatisfaction creeps up on you; you no longer feel really happy in the role of companion. In the beginning you have no idea how to change that, because you don't dare to take the helm. Then you just tinker with your own project, and with a bit of luck, the thing works at least in parts. John's Halloween single didn't hit like a bomb, but it got a lot of attention, even beyond the city limits. That made him feel good and gave him the idea that maybe it could be done after all. To stick with your image: He smelled the roast and wanted more." "And then he believed in his chance and soon he was taking in more singles." "The average person doesn't suddenly believe in his chances. It took more than ten years before he was convinced that you can live on music. I suppose he never really believed it later either, that when you put out a record, money just goes into your bank account. Somehow there's something impudent about it; ninety-nine percent of all earthlings, including animals, have to make a great effort in their search for food - while a few happy musicians, playing in love with themselves and with their mouths open, pick up flying prey, hehehe." "And ninety-nine percent of all wealthy earthlings take their happiness for granted. J.J. Cale was an odd exception, Brian. But please tell us about his other singles." "I don't know what's so strange about that." The old man looks into space with strange wonderment. "Who do you think is happier - the conscious lucky man or the unsuspecting proud man?" "A philosophical question, which Cale, in my estimation, answered right off the bat - with his whole being."

"Let's talk about the singles." After a long, coughing cigarette smoke, the strange man dives into Cale's story. "He began to write more and more plays, with or without lyrics - anything, just something original. When I say 'write', I don't mean for the music, of course. In this scene, nobody writes down notes; you just make a lead sheet, a sheet with the chords, with the shape of the song. In Nashville, for example, everybody works only with these leadsheets. Any sideman that you put a sheet like that in front of you knows immediately what to do." "And Cale finally wanted to be more than just a sideman; hence those two singles we were talking about. Those four songs really don't sound like Nashville, but more like Memphis or Chicago." Hartley shrugs. "He wasn't trying to do country music. He was trying to do the music of my generation." "Neither single man could be more bluesy, and neither did it hurt either one. On the contrary. Where did he record these songs?" "The first record was made in Los Angeles, the second in Oklahoma City, I believe. His friend Bill Raffensperger played bass, Harrell 'Buddy' Jones was on drums, and John met him at Benny Ketchum's Western Playboys. Cale's group was considered a rockabilly band, and because he'd saved up a few bucks, he was even able to expand them into a quintet for the recordings." "Now, of course, the readers want to know the names of the songs." "The CHAN label released the singles under the name 'Johnny Cale Quintets'. The first one came out in 1960, with 'The Purple Onion' on the A side and 'Troubles, Troubles, Troubles' on the B side. One year later, 'Ain't That Lovin You Baby', John's version of the Jimmy Reed number, and on the back 'She's My Desire'. Not the run-of-the-mill stuff. I think his father was right when he said it could be cheekier. But at least some of the radios had them on, and people noticed that this wasn't the first time someone had picked up a guitar." Hartley enjoys the last move, carefully squeezing the smouldering stalk, and smiling away. "The best part, though, is that Cale was able to plant his voice in three numbers, and not many people realised he couldn't sing." "Brian, may I please take over your rhetoric and ask: Is this understatement thing gonna go on until the end of this book?" "You can't, man. My rhetoric is copyrighted. Cale said himself that he can't sing." "Well, I'll just tell you what I think of those four songs. Johnny Cale's songwriting skills were not fully developed at the time; he clung mostly to the blues pattern. Of course, it was more than ten years before the phenomenal J.J. Cale debut album. Also his personal guitar sound from later can only be heard at first. His singing is completely okay; you just hear that his unique voice was still hidden back then, that he didn't have the courage to sing softly yet. But Jesus, the guitar art - it's already so much there! Here the master plays a blues guitar that can easily compete in virtuosity and feeling with any blues or rock'n'roll string star of the time. This enormous fluidity and phrasing, it actually reminds me of Eric Clapton in certain moments. Or in other words, taking into account the correct chronology: "No question where Clapton got some of his licks from ..." "Eric and John stole the same thing, that's all." "Whatever. Clapton wasn't as far along as Cale in 1960. You can't talk me out of it. Johnny Cale was an amazing blues guitarist at a time when all the later blues-rock heroes were still pulling at Mom's skirt." "Rock and roll... - haha, you're getting slow on the rhetoric front too. Still, it's over the top. Anyway, all that mattered to John at the time was that the role change was slowly heating him up. Being his own boss was certainly a cool feeling, yeah. He wanted to be like the front men in Tulsa."

Alvin nods nervously through his papers. "And he met some of these Tulsa frontmen from back in the day, didn't he? I heard there was a dinner with the pioneers of the Tulsa sound, about 10 years or so ago." "Yeah, you're well informed. In 2003, while recording the 'To Tulsa And Back' record, John wanted to have as many of his old Tulsa friends in the studio as possible; they all came. The guys jammed together really well, you can hear it on the recordings. Yeah, and then the master organized a so-called singer dinner; with Gene Crose, Bobby Taylor, Billy Mecom and Jack Dunham - the four guys he played guitar for at that time. You know, they weren't sidemen; these guys were singers and bandleaders, and to see them again after almost fifty years, John must have been really well introduced. At this age you become a senile nostalgia, you can see that with me, haha. In the fifties John had dreamed of becoming something like a singer-songwriter himself - and then, half a century later, he could play the generous host. Lucky bastard!" "What a wonderful story. And I'm convinced that the old mates loved him so much that they all admired him. What do you suppose they were talking about the old days?" "Why don't they all do old-timers. The guys had always respected each other all these years - it's not the few records sold that count." Hartley gazes over to the oak tree with watery eyes. "An okie will always be an okie. They were talking about Tulsa, sure. Downtown Tulsa's deserted today; you hardly see a soul there on a Sunday." The old man takes a deep breath. "Those were the days. Cain's Ballroom and all; that shed was built in 1924, but it's been completely renovated. On his 2004 tour, Cale played there again after decades. It's the movie of a lifetime, man - can you imagine that?" He lowers his eyes. "But the streets are almost empty today. It used to be just bar after bar with jukeboxes and live bands. Now nothing. Excuse me, I've become a senile nostalgic..."

Chapter 4 - Los Angeles

It's Tuesday morning. Alvin didn't want to stay and sleep in the guest room last night. He wanted to go home to Sandy and Tim. There's no honorable reason to sneak out of family responsibilities on your own time. If he does, let his two loved ones be there; maybe on the weekend, if the strange man still has time and desire then. But now we work first, Alvin still has a hundred unanswered questions. When he arrived here two hours ago, there was first of all a surprise. With a laconic "while you're here - over in the vegetable garden there's an endless amount to do" Hartley asked him to lend a hand. Only then was there coffee, and now both of them are sitting ready to go in front of Alvin's freshly loaded dictation machine. "Where were we?", his counterpart asks dryly. "Yesterday was incredibly exciting. Cale's youth, all the musical adventures in Tulsa. But if I'm not mistaken, Brian, only now is one of the most pivotal decisions in his life. Early '60s, out of Tulsa, on to Los Angeles. Right?" "At your age, you believe in the myth that there are some days in life that are not directional; it's okay." He just leans back, relaxes. "But you're not laid-back enough to storm off to L.A. now. John stayed in Tulsa a while longer; with him things took time. Russell was the first of his friends to go over. With his cute piano fingers, he got going in the business pretty fast; faster than the other Tulsa boys. You can tell your readers what this guy did in his life. Hey, Leon Russell may be one of the most important. I can't imagine the music world without him. Now, go ahead and flip through your stack of papers. You better introduce Russell properly or else." "Uh, that's a bit much to ask. "I already know a few things about him, but you'll have to fill me in and correct me tons." "I didn't mean nothing by it, man. I think we should take turns. I'll start, okay? The guy's name is Claude Russell Bridges. Because he was too young to join Ronnie Hawkins & The Hawks in a nightclub at 14, he pretended to be older and got a fake name: Leon Russell. That was 1956. Soon everybody was calling him that. The boy had already started playing the piano at the age of four and he also played other instruments; trumpet, guitar and so on. There was quite a lot going on in his school class in Tulsa, there were even more who later became full-throttle musicians: Anita Bryant, Elvin Bishop, David Gates. Russell started playing with Gates - as The Fencemen. And just then, in the clubs of Tulsa, where half-naked women danced, he got his first dollars. It wasn't much different with John, hehe." "And then Russell went on tour with Jerry Lee Lewis," Alvin proudly interjects. Hartley shakes his head. "Yeah, but it wasn't the way you guys write each other off." "Uh, how's this for understanding?" "The way I say it. There's false information floating around, or at least contradictory. As far as I know, the story first took place in 1959 - but according to certain biographies Russell should have been in Los Angeles by then. Can you see the mistake? Secondly, Russell was not travelling with Lewis for two years, but only for two months. And by the way, the Starlighters played with Lewis, not just Russell alone. How are music nerds supposed to keep track when this kind of stuff is written?" "I know what you mean. "I'm sure the journalists don't do it with malice aforethought. Every single life story is just incredibly complex, and when different stories like that come together, mistakes can happen." "I realize that, man. Do you want me to tell you what it was probably really like?" "Probably really... - ...clever phrasing." "You gotta cover your ass. So, you want to hear it?" "Absolutely, Brian." "The Starlighters were playing at Cain's Ballroom in September 1959 when suddenly Jerry Lee Lewis appeared. Poor guy was pretty down; his career seemed to be on the rocks, hardly any gigs, the band had left him. And all because of this scandal, after it had become known during a 1958 tour of England that he had married the thirteen-year-old daughter of his bassist and cousin J.W. Brown. In America they don't mess around with that sort of thing. They called him a 'child robber' - and blacklisted his records. Jerry Lee could only play in small clubs and was now desperately looking for a new band. The boy was enthusiastic about the Starlighters, but Leon Russell should not play piano with the piano king Lewis, of course. No problem for Russell, he also has the guitar. Blackwell and the others were right there. Leon thought for a moment, he actually wanted to start studying at the university in Tulsa. But he didn't give a damn - and so the Starlighters went on tour with Jerry to Illinois, South Dakota and Nebraska. At the beginning of November they booked a gig in Kansas, at the Veterans Memorial Hall in Kiowa. But Jerry got sick on the day of the show and had to have emergency appendectomy. And you know what happened? Leon Russell sat down at the piano and sang all of Jerry Lee Lewis' greatest hits. The guy was a big act - nobody in the audience wanted their money back." "Wow, that's a wonderful story! And Johnny Cale was on that tour, too, with the Starlighters?" "No, Leo Feathers took the job; John was busy. Or let's say he was uncomfortable with the whole thing - he probably didn't want to go on stage with a sinking star. And he had a good reason, cos he was on tour with the Grand Ole Opry tour band." "Cale was on the legendary Grand Ole Opry in Nashville? On that country show that's broadcast every Saturday night on radio and television across the country?" Hartley smiles. "Yes, of course, in the support band. But not in Nashville - they had that show on wheels. The troupe was touring Oklahoma in late 1959 and then Montana for a few weeks; he was hired for those stages. The job wasn't very well paid, but it was sure money. John could use it because he had country in him. They didn't want to listen to rock'n'roll; quite conservative, the Opry thing at that time: drums frowned upon, electric guitar as quiet as possible. When Elvis Presley played at the Grand Ole Opry in 1954, they told him after the show that he should better go back to work as a truck driver, haha. They didn't want all that modern stuff. Cale didn't care; he could play soft, and beautiful. Hey, it was a job." "And the Starlighters, did they go on with Lewis when he got out of the hospital?" "No. Jerry Lee Lewis seemed groggy the whole month of November; he called it off. The Starlighters went their own way again. There was plenty of work to be had around Tulsa." "The band would release one or two singles by the end of the year, right?" "Good research, man. Yeah, I think in December 1959, the guys on the Wheel label released two instrumentals, Creepin and Hot Licks. And then another single with two vocal numbers; 'All Right' with Leon Russell's signature power voice, and a rockabilly version of the popular song 'Swanee River'." "If you're talking about the guys, does that mean Johnny Cale wasn't in it?" "That's right." "Between you and me, Brian, you hear that anyway. No offence to Leo Feathers' guitar, but it doesn't come close to Cale's art." "There's no two guitarists that are alike. In any case, these were Russell's very first recordings, as far as I know. History, man! And then, in early 1960, when Johnny Williams got married, the Starlighters disbanded. You see how well music and marriage go together." Hartley smiles and waves goodbye. "Stupid old man joke, sorry. Mary and I have been doing it for nearly 50 years. Christine and John were also together for over 30 years. Where were we? Oh, yes, Russell's. Now Leon actually went to Los Angeles in the spring of 1960. In the beginning he would come back to Tulsa occasionally, jamming with the boys, but soon he definitely stayed and became a big number in the Golden State as a session musician. "No wonder somebody plays piano like that, and a damn fine guitar, by the way." "And then he called up the Tulsa Boys and told them to come down to Los Angeles." "You're still not laid-back. Russell had to get a foothold first; it takes even an exceptional guy like him a year or two. But he did it, and how! Leon soon became a member of the legendary The Wrecking Crew. "Hey, you know who they were..." Alvin nods expertly. "Legendary! This was a group of musicians who got all the good studio jobs in California for famous performers, especially in the Los Angeles recording studios. Until the mid-1970s, I think this group, with a changing line-up, was involved in countless historic recordings. Russell was a member?" "That's right, one of six keyboard players who took turns, depending on the job. "Multiple instrumentation, which was the case with every instrument. If you were on that list, you had done it. Most of the jobs came from Phil Spector; when he started working at Gold Star Studios in 1962 with his golden producer nose, he put this session musician troupe together - to build his famous Wall of Sound. Boy, do you know what songs of the century the Wrecking Boys have been on?" Alvin gives a sigh. "There must have been countless - I can only think of a few: 'Twisting The Night' by Sam Cookes, 'I Got You Babe' by Sonny and Cher, 'Mrs Robinson' and 'Bridge Over Trouble Water' by Simon & Garfunkel. Even Elvis, on his album '68 Special', and as far as I know the crew worked for the Beach Boys. But Leon Russell wasn't always around, was he?" "Not all the time, no. There were six of them. Leon, for example, was on 'River Deep, Mountain High' by Ike & Tina Turner. Or hey, Frank Sinatra - when he recorded his world hit 'Strangers In The Night'. And of course on The Byrds, on the 'Mr. Tambourine Man' album. Noble jobs, man. If you're gonna be a sideman, you gotta be like Russell. But he wasn't just a sideman, he was a producer. And he wrote loads of songs, big ones, for himself and for others. You know what calibres interpreted songs of him or worked with him in any other way; all big Russell fans: Bob Dylan, George Harrison, the Rolling Stones, Elton John. The big leagues!" "You forget about J.J. Cale while we're with the big-time stars." Hartley shakes his head. "We'll talk about that later."

Alvin is enjoying the conversation, the exciting digressions into the world of musical greats. The fact that the odd one speaks so vividly and in such a good mood about a thousand details of music history, it doesn't fit at all with how certain people from the scene describe him. A very nice surprise - and proof that it doesn't matter what people say. Still, Alvin feels he has to take the helm. So that the common thread stays with the most important thing: the life's work of the silent master. "I want to talk about J.J. Cale, John, and I don't want to talk about it later." "Yeah, what you want is this. What I need right now is a short break. I gotta make a quick call, man. When I hear Mary's voice, blood rushes through my veins again." Even before those words fade, Hartley's features are changing. With an expectant smile, he gets up and disappears into the house.

After a quarter of an hour he returns with the same smile - which now, instead of anticipation, simply sketches contentment. "She sends you her greetings, unknown." "Your wife? Oh, I'm so glad." "Don't get the wrong idea; she's nice to everyone who doesn't wish me harm. Right now, Mary is somewhere on the East Coast, down in Florida, with her sister. They're having a good time there for a few days. It's always the same: when Mary is gone, this peace screams into my heart the memory of what it was like without her. Dark, pathetic dark." Hartley is obviously trying very hard not to give an inch of perspective. "You'd better get on with it, man. Where were we?" "I know this too well, Brian. Life without love must be terrible." "You can't solve it by being maudlin, either. Let's get on with it. You've got the chronology down pat, right?" "We were moving - from Tulsa to Los Angeles, answering Leon Russell's call." "You got a funny way of making sentences, man. You don't obey a call, except in a cult maybe. Before this whole California story broke at Cale, he stayed in Tulsa for a while to make some money. Western swing, for instance." "Country music?" "Yeah, sure. In the 1930s, a lot of Western swing was played at Cain's Ballroom; Bob Wills and his legendary Texas Playboys made the place famous, with live broadcasts from Radio KVOO straight off the stage. By 1959, Cain management wanted a regular Western Swing band again. The crazy young rock'n'roll audience was all well and good, but neither particularly loyal nor generous. It was also important to keep the older ones in line, with swing and country. That's why they hired the singer and musician Benny Ketcham to start a new scene in Tulsa. Ketcham was twenty-five and just the right man because he was also the organizer. It is said that he hit on Cale in a club; Jimmy Markham, Leon Russell, David Gates and all the others are said to have been there as well. There were free drinks and Ketcham said to John, 'Your heart may not be in country, but you're the only one here who can really play this stuff. I don't just give you drinks, I give you good money, and I give it to you regularly. As soon as the Grand Ole Opry Tour was over at the end of 1959, John got on at Ketcham and stayed about half a year." "Was it a good experience for him?" "I think so, yes. It was definitely a good combo. With Dickey Overby on steel guitar; really strong man. They played at Cain's Ballroom three nights a week - Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Benny Ketcham & The Western Playboys was the name of the thing. They had a whole load of current hits on there; 'Heartaches By The Number' and all that. Country is perhaps the music where you learn the most - because it has all kinds of things in it and is mixed virtuously, especially in Western Swing. As cool as Cale was, he probably quickly got used to the surroundings; the boys had to dress up and wore hats, cowboy boots, scarves, whole uniforms. That was the way it was then, all the same clothes in the band. Anyway, it was a good job. John was able to play with his own trio on the side and put some money aside during this time. Hey, not as an elevator boy or something - with music!" "He was starting to feel like a real professional. Still, his future did not lie in this city..."

Hartley does a fun, slow, slow sign. "You are definitely not laid-back, man. Anyway, I guess you can't learn. I'm sorry if I have to put the brakes on you. I'll get to L.A. As soon as I give you the signal, okay? The old man is laughing. He's saying, "Look out. The signal's coming NOW." Alvin feels insecure. "Forget it. It's my quirky sense of humor. Don't take the nonsense seriously, Alvin. I'm gonna get my act together and start talking some serious business. Okay?" His eyes are getting more focused. "You know, when Johnny Cale Quintette sent those two singles out on the track The second one came out in August 1961, with John's song 'She's My Desire' - and hey, that record made it to number 39 in the Oklahoma charts. Made the boys really proud back then. They wanted to push the single with live shows in the area, and somehow John still couldn't quite believe that he had to leave Tulsa to find his happiness. In the meantime they had a really good keyboard player with them, Ronnie Milsap. Yep, the guy who later cleaned up in the country scene worldwide; lots of number one hits, Grammy awards and stuff. The guys were good, Tulsa was a hot city of music - and yet slowly but surely this spirit came over them, whispering that they should leave. That there's more to come, in a place where you can make a living from music, without any side jobs. California seemed glamorous to them. Russell was already there, and suddenly, one by one, they left. About fifteen, maybe twenty Tulsa guys. Whoever had a car would take other guys. I think it was 1962 when John was riding in Gery Goodman's old jalopy; Chuck Blackwell was there, too, and they were chugging west on the famous Route 66. Do you know how cool that is, such a trip! This road has magic, it makes your dreams come true. But unlike some of his colleagues, Cale did not stay in Los Angeles. Not yet." "Why? Wasn't it a music paradise?" "I guess John was just naturally restless and suspicious. It's not like there's a friendly committee in LA with flowers, champagne, signed record deals and a nice advance cheque waiting for you. When you enter a strange place, you are a nobody in the dark, you have to be cheeky as hell and patient as well. It's not his thing. Of course, this city gave him an appetite, but he didn't want to pull up all the tents in Oklahoma right away, and he felt like trying other things. Nashville, for instance. So John stayed in Tulsa with half a leg for one or two years to earn his living by playing gigs - and from there he went to Los Angeles and Nashville again and again. The math is simple; it's got everything to do with laid-back..." "I'm sorry, Brian. I don't understand." With a laconic "I'll be right back" the strange man turns to his friend Blue, strokes the Labrador, not in a corny way, but with a respectful 'you're not my toy' distance, throws him the toy rope a few times to retrieve it - and lets himself fall back into the chair, breathing deeply. "You don't understand this? Okay, I'll explain it to you. It's all about the approach. This approach, in a controlled balance between safety, trust and willingness to take risks - that is the breeding ground for the art of laid-back. If you go forward, you won't survive the tightrope walk." "In a philosophical sense, I can roughly guess which way you're aiming. But ultimately, it's also a form of safety thinking - and I still don't understand the direct connection with music." "The direct connection, I see." Hartley shakes his head; not sarcastically, but with that 'I'm going to undo your knot' look that good-natured teachers send out. "People keep asking about the secret of laid-back music. You must first understand that music comes from life - and not life from music. When you make music, you have to first understand and try out everything that makes up this music in real life. It doesn't work the other way round. You always imagine it as if there was a switch to flip over - now I play laid-back. Some exact instruction to play a tenth of a second behind the beat or something. The reality is different. A lot of things can be learned, sure, but the Spirit can't be bought. The laid-back feeling is a spirit, a mood. You can wish for it, you can make it a good breeding ground, you can welcome it and cultivate it. But in the end, it takes the time it needs - and it puts its hurdles in your real life before helping you refine your music. And in real life, that's where you philosophize." "I still don't get it." "What I mean is: You can only discuss it philosophically, not in terms of music theory. If you want to play a good laid- back guitar solo, I think it's definitely helpful to approach it. A certain security thinking as well. Everything in the right measure. With one leg you stick to a proven lick or to the melody of the song. Then you grope your way forward, from tone to tone; curious but not stormy, courageous but not reckless, dosed but not lazy or stingy, modest but still in the proud conviction that you don't have to prove anything. If that is not a tightrope walk! When you arrive at the other end, you have succeeded in a laid-back trick. My God, how many times have I crashed. And I'm sure Cale's crashed at times. Whatever. The important thing is that you realize all of this. That you can tell when you're getting impatient or uptight or bluffing again." Now Alvin nods enthusiastically. "At last I know what you mean! That would mean that I can become a better laid-back guitarist without having to practice a single hour with the instrument. Just by living consciously?" "You got it. But it's no less exhausting than mindless scale practice." "Brian, you're incredible! This is gonna be a fantastic book with all those philosophical explanations." "I was afraid the worst would happen - the whole con game would go on." "Don't worry. But one more question. I see a certain contradiction. You told me J.J. Cale wasn't really laid-back in real life, just in music." Hartley seems surprised for a moment. "Compliments, you're a good sparring partner. Of course it's a contradiction; I can't really explain it. Cale made laid-back music to get down - but only if you know you're a nervous idiot, you can get the music to calm the nervous idiot. "Mindfulness" they call it, as far as I know. Complicated, isn't it? Anyway, we're drifting. I just wanted to say that back then, John felt about Los Angeles the way he felt about a guitar solo." Alvin can't help but think about his son. "And Tim?" he asks in a frail voice. "How do you explain that Tim, at his age, can play the guitar in such a confident way?" The old man thinks for a while and answers with the look of an ally: "Don't I know. Maybe he sees the whole endless series of hurdles in front of him all the time and in full focus, so that he is speechless and locks the doors for self-protection - and only opens them to play the guitar. In the end, Tim sees the truth, and we're the half-blind." Completely unprepared, Alvin feels this pain come up, which sometimes drives him to near despair. "I'm sorry, Brian, I have to take a little break now." "It's okay, man. Let's take Blue for a spin. If we're lucky, there's some animals on the property. They'll bring you down - better than any guitar solo."

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them are back. "Better?" Hartley asks. "Much better. No idea what's going on on your land that makes me feel so freshly cleaned in minutes. when we haven't seen any animals at all." "You haven't seen them? Ha-ha, they kept an eye on you at all times. I don't know how it works either, but the good spirits seem to work hard here. Why do you think I bought this property?" "I don't mind if you do, Brian. "Didn't you buy it so you could be near your idol?" "Bullshit. Pure coincidence. But, of course, it was magical when I found out that Cale lived around here somewhere. The guy was looking for a place where good spirits live - and animals. He loved animals!" "And you're telling me you didn't know where he lived?" "What's that to me? And what business is it of yours where the Master lived? John wanted to be left alone! Do you want his house to be a place of pilgrimage now, like the birthplace of King Elvis?" "Of course not; I understand. But would there be as many pilgrims there as there were for Elvis?" "Every pilgrim is one too many. The music is the legacy - everything else belongs only to him and his family. Understand?" "Perfectly clear. Shall we continue?" "Yeah, good idea," murmurs Hartley. "When we approached, we were. When and why did Cale finally pull up stakes in Tulsa?" "Late 1964, as far as I know. Because it was the right moment. Six hundred miles east, a thousand four hundred miles west - you can't keep this shuttle going forever. And now I suppose the obligatory question is, "How was L.A.? And what kind of drugs did the boys take there, right?" "Uh, no, that question wasn't necessarily planned. But whether he liked it, who else was in that commune, and how long he stayed, that would be interesting." "Three questions at once? Of course he liked it, he says in the documentary. Hey, it must have been like night and day. In Tulsa, they played sober and for a tip in bars where you had to wear a tie - in California, alcohol was allowed, and sometimes they were even paid with marijuana. The 'flower power'- revolution did not take place until two or three years later, in the summer of 1967, but when John arrived in Los Angeles, he could already feel the flower power. I'm sure he liked that groove. Commune' sounds like free love and that pink 'we're changing the world' cloud, but he probably didn't care much about that. Hippies are cool, they spread a relaxed mood - and that was good for him as a nervous guy. Besides, hippies love music. Yes, music was very important in this movement. That inspired the musicians. Because you feel important and loved as a producer of sounds in such a society. You feel like a magician, yeah. Leon Russell's house, they called it 'The Plantation', on Skyhill Road in the Hollywood Hills, was a kind of co-op with a rehearsal room, studio and some mates who slept there. But not all of them stayed with him. It was a neighbourhood, and the whole Tulsa gang lived in that neighbourhood. John lived in Carl Radle's pad; Delaney and Bonnie also lived there, and Gary Gilmore. They all saw each other very often; one went out of the house, visited the others, made music with them, celebrated, discussed. Cale did not stay at Radle's house for the whole time, though; he lived in various places in and around Hollywood, in Laurel Canyon, over in the San Fernando Valley. There were good people everywhere. A really good time for him, as he later said. Only he never had any money." "In the movies he expresses this in a very original way - the money thing." "Original?" Hartley laughs. "I guess the guys were in prison with one foot in the jail all the time. It's not surprising, considering how relaxed they were about their material obligations. And if you combine that with possession of any drugs, you're not far from jail. John always found a way out in time." "He didn't stay in Leon Russell's neighborhood where the action was so inspiring?" "John was not a sedentary type - unless he found a paradise like he later found in this neighbourhood. But he was with his friends very often in those days." "And they say he started jamming with Delaney and Bonnie right after he got there." "Delaney, yeah. Bonnie came to Los Angeles a year or two later." "Maybe it'd be better if we talk about his buddies from Tulsa first. Who do you think was there?"

Hartley lights a cigarette at the usual speed. "What do you want from a senile old man, a list of names? It's a brutal mental overload. If I was in a nursing home, I'd be complaining to the warden right now, man. "With your sense of humor, Brian, you'd be the leader of any nursing home. You'd have some names for our readers, wouldn't you?" "Couple" is a good term - even if you write it in small letters, three is plenty. Should be manageable." "Splendid, my dictaphone's looking forward to it." After two quiet breaths, but unable to deny smoking, the strange man continues. "Never mind the order, okay?" "But of course." "Jimmy Karstein, David Teegarden, Jim Keltner, Chuck Blackwell, Jamie Oldaker, Tommy Tripplehorn, Carl Radle, Larry Bell, Gary Gilmore, Dick Sims, David Gates, Jimmy 'Junior' Markham. Shit, here comes the blackout..." "That's great, Brian. That's way more than three." "So, what do you got on the list? What's important is the story behind each name. I want you to know something, man. His eyes sparkle and get watery. "The whole Tulsa gang, all those Okie guys, they did it. You know what I mean? Nobody failed. Everybody got somethin' made, and it was music. Every man in his own way! That makes an old Okie like me proud. Tulsa was a hot place, I tell you." "It would be nice if you could tell us a few things about Cale's friends now. I mean, how exactly and what kind of music each of 'em made their careers on." Hartley sighs and smiles at the same time. "At home they make card games for the mind games; you try another tour, hehe. Okay! But I hate sequences. They lead in the wrong direction. Let's make a deal. You give me a name, and I'll tell you a little bit about the guy and his musical adventures." "Well, I'll just have to go down the wrong road. "Let's start with the lesser known names, lesser known to me, sorry." "No explanations. One name - one success story. Here are the rules." "Okay, Brian. Let's start with..." Tommy Tripplehorn "Tommy can play guitar and piano; together with Carl Radle he played in the band of Jerry Lewis' son, Gary Lewis and the Playboys in the mid-sixties. With their first single, 'This Diamond Ring', an Al Kooper number, the boys landed a number one hit. It was a real million-dollar hit. At the end of the sixties it was over, Tommy went back to Tulsa and played with the Bill Davis Band and many others. "He'd rather paint than slave away on stage."

Larry Bell "Did you hear how incredibly tasteful the man sings, plays the piano and organ? At J.J. Cale's 1979 session at Paradise Studios, for example, which is now available on DVD. Larry Bell has played on a number of Cale albums and tours, and he has also toured with Leon Russell, Gary Lewis & The Playboys, The Bop Cats and others. The guy was not only a fine musician - he obviously had the finest sense of humor far and wide. If you were in a bad mood, Larry would drive away every storm, people say. You could only love him and his jokes. He died a few months ago, in his seventies."

Gary Gilmore "With his unmistakably deep bass Gary was on the very first Taj Mahal record in 1967 - no wonder Mahal didn't let go of this man for decades. Gilmore has played on more than a dozen Taj Mahal albums and tours, and he's been on Cale from time to time. When John and Eric recorded the Escondido record, they naturally wanted Gary on the team. He's part of the Tulsa family." Jimmy 'Junior' Markham "No sooner had the boys been in L.A. than Jimmy got something going with Capitol Records; the boy also sang on that psycho record 'A Trip Down The Sunset Strip' that Cale produced in 1967. In 1969, he returned to Tulsa and opened Paradise Club, where all the cracks from the blues, jazz and country scene later played. Jimmies Bluesharp is incredible - he's been in the studio with Jimmy Reed, Albert King, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, Taj Mahal, Dr. John, Sonny Terry, Brownie McGhee, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson."

Chuck Blackwell "Hey, Blackwell's one of the cracks He, Karstein, Teegarden, Oldaker and Keltner - these are the five great drummers from Tulsa, and they wrote music history. This laid-back groove with the deep, fat and relaxed snare drum, wouldn't exist without these guys. Chuck Blackwell played for the Everly Brothers, Leon Russell, Little Richard, Taj Mahal, Freddie King, Joe Cocker."

"Why don't we go ahead and continue with the other four greats... "

Jimmy Karstein "Jimmy was one of the first to follow Leon Russell to Los Angeles. Together with his best friend Carl Radle he provided the rhythm section for Gary Lewis & The Playboys, as well as for Delaney & Bonnie. Then Radle joined Clapton; Jimmy went his own way and became John's favorite drummer. Karstein was on almost all J.J. Cale albums and tours until the very end. And because the master wasn't a workaholic, Jimmy always had time for other things; jobs with Joe Cocker, Chris Stainton, Scott Ellison, Homesick James, The Tractors, Buffalo Springfield."

James Oldaker "Jamie; another fine drummer who's done it. In the early seventies he played with Bob Seger, then he worked with Eric Clapton until 1979 and occasionally again in the eighties. There were also jobs for him with the Bellamy Brothers, the Bee Gees, Peter Frampton, Leon Russell, Freddie King, Asleep At The Wheel. A couple of years ago Jamie released his album 'Mad Dogs & Okies', a great thing with all kinds of guests: Eric Clapton, Vince Gill, Willie Nelson, Bonnie Bramlett, Taj Mahal, Tony Joe White, Peter Frampton. John's been in two of them."

David Teegarden "One of John's best buddies. I told you about him. He helped the Okie brand get on its feet in two ways. Firstly as a drummer; in Bob Seger's Silver Bullet Band, with Eric Clapton, sometimes in Cale's combo, and of course with his own project Teegarden & Van Winkle. On the other hand, the guy also loves tape machines. Just like John - the two of them fiddled around together in Russell's studio in Hollywood for days. With his know-how, Teegarden later gave countless productions the right Tulsa sound."

Alvin is beaming. "Bob Seger received a Grammy Award in 1980 for his worldwide hit 'Against the Wind'. Teegarden was on drums on this song, right?" "Yeah, maybe." Jim Keltner "What's there to tell, anyway? If you're telling me now that there are people out there who don't know that Jim is one of the most important drummers in music history - then let's stop the exercise right now with this book here. It can't be my job to lecture on how round the world is."

"His name will be familiar to most people. "But I wonder if they have any idea what songs of the century Jim Keltner is featured in. Can't you at least give us a few examples?" "You want me to make you hot - getting better and better, hey. Alright: Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison, Jerry Garcia, Ry Cooder, Eric Clapton, Barbra Streisand, Rolling Stones, Joni Mitchell, Elvis Costello, Neil Young, Bee Gees, Jackson Browne, Los Lobos, Pink Floyd, Traveling Wilburys, Little Village, Joe Cocker, Ringo Starr, George Harrison, John Lennon, Steve Miller Band, Steely Dan. Is it enough for now?" "If you mention J.J. Cale again, yes. That's impressive. And I'm sure there'll be ten times as many in the end." "A hundred times." "And what do you think could be the most legendary song with Keltner on drums?" "I don't know. Bob's Knocking On Heaven's Door, maybe. and Jim cried while they recorded it. "Wow." "Everybody's proud of Jim, but the Tulsa gang don't play sports, not even the greatest. Bring on the next name."

Carl Radle "It's a shame, he was caught too soon - 1980, at thirty-eight, a kidney infection. Must have been a good buddy. Who knows what would have become of John if Carl hadn't played his 'After Midnight' demo for Delaney and Clapton back then. Radle was an incredible bass player, and especially his collaboration with Eric Clapton is legendary. First in 1969 on Delaney & Bonnie and Friends, one year later with Derek and the Dominos, and then on all Clapton albums and tours until 1979. Did you see the performance at George Harrison's concert for Bangladesh? Great cinema. Radle also played with Dave Mason, Joe Cocker, Kris Kristofferson, Donovan, John Lee Hooker, Dr. John, Buddy Guy - and on two Cale albums, on the debut record 'Naturally' and on 'J.J. Cale 5'."

David Gates "Someone who can make really good songs, songs you'll never forget. David may play guitar, bass, piano, violin, but his wild card was his voice from the beginning. He conjured dozens of hammer pieces like 'If' or 'Guitar Man' out of his hat. Have you seen the movie 'The Goodbye Girl'? Gates provided the theme song for that movie. He also wrote the fantastic number Everything I Own for his late father. You've probably heard this song - Boy George covered it in the late '80s."

Alvin gets restless, his eyes sparkle. "Unbelievable, Brian. Amazing." "What's going on? You need a Valium?" "I can't believe this. This guy Gates, he's one of Cale's friends from Tulsa?" "You don't need Valium, but you need a hearing aid." "I'm sorry, but I'm just so excited. I didn't realize it before when you mentioned that name. You know, that David Gates and his band, Bread, I think it's called - Sandy just came across them a few months ago, by accident. To her, this is the discovery of the last few years. This voice of Gates, it's incredibly intense and gentle at the same time; pure soul balm, says my darling. His songs are really stunning, even if they sometimes seem a bit too pop to me. You know what? He reminds me in a distant way of Neil Young; only that Gates can really sing and not constantly curving along the precipice to the wrong one." "Wise guy." The old man's having a good laugh. "The Young thing would never have occurred to me, but come to think of it - not completely off the mark. Neil Young may not be an okie, but he came to Los Angeles at the exact same time and started his thing with Buffalo Springfield. His voice is gold - and remains a matter of taste, like all special voices. Gates' is different, and so is the awesome one, but never annoying. What's annoying at best is the shame that Gates remains one of the most underrated singers and songwriters in music history." Alvin is beaming. "Yeah, totally underrated, that's exactly how I felt when I first heard him!" "He can live with it; the Bread boys had their success. Gates was already pretty busy in L.A. before he started this project in 1969 with James Griffin and Robb Royer. He knew Royer from The Pleasure Fair, a band produced by Gates. And Griffin and Royer had already written this song 'For All We Know' together, which won the Oscar for the best song of the year one year later and became world famous through the Carpenters. Together, the three guys were a knockout, and when drummer Jim Gordon joined in, the quartet was unbeatable." "Jim Gordon, the drummer who later educated his mother..." "Stop!" the strange man says to him. "Don't talk about these things. Don't talk about these things casually. You're just doing the beast a favor..." "I'm sorry, Brian. I don't understand." "It's all right. I'm sorry, Brian. You know what happened. Gordon was the best drummer in those days. Did you hear him play on Derek and the Dominos? John Lennon on Imagine? Delaney & Bonnie, George Harrison's All Things Must Pass? Joe Cocker, Traffic or Frank Zappa? You ever listen to Clapton with your friend Carl Radle? Wow, the best rhythm section ever. Eric wrote the song 'Layla' together with him, and Gordon not only played drums on it, but also this fine piano. And then ... what a miserable mess! Because he took this stuff, he was haunted by the beast. They all took that stuff, and most of them didn't have a problem with it. But when you're thin- skinned by nature, you accidentally open doors that should stay closed. Jim suddenly heard voices in his head. No matter what the doctors call it, to me it's just the beast, and it ordered him to kill his mother. That's a shame. Gordon, for all I know, is still in prison - he'll probably never get out alive." Hartley lights a cigarette, gets excited. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to open up any wounds, Brian." "It's okay, man. Where were we? Oh, yes, Gates and his band - Gordon was only in the beginning, Mike Botts took his place later. The first record of these Bread boys didn't hit the roof in 1969, but the guys already showed their distinctive style of high class pop song, and the single 'Make It With You' already reached number 1 in the US singles charts. It really started one and two years later, with the second album 'On The Waters' and the third 'Manna'. Both albums went gold. Anyway, until the end of the seventies the thing went quite well, and at the end of the nineties there was a world tour as far as I know as a comeback. But today nobody knows the band anymore, you're right. The wind can change quickly, and I don't think it will be any different with Cale. In ten, 20 years, nobody's gonna know who J.J. Cale is anymore." Alvin shakes his head vigorously. "There's no way that's gonna happen - I'm putting my hand on the fire for this. My writing hand!" "If you're lying, I'll come back from beyond the grave and talk your head off." "I like you better like this, Brian; humour is the best shield of all. Against the Beast too, I suppose." Hartley nods. "Anyway, this David Gates is a cool man. With the money the songs were singing, he bought a cattle ranch; over 500 acres. Today he's enjoying his retirement in Mount Vernon, Washington. Still with the same wife, his high school sweetheart; the two have been married since 1958. It's called consistency." "You can call it that. And ever since I heard Gates' original of the wonderful 'Everything I Own', this Boy George version seems strangely corny. But whatever. What I'm definitely impressed with is your memory - you definitely don't need it, the card games." "No flattery. You know about the Tulsa Boys - while all the cups are still in the cupboard, hehehe."

"There was one last name I wrote down..."

Dick Sims "Yeah; Dick the keyboard wizard. Excellent keyboardist and session musician. The youngest of them all; he was still a regular teenager when the gang went to California. Precocious, the boy; he had already played his first gigs in Tulsa in 1963, at the age of twelve. In L.A. he made his way quickly; at the end of the sixties he went on tour several times, with Phil Driscoll and Yurmama. You could also see him on this TV show of Ed Sullivan. In the early seventies he recorded the album 'Back in 72' with Bob Seger; Jamie Oldaker was also on it. Strong record. Did you hear the interpretation of 'Turn The Page'? Sims and Oldaker went back to Tulsa, though, before they were hired by Eric Clapton in 1974 with Carl Radle. Dick Sims has left his mark on Eric's work; you can hear him on the albums '461 Ocean Boulevard', 'Backless' and 'Slowhand'. His keyboards have been enhanced by 'Wonderful Tonight', 'Lay Down Sally', 'Cocaine' and stuff like that. You know what I mean? Dick also played with other cracks; with Vince Gill, Stephen Stills, Carlos Santana, Peter Tosh, Joan Armatrading. "In the big leagues, that is."

"And as usual, you forget about J.J. Cale." "No, I'm not forgetting. John must have always got a kick out of working with Dick. But I'm talking major league." "So if J.J. Cale is not in the big leagues, we'd better stop this exercise right now. I'm gonna go pack my stuff and say goodbye, okay?" "Bullshit, man. I don't like work in progress. We'll get you out of here. Now, when I say league, I mean that in the commercial sense, of course. Cale was not a superstar." "All right, Brian, I'm just kidding. Or rather, a hopeless attempt to shake you up from that understatement dream. That's typical. For the last 15 minutes, we've been talking about all kinds of musicians except the master." "All kinds of musicians? These are his friends! When John gets a book this thick, a few lines about his mates is the least he can do." "That's true, of course, and what you tell about them is really exciting. "Anyway, this Okie troupe has turned out pretty good." "That's what I've been saying. Think about the hearing aid, hehe."

"Seriously, Brian, let's talk about Cale's time in Los Angeles. How long did he stay there anyway?" "About three years. 1967, the party was over - no more money. He sold his Gibson Les Paul to Marc Benno, got a ticket and went back to Tulsa. There he made ends meet, played for Don White for a while and made a stop in Nashville in between. "Until Eric Clapton recorded After Midnight and freed him from the curse." "Stop. Stop. Now you're the impatient one. There's been a lot going on in those three L.A. years. Wasn't there enough work in the scene?" "Yes, there was. I guess John just exaggerated, spent too much money. There were jobs, but he just didn't feel like running after the gigs any more." "What about the studio? He was about to make a name for himself as a sound engineer." Hartley nods. "I think he overdid it there, too. The better John got, the more expensive he tried to sell himself; he didn't want to earn the same as a young assistant engineer. As time went on, people couldn't or wouldn't pay it any more." Alvin digs through his notes. "Anyway, I did a little research on his time in L.A.; something important happened, it seems to me. Where shall we begin? Any anecdote that you're particularly fond of?" "The boys were drinking whisky and taking drugs. And they were chasing women. That's probably what you mean by 'very important, hehe." "It's not. I would have chosen someone else for my book project; Keith Richards, for example." "Your jokes are getting really good, man. So, what can I tell you about John's trip to LA? Well, I wasn't there, so I can only tell you what was covered." "Sure, go ahead." "He did a lot of work at Russell's studio, for example." "Great. Tell us all about it." "John usually came round about 9.30 on his moped. Leon Russell usually left the house at that time cos he had business at some studios in town, and he'd let him fiddle around in his home studio all day long. Hey, there was everything you needed to produce. John learned a lot in that time - how to write songs, construct and mix them. David Teegarden was always there, too; it's more fun when you're two and they could both learn from each other." "In an interview, Teegarden said that he was more like Cale's apprentice at the time. The master had generously and patiently shown him all the important tricks and thus awakened his love for studio technology." "He's much too modest. Of course John taught him a few things, but Teegarden was also very good and helped him where he could. In the evening, when the boss was back, they went out for dinner together, and afterwards Leon always listened to the stuff John had produced with David. It must have been a damn exciting time for all of them. But you can't say that Cale produced anything great during that time. A few singles for herself and a few things for others; nothing earth- shattering at all - and certainly nothing that would have made enough money. But he learned his studio craft." "Statements like that should be taken with caution, given your penchant for low-brow. It's best to take a closer look at these recordings, at least the ones that were released." "Released is a big word; many of the singles came out in fairly small print runs at the time - they were what we now call 'demos'. It was hoped that such a record would find its way to the people who mattered, and eventually lead to a big deal. The number of hits on those demos was no higher than it is today, but dreaming is what keeps musicians alive." "Demos? Well, I don't know - fits perfectly into Cale's vocabulary of modesty, of course. Let's take these 'demos' one at a time. Can you say something about each one, Brian?"

"Now the warden is going to play card games and raise the bar a bit at a time for training purposes, haha. Do you think I'm a computer? You've got those lists - read the titles down and see if I can come up with anything clever." "Good plan. Start with the single 'Let Em Roll Johnny', with 'Operator Operator' on the B-side." The old man retreats for a moment into his world of thoughts, looks rather suspiciously and finally returns with a smile: "You wise guy dug deep into the archive boxes. That wasn't a J.J. Cale thing - that was Markham's thing." "Junior Markham & The Tulsa Review; the record was released in March 1965, and a second one a few months later with 'Black Cherry' and 'Gonna Send You Back To Georgia'." "You don't say. But John didn't play it, just helped in the studio and turned a few buttons." "The information is unclear. Cale is not listed as a musician in the credits, but there are insiders who say he contributed guitar tones here and there." "Insiders, huh? Well, I'm not sure, to be honest with you. But, anyway, this was Jimmy Markham's project. They were buddies, even lived together for a while in Los Angeles. I mean, it was obvious that everybody in the Tulsa gang was in on Markham's thing. It was basically a band - The Tulsa Review, with the idea to fill every position several times, so that the whole thing stayed flexible at live gigs. Leon Russell was on the list, Jesse Ed Davis, Carl Radle, Atlee Yeager, Roger Tillison, Chuck Blackwell, Jimmy Karstein and a few others. And also Cale; in the studio, sometimes at concerts. Must have been fun, with Jesse Ed Davis for example; cool guitarist, later leader of Taj Mahal. And of course with Jimmy Karstein, who was later John's friend and drummer. But the Markham story didn't make big waves. They played at small parties, sometimes even in larger venues, in the spring of 1965. At the beginning it seemed to be going well, but after five months it was over, the singles landed in nirvana. That happened to many American bands - the Beatles tidal wave was too powerful, it covered up everything else. But if it had been a cool name, The Tulsa Review..." "Yeah, it sounds hot. Let's continue; for example, I remembered the single with 'Im Puttin' You On' and 'Who Do You Love'." "Ha, not a Cale thing again. You wanna get rid of all the other stuff first and then, at the very end, make fun of his own L.A. youthful mistakes, right?" "Not funny at all. But you're right, I want to discuss the outside projects first." "Foreign sounds dumb. David Teegarden and Skip Knape, the keyboard player. They wanted to do their thing for Garrett and they called themselves The Sunday Servants. Ha-ha, because most of the rehearsals and recordings took place on Sunday. Funny name, huh?" "Tell us - how did this collaboration come about?" "Cale and Teegarden were in the studio together all the time, and this project was born in the spring of 1966. It was his most productive of the three LA years anyway, and John would go to Nashville and New York from time to time to see if he could land something. And he produced some stuff for Russell and Snuff Garrett. Garrett was pulling the strings in California at that time, producing with Russell for Liberty Records and also had his fingers in the pie everywhere else, not only in Los Angeles. I guess we'll talk about him later. John was getting really good at recording and producing, got some jobs as a sound engineer from Garrett, in New York and at the Amigo in L.A.; recording sessions with Pat Boone, Lesley Gore, Brian Hyland, Blue Cheer and so on." "The master recorded Blue Cheer? One of the first heavy metal bands in history..." "Sure, with the famously brutal version of Cochran's Summertime Blues. John was there, you know, setting up microphones and helping with the equipment." "At the famous Amigo Studios?" Alvin asks, quite excitedly. "Yes, Snuff Garrett was just setting up this fine recording studio on Compston Avenue in North Hollywood. A few years later, he sold the place to Warner Brothers." "Wow, this is the studio where Cale used to shoot the buttons? The Amigo was where legendary albums were recorded; Ry Cooder, Randy Newman, the Doobie Brothers." "You've forgotten Gordon Lightfoot and James Taylor. And of course Little Feat, Paul Simon, Eric Clapton, Frank Zappa. They also mastered at the Amigo - Bob Dylan's 'Slow Train Coming', for example, one of his best albums. In any case, the shed has written history. Randy Newman had his own corner in the main studio, which they called 'Randy's Room' - where he hung out during the mixing sessions. I heard it was a really nice place, and Cale recorded some of his own songs there later, for the #8 record, for example." Hartley pulls out a cigarette and stares thoughtfully into space. "It's been demolished since then. The end, the end, amigo is history." Alvin nods with a sigh. "The day counter can't be stopped." "Yeah, man, you can't fix the day counter. Let's stick with Snuff Garrett. When Snuff came up with that Sunday Servants story, he wanted John in on it. The first song they recorded was 'Who Do You Love' by Ellas McDaniel - hey, you know that guy as Bo Diddley. Probably one of the first pseudo-rap songs. Diddley had released the number in 1956; it never became a big hit, but it did have that famous Diddley beat - and it rubbed off on everyone. You know what I mean? On everybody! Elvis, the Beatles, the Stones, the Clash-boys; they all got some of Diddley. The Sunday Servants wanted to do a modern version of this song, less rocky, and the guys also changed the lyrics to put some voodoo in it. Skip Knape's keyboard groove was important, and John tried to arrange the whole thing so that it sounded offbeat. At the end they took a guitar solo from Leon Russell and ran it backwards. You know how that works, it was a little bit new at the time. " "And that polyphonic vocal bridge that comes back - it got a little bit of The Beatles. Am I wrong?" "I guess so. The single was released in May 1966, on one of Garrett's offshoots, World Pacific Label or something. Again, this record didn't cause a hurricane. Today, nobody knows anything about this diddley interpretation; other versions are still occasionally talked about - The Doors, for example, or Carlos Santana's." "Anyway, it's a legendary song, and I think the Sunday Servants' version is very special. What was the second song on this record?" "For the B-side, Cale wrote and produced the boys' number "Im Puttin' You On". It's a common mid-'60s fusion, a mixture of rock, pop and psychedelic experimentation. Teegarden's drums gave the drive to the song, Knape's keyboard gave the pressure, and the weird guitar sounds made sure stoned dudes could take off a few inches, hehe." "There's that great harmony singing again." "Yeah, Teegarden and Knape had that, and later on they made quite a career out of it, as Teegarden & Van Winkle. Between 1968 and 1973 they released five or six records under that name; in 1970 they even fished a top 40 hit out of the pond with the number 'God, Love And Rock & Roll'. Place 22, not bad. But this Sunday story didn't get off the ground; they played it live a couple of times in summer 66 and mixed some of John's songs, but the whole thing more or less got stuck in their circle of friends. The Sunday Servants ran out of air." "Nowadays, singles like that are collector's items." Hartley laughs. "Yeah, but it's not because of the music. Listen to the demos today, these young bands; almost everything a mile better. You just thought it was good, because you were often stoned out of your head." "You're wrong about that era, Brian! That was a different time, the music and especially the technique were not that advanced yet. They were pioneers in a spirit of new beginnings; today's bands can build on that." "Yeah, not wrong. But then again, the Tulsa Boys didn't start from scratch. Cale later said that they just wanted to play blues back then - but they weren't real bluesmen. Or something like that, ha-ha. Leon Russell once defined the Tulsa sound that way: You play a country shuffle against a Jerry Lee Lewis boogie. A relaxed swing, something like the echo of Bob Wills' nights at Cain's Ballroom in the thirties - that's what inspired the Hillbillys from Tulsa to the liquid song lyrics. It was a perfect chance to process the blues influences from their youth without having to be real bluesmen. Deep grooves, yes, but they didn't want to push that; they wanted to get into it, let it carry them away. That's maybe like the source of the laid- back." The weird guy puts out his cigarette in a concentrated, leisurely pace. "I guess it was pretty crazy stuff I was saying. I don't need to be in the book." "Don't worry, it doesn't sound confused to me. It sounds mysterious and complex. Anyway, by now I know you can only explain laid-back music philosophically, not theoretically." The old man gives his dog Blue a pal-like kiss on the forehead and leans back with a sigh. "Anyway, I can't listen to this old stuff anymore. But it's gratifying to know that there are young people who enjoy these experiments from back then. Come on, Alvin, let's go get a decent meal. I know a couple other food places around here. And don't give me the "I can't take this, blah, blah, blah, blah." He wants to get up, and he waves it right back down. "No way. We'll wait a little bit, have a drink, finish this L.A. Story, and then we'll go eat. Okay? "The Hollywood story can't go on much longer. We've done the hard part."

Hartley comes back from the kitchen with fruit juice. "As little alcohol as possible at my age." "No problem. That's what I'm talking about. Regularity is the enemy of pleasure." Alvin feels like he's with a friend. This intimacy, which seems to have been growing steadily since the beginning of the conversations, he never, ever expected - after all the talk about this music freak. "You're glowing, man; all the better. But don't rejoice too soon. If the wrong questions come up, the Mood can change quickly." Alvin nods. "Don't worry, Brian. Just say 'next question' before you throw me out." "Good idea." "Okay, let's go. I'm not sure if the worst of Cale's Hollywood trip is over. I think the most important thing is yet to come. His own singles. And then there's his relationships with the important people he built up during that time." "Well, come on with those singles things. But don't make us discuss every note for hours or we won't have dinner." "Dinner is an argument. So, there were three singles; all released on the prestigious Liberty label, thanks to Leon Russell and Snuff Garrett's good connections. The first one was released in October 1965, already under the name J.J. Cale. How the master in Los Angeles came to this name, we will discuss later - so obviously this story took place before the singles." "Found them, yes. This story doesn't come before dinner, though, or we're gonna end up on a starvation diet, man." "Suit yourself, Brian; you call the shots. Let's start with this first single. It's A Go-Go Place on the A side, Dick Tracy on the B side. Can you tell us about it?" "The 'It's A Go-Go Place' number was not by Cale alone - Russell and he wrote it together. Bluesy Shuffle, a groovy declaration of love to the Sunset Strip. And 'Dick Tracy', that's the song that somehow slipped through Eric's fingers, ha-ha." "I know what you mean. In a joint interview, Eric Clapton claimed to know all of J.J. Cale's songs - which J.J. Cale proved him wrong." "Yeah, Clapton at first thought that the Dick Tracy story was a joke." Hartley laughs with relish. "You want me to tell you how Cale came to do this number? The guys were working at Skyhill Studios, Leon Russell and Snuff Garrett. John was there as a sound engineer, and Leon and Snuff gave him the job of listening to some demos - you never know if there's anything useful there. On one of the tapes was this song 'Dick Tracy'; sung and written by two guys from Texas, Jim Robinson and Johnny Wilson. John immediately shouted, 'great number, I'd love to do it myself'. But apparently there was a problem; the two authors had made a deal with Tyco Music Publications in February; Gary Lewis and the Playboys wanted to publish the song. But there was a clause: if the song wasn't recorded within ninety days, the contract would be cancelled. Gary Lewis and his guys didn't get the timing right, the rights went back to the two guys from Texas, and Cale grabbed the song. They produced the thing in threes, and Snuff sent the recording to Liberty Records. ...who immediately agreed and thought it was the right time to do comic book stuff - because Batman was all the rage on TV at the time, hehe." "I think it's a hot, funny country number, Roger Miller style. The ironic lyrics are also reminiscent of the goodies of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller; you know, the famous writer duo that wrote songs like 'Hound Dog', 'Jailhouse Rock' or 'Stand By Me'. But in any case, J.J. Cale sings 'Dick Tracy' incredibly cool; with the amount of lyrics and the high rhythm, it certainly wasn't easy." "Yeah, it's not something that only rappers can do. But I think the original is even better, this demo by Robinson and Wilson - John couldn't top that. But hey, who's interested in songs like that today?" "Real music freaks, and there's a lot of them, Brian. I like both songs, including 'It's A Go-Go Place', where Cale's vocals have that Oklahoma twang." "Whatever. He hadn't quite reached his art yet, that's for sure." "But on the way... Was the single successful?" "You can make fun of him. In some places it was played quite regularly, in Canada for example. Not worth mentioning in terms of money, of course." "But the following year Liberty gave him two more chances." "Snuff Garrett pulled the strings." "And, as you know, he had a nose for it - that third single was really gonna change the world later. But first, let's take a quick look at the second one, which came in May 1966, with two songs written by Cale. 'In Our Time', an experimental number with numerous voices, which he sang himself. On the B-side, 'Outside Lookin', a pop song - I'd say a tongue-in-cheek reference to the Beatles." "Yeah. Speaking of winking, hehe - have you heard the single 'Ain't No Beatle'? "John had recorded it a couple of months earlier with Gary Sanders and Leon Russell." "Oh, no, I don't. Was it that experimental?" "John was just crazy about producing. He wanted those multitrack tape machines. He was inspired by Les Paul, the great inventor, in that respect." "Les Paul? The guitarist who built the prototype for Gibson's legendary electric guitar?" "Yeah, sure, he was also a pioneer in multitrack technology. John met him later with Mike Kappus. Les Paul signed a baseball cap for him - the thing is said to have been sacred to John to the end of his days. If you know what I mean." "Wow, great! Let's get back to the second single, "In Our Time". "John didn't really have an identity back then, I don't think, as a singer or songwriter, most likely a guitarist. But he was privileged, and I'll tell you why: People didn't have their own studio back then. If you wanted to make a record, someone had to find a lot of money to rent a studio and pay musicians. Cale didn't have that hurdle; he was a sound engineer and had access to studios. During the day he would set up microphones, turn the knobs for others, and when the recordings were in the can, he could fiddle around with the machines on his own or with Teegarden and invite friends to jam. And that's how he made these recordings, including After Midnight."

Alvin is beaming like a happy teenager. "You are building the perfect bridge to the next and third singles. It was released in November 1966; 'Slow Motion' and on the back the legendary first ever version of 'After Midnight'. This was recorded at Skyhill Studios?" "Yes, at Russell's house. It was originally an instrumental number; John had written it for this psycho record they were producing for Garrett - 'The Leathercoated Minds, A Trip Down The Sunset Strip'." "Excuse me? "After Midnight" was meant to be the instrumental to this legendary psychedelic album?" "Oh, yeah, right. "Horrible record - John couldn't listen to it any more after that. If you're going to talk about this bullshit, we'd better go and have dinner now." "Um, I was going to, yeah. But 'After Midnight' isn't on that album, is it?" "No, the number was a flop in the selection process, and no one else seemed interested. Then came Snuff with this third Liberty single; they were looking for a second song for the back of 'Slow Motion'. Now John could spend the After Midnight idea, he only needed one more song. On stage somewhere in Atlanta he had heard a guy from the auditorium shouting 'let it all hang out' - that was it. Suddenly the wires ran hot in his head, in a quarter of an hour the lyrics were on paper. You know the rest of the story - this single didn't make it either, until four years later Eric got it." "The beginning of J.J. Cale's career came with this song, which nobody was interested in? Oh, my God. Sometimes it just takes longer to get the echo of a brilliant idea out there. In any case, it seems to me that Cale already embodied his own identity with this song. And what an identity! Typical is that Eric Clapton's version of 1970 was basically a copy of the original from 1966; exactly in the same tempo, with the same guitar riff, just sung a bit higher, in a different key. You might say, "Clapton hasn't had an identity yet. " "Nonsense. It may sound esoteric, but let me tell you how I see it: Cale hadn't found his identity yet, but mysteriously gave a template for Clapton to find it for himself in 1970. In return, Clapton provoked his idol to reinvent the song a year later for the first Cale album - which ultimately led the master to his identity. It's crazy, isn't it?" "Wow, Brian, really crazy - the two destinies were directly linked. J.J. Cale's first version of 'After Midnight' most people haven't even heard of, as it's not available anywhere today. I heard it somewhere on the internet, and I really lost my voice. Apart from these special saxophone shades, it really does sound exactly like Eric Clapton's." "I told you, it was a blast for Eric." "Somewhere I read what Clapton liked about this number. The song obviously has everything it needs; a bit of country, a bit of blues, a bit of rock - and that complex guitar riff, that's what Slowhand was biting his teeth on. He emphasizes how incredibly good Cale was not only as a lead guitarist but also as a rhythm guitarist. And he's not at all convinced that his version was up to the original." "Eric flatters; the British can do that, hehe." "He and Delaney eventually recorded the rhythm guitar together. Delaney Bramlett produced this Clapton album in 1969 and 1970; and it was he who absolutely wanted this song on the record. "If you don't do it, I'll put it on one of my records," he's supposed to have said to Clapton. There was even supposedly a version of that session with Delaney singing, but in the end they decided on the Clapton version." "You know a lot. Cool." "Yeah, I read that. Reading and preparing is my job. And in the end, Clapton was said not to have been happy with his singing, although he loved the album otherwise. His own voice seemed too high, too young - he'd have rather sounded like an old man." "Ha-ha, who wouldn't want to sound like an old man?" "Spectacular, in any case, how that unremarkable Liberty single set J.J. Cales and Eric Clapton's fate in motion." "Eric's career had already been launched before he made this record." "As a star guitarist, yes; with Yardbirds, John Mayall, Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominos. But it was only with this record that he set out on his own as an independent artist in 1970. Thanks to J.J. Cale he found his way out of this senseless race of rock guitarists, discovered the ideal of minimalist, cultivated and pure playing - he went from guitar god to slow hand. The success of this first record under his name was extremely important for him." "There was a single Cale song on there, and Slowhand didn't get filthy rich doing this record anyway." "But it was the same song that was released as a single. Clapton stayed in the US charts for 12 weeks, moving up to number 18. We're not talking about a mega-hit, but about a remarkable success - and until today this song has remained something like an Eric Clapton signature tune alongside two or three others. I know, Brian, this question has been asked a hundred times - but did Cale really not mind if other artists grew up with his songs? Commercially even bigger than himself? The same thing happened with some other J.J. Cale songs." "A hundred times? A thousand times." The old man's smiling. "No, he didn't mind at all. On the contrary - it honoured him, it pleased him, and it relaxed him. John felt like a songwriter first and foremost, and as a songwriter it's the highest honour when other musicians play your songs. Especially when they are successful artists. There's no cooler way to make money." "I can imagine. But didn't it annoy him when certain interpretations changed his work, maybe even distorted it? I mean, there are some pretty, let's say, gruesome versions in this world. And there's a lot of people, for example, who think Clapton's interpretation is far too bombastic, too ostentatious, too rocking compared to Cale's 1971 version." "Oh, man, that's not an issue, we shouldn't be talking about that. Everybody's got their own movie going on, nobody listens to the same music. For Clapton fans, Eric's version is the best. For J.J. Cale fans, it's John's. There's a million versions out there, John didn't know them all anyway. Each of these interpretations makes an audience happy somewhere, even if it's only twenty people, at a party or something. It doesn't matter. John had a good feeling about it, I'm sure." "A wonderful attitude. The songwriter takes the song out in his own way, so to speak." "Sort of, yeah. It's always been that way in the blues - a song is never yours alone. Whenever someone plays it with sincerity and passion, he or she becomes a co-owner."

Alvin nods devoutly. "Actually, it was 1966, and we were still in Los Angeles. I'd like to talk about the master's second and brilliant 'After Midnight' version on the album 'Naturally' in detail later - it remains the best one for me. Nevertheless, just for the sake of anticipation, here's a question that you probably know by heart: How did Cale find out that Clapton was playing that song, and how did he react to that?" "A buddy called him, Bobby Keys. They'd worked together in LA, and now Keys was with Delaney and Bonnie. Bobby was talking about good news and trying to do something nice for John. 'Clapton is recording After Midnight, get ready for better times', he said. John didn't take it seriously; there's a lot of talk in the scene. Half a year later, in August 1970, he was on the road in Tulsa, turned on the car radio - and almost drove into a ditch when his song was playing. He was still skeptical; a week later, however, he noticed that the song was playing on all stations and cracked the top 20. John's lean period was over." "Dry spell?" "He was about to give up music. No money in his pocket, John could barely get enough to eat. Sounds fun, doesn't it? But it was a bitter reality. When you're young, it's easy to get away with it; being broke is part of the adventure. But hey, he was over thirty - that's the age when misery hits you in the head. John got fed up." "Fantastic, the redemption that was deserved! Did he actually keep the rights to the song, or were there still publishers involved?" "You mean, did he feel like wasting his time in publishing, doing paperwork?" "You'll have to explain that to me." "J.J. Cale wanted to write songs and make music, and he didn't care about the rest. Sure, 100% sounds good. But a hundred per cent of nothing is nothing." "I still don't quite understand that, Brian." "If I know what I'm talking about, Warner Brothers owns some of his songs. 'After Midnight', for instance. Audigram owns the rest; that's Audie Ashworth's company, he produced most of the Cale records. May have changed in the meantime, I don't know much about business things. One thing I do know, though, because John once stressed this in an interview: He was never interested in owning songs. Obviously already with the first album; a guy called Johnny Beanstock bought most of the songs on 'Naturally'. John was making music, but he didn't want to go out and say 'hey, who wants my song?', you know. And he certainly didn't want to collect the money if someone actually bought the song. There are people who really know about it and they should take care of it. He only got fifty percent of every cent they collect. He's always done well with that deal. Hartley leans back and enjoys a few seconds of silence. "It's out of fashion now, I know. There are these books and tips on the internet now - 'how to become a songwriter'. And they all advise you in the first lesson not to give away any rights to your music. That was not the Cale philosophy. As I said, one hundred percent of nothing is nothing; only someone who owns the rights to your songs will do something for your songs. John had three different commercials with 'After Midnight'; Michelob Beer, Claritin and Miller Beer. Do you think a business greenhorn like him could have made deals like this? Those were the guys from Warner Brothers; real professionals, they can even negotiate with sharks. The boys today don't understand that; they have realized that the real money is in songwriting and publishing, but they don't want to share that money. I think they call it greed." Alvin ponders for a moment. The mood is relaxed, the mutual trust seems to be there. Maybe it's still risky to contradict the strange; who knows how he will react. But who dares nothing wins nothing. "Um, I k-know n-not s-so right, Brian; I th-think that's ju-just one p-possible view of things." Hartley eyes are getting bigger. "Okay, bring the other one - but no stuttering." "I was a stutterer as a child, these are the remnants No need to understand, just respect." "Shit, I didn't know, Alvin. I'm sorry." "Now you're gonna give me the 'I'm sorry' routine?" "Good punch. I like that. Here's to that. It goes with fruit juice. But now bring the other view, man. You know - if you love laid-back music, you can still be impatient in real life." "You think it's greed that artists today want to be independent?" "Anyway, it's not smart. Believe me, J.J. Cale knew what it felt like to be an independent artist; he was a loner himself. But the only way you can be truly independent is if you make enough money from your songs." "OK, Brian, here's what you want - I gotta disagree with you. The master could perhaps put himself in the world of the Indies, but he didn't really know their worries. That wasn't Cale's reality, and I begrudge him that. Warner Brothers is a major label; there are still three of them worldwide, and they control eighty percent of the total market. The other few million players in the music business fight over the rest. And with these players you can find everything; passionate small and medium sized labels, but probably just as many publishers who are brazenly taking music. I'm friends with a number of independent small artists who can tell you a thing or two about it. They have all had their experiences with publishers who promise the moon, secure rights, a life sentence of course - and then do nothing in return. It is not only nothing, but much worse. Do you know why? Because these publishers make money from everything that the artists themselves produce - without lifting a finger. Because no one else does it for them, the artists take care of everything themselves; they produce albums, look for concerts, get some airplay and maybe even a film music job. And whenever copyrights are compensated, fifty percent of the money goes into the publisher's pockets. If these artists can keep the fruits of their labour, they'll barely make ends meet - but if they have to give half of it away, they can forget it. Do you understand? That's the other view of reality. Indie artists don't need pseudo-publishers; they need professional platforms, distribution structures, people who only get paid when they do something concrete - and not on principle because they're hoarding song rights in a drawer. None of this concerned J.J. Cale, he was not an indie. He had potent publishers who really pushed his songs. That's the lucky case. But let's not judge the unlucky ones by that." "At last!" cries the old man. "Why at last?" "Finally you step on the gas! Cale would have loved to hear you talk like that, you know how he felt about those one-way interviews. Of course, you're right. He wasn't an indie and he was very lucky. But his philosophy was not stupid. Anyway, the plan worked out; John could have kept 'After Midnight' back then, out of mistrust. You know what I mean? "But I take back the greed. Sorry." Alvin breathes a sigh of relief. "Brian, I'm so glad. I hope you don't take this the wrong way." "Don't worry", Hartley interrupts, "I just wanted to say with this story: You can be the greatest guitarist in the world, the greatest dancer, singer or whatever - they come and go. But songs are there forever. If you want to earn sustainable money, you have to write songs. And then just make sure that they are thrown into the right orbit, no matter how. But what are we talking about without discipline about unnecessary things, and when are we going to eat?" "Whenever you feel like it, we'll go out to dinner. And this time, by the way, on my bill." The weird guy waves us off in his usual playful way. "Step on the gas, but I can't be cheeky, man - you're my guest! Let's wait another half hour until the hunger becomes unbearable, then it's twice as much fun. Where were we?"

" 'After Midnight', and what this song has done in its orbit. Of the countless covers you've done, are there any that you like best?" "A lot happened to this song. How can I remember on an empty stomach? But wait a minute... - something comes to mind." Hartley's got a mischievous grin on his face. "For a couple of years, it was the opening act of a Manhattan television show called Interludes After Midnight, a late-night talk show. presented by a well-known nightclub owner who was completely naked, just like his guests." "Um, this is a joke now, right?" "It's not a joke. The show ran from the late '70s to the '80s, and Cale's number was the signature tune, haha. You can see what can happen to a song when it's in orbit. But of course there's also great stuff; hey, there's versions that blow your mind." "Like what?" "One of the first ones came just a few months after 'Naturally'. You know who wrote it? Chet Atkins. I can't believe it. The guitar god, one of John's greatest idols, and suddenly he's playing this song. on the record 'Picks On The Hits', a fantastic instrumental version, wonderfully relaxed." "Oh yeah, so groovy! Chet Atkins. I didn't know it was released so soon after Cale's debut album, so to speak, in response to that. Isn't that magical? It's like the song wants to go back home - considering it was originally written as an instrumental." "Right." "Can you give us a few other pleasant examples - of people who kept their clothes on as much as possible?" "Joker, hehe. Graham Bell's is cool; came out in 1972. Very laid-back and bluesy." "There's a Jerry Garcia band I know that I'm really impressed with. I think it was in 1980, on the live album 'After Midnight - Kean College'. Also very laid-back and bluesy, right?" "Yeah, you know it." "This song actually comes in all sorts of languages. In the late '70s, there was this Frenchman, Eddy Mitchell. He named his whole album after it and he wrote the French lyrics to the song. 'Après Minuit'. Nice version, and you can hear that Mitchell gave the studio musicians the job to play like J.J. Cale. It's particularly noticeable on electric guitar." "Ha-ha, John recorded that himself." "You're kidding?" "No, I'm not kidding. These guys were recording in Nashville and they brought the master into the studio." "What? That's really true?" "Still no solution to your hearing aid problem, man?" "Sorry, but J.J. Cale as a random studio guitarist? I find that hard to believe." "It was 1978. Why would John turn down that job? Europeans don't pay badly. But I know what you mean; it sounds on the record like there's some session guy doing J.J. Cale. Can't really explain the whole story to me either. John probably didn't understand a word of Mitchell's singing, just played along and maybe he wasn't in a very good mood right now. And when he wasn't in a good mood, he'd try to sound like J.J. Cale. We all know - sometimes you're your own actor. Or your own shadow." "Well, it doesn't sound like a bad recording. But I actually always thought that a session musician would have imitated his style - and that's not even bad, at least the typical J.J. sound is very accurate." "John was a little uncreative for my taste, but anyway - this Frenchman's version has charm. The whole company played very airy. I like that." "That's a crazy question. Do you know which is the fastest of all interpretations - or are there any tempo-boltz versions you like?" "Of course there are. The Seldom Scene, for example. A progressive bluegrass band, world class, great cinema! On the 1981 album 'After Midnight'. By the way, John loved bluegrass." "And which do you think is the slowest of all versions? Can you imagine playing this song more relaxed than on Cale's 'Naturally' recording?" "Slow doesn't have to mean relaxed. But there is, as far as I know, a really ultra-slow version from Germany that has something magical about it. It's about a guy who's an actor, singer and author - Pure Beauty is the name of the guy. He calls his number 'So um Mitternacht', on the album 'Werd' ich noch klein sein, wenn ich älter bin' from 1977. Listen to it, if you can find the record. I like that thing."

"I will. Oh, Brian, I want to go through all two-thousand-three- hundred-and-fifty-eight 'After Midnight' with you. But I think, on the one hand, your stomach is growling, and on the other, we shouldn't lose the thread of his entire opus. It's best to take a quick and final look at his L.A. adventure - there are two things that I think are still important: The story about the creation of the name J.J. Cale, and then there's this ominous album 'The Leathercoated Minds, A Trip Down The Sunset Strip', which was released in 1967. You really don't wanna talk about that record?" "There's nothing to talk about. I don't like that record. John didn't like it! I heard him say that whenever he got his hands on one of these records, he wanted to burn it." "You're going to be very hard on this album. There's still some people that are really into it." "They love it because it's a curious lapse by J.J. Cale, and because it's a collector's item. But it's certainly not because of the music. Did you play this record for your son?" Alvin's scared. Once again, the odd man seems to be able to open the door to his thoughts without the slightest effort. "Um, yes, I did. Tim didn't want to finish..." "You see!" Hartley triumphs. "You should listen to him more. He doesn't need an acid crutch to see dirty colours." "Are you saying that this album was made under the influence of drugs?" "I wasn't there, I don't know. But, as far as I know, John later hinted that they were on LSD and stoned at the time. No shame in that, it was just part of the thing at the time. But if you're honest, and you will be when you're old, you'll admit that drugs are not for music. No idea who they serve; the fun, the hubris, the escape or maybe some demons. Whatever. In any case, they never really helped music, at least not overnight." "It sounds unmistakably like an anti-drug statement - almost reminiscent of J.J. Cale's song of the century." "You have to explain it to me, man." "His world hit 'Cocaine', of course." "Oh, yeah, he wrote that last century - is that why they call it the song of the century?" "You know what I mean, Brian. Some people are interpreting this song as a message against drugs." "Interpreting is okay. That's what songs are for. Works best if you don't forget to spice it up with inconsistencies. In his Cocaine story, everybody sees what they want to see. I never really understood how John felt about it. Well, at least I can give you my opinion on the subject: I'm not against drugs on principle, but those who glorify them are naive fools. It's not the kind of stuff that people take out of love of music. It's more out of fear of not being loved." "You're right, of course. But in certain eras, thanks to certain drugs, great music was made." "The few really good psycho records would probably have been made without drugs, maybe later, but without tricks. You can also get inspiring states of mind in an honest way - and the destructive ones that drive you crazy, nobody needs them anyway. Good trips come to you in life as soon as you deserve them. The trips you buy are actually the same. So the problem is not the trips, but the fact that you buy them. If you buy them, the magic usually comes too early - you're not mature enough to produce such weird stuff as this Leathercoated Minds record. John couldn't be happy about it later; he said they made this record for the ego. They obviously wanted to buy into the psychedelic scene, because that kind of stuff was in vogue. In other words, this thing was an imitation. Mature Cale later wanted to imitate everything but imitation. You know what I mean? Now, not another word about that record, or the Master will bring demons down on you, hehehe." "I'm glad you're so relaxed about that. Nobody forces us to love this record, but you can make up for slips like that ironically. What's done is done. Can't you at least tell us briefly how this project came about?" "If I am informed correctly, it was Snuff Garrett's idea in the first place. Well-intentioned, the thing. Garrett had blown enough money on projects; this Tulsa Review, the Sunday Servants, or even the Johnny Cale singles - it all went to hell. Now he wanted to get something going on his new Viva label to finally recoup his investment. It should also be a new chance for the Okies, because Snuff still believed in the talent of this Tulsa group. The guy had friends and connections in the nightclub scene on Sunset Boulevard; the 'Whisky a Go Go' shed there was just celebrating its third anniversary, the flower power locomotive had started to steam, and all the signs were on 'you can make money with psychedelic music'. So he went to Cale with this thing; he wanted him as an arranger and as a producer in the studio. The whole thing was a pure studio project with a few of John's friends involved; Roger Tillison on vocals, Gary Gilmore on bass, Chuck Blackwell and Jimmy Karstein on drums, Jimmy Markham on vocals and harp, Bill Boatman on fiddle, guitar and sometimes drums. The idea was to produce a pretty crazy psychedelic version of eight of the then current songs; 'Eight Miles High' by the Byrds, 'Sunshine Superman' by Donovan, 'Mr. Tambourine Man' by Bob Dylan, 'Over Under Sideways Down' by the Yardbirds and stuff like that. The whole thing was accompanied by street sounds they recorded on Sunset Boulevard. Plus four guitar tracks by John, instrumental stuff. This mix should have been an original trip. Well-intentioned, like I said." "The record is still a cult in certain circles today, especially in Europe. At least, I would think. It's available in stereo and mono, by the way. Was mono still an issue at the time?" "Yeah, sure. Mono wasn't dead yet and stereo wasn't fully established - so for a while a lot of records were released in both versions. Garrett, by the way, a few years ago he even wanted to make a CD out of it, remastered. I don't know what he expected from that. Maybe he thought that it might get colder here with time, and that John might not have enough wood to heat one day in winter. But I tell you, man - it stinks pretty bad when you put CDs in the oven, haha."

"Let's not do this. You don't like that record - J.J. Cale didn't like it any more than you seem to. But there are two or three things I'd like to talk about from his time in Los Angeles before I forget. Will your stomach hold out for another ten minutes?" "Yeah; not a second more." "What about Delaney and Bonnie? Did Cale play with them much?" "A lot? Well, with Delaney mostly in the beginning; Bonnie came in a little later. When they fell in love and wanted to do a thing together, John was in their band. But only in the starting phase, early 1967, and it wasn't successful at that time. They played house parties and a few clubs, mostly stoned. The band was too big, and in the end there were five dollars or so left for each of them. Okay, there were drugs as a bonus, but the problem is, if you are doped, you are even hungrier and you need cash for food. Karstein and Cale got fed up after a few months and left the band. Maybe it was a mistake - a year or two later, the whole thing went off." "What was his experience with them? Did J.J. Cale have any special memories of Delaney Bramlett and Bonnie Lynn O'Farrell?" Hartley's eyes darken. "I think he was pretty upset when Delaney got it; 2008, around Christmas, after a bile operation." "I can understand that. Did John still have contact with them?" "Not much, no. He visited Delaney once, in the nineties, I think, as far as I know; he was hanging around Los Angeles somewhere. And Bonnie? My God, that was much longer ago; sometime in the seventies John did an opening gig for the Allman Brothers, and Bonnie was there as a singer with the Allmans. He had never seen her since. Only her daughter Bekka, who also became a singer; John saw her on TV together with Faith Hill. Cool!" "Delaney wasn't heard much music anymore." "Yes, but he never stopped. About a year before his death, after a long break, he finally released a record, 'A New Kind Of Blues'. By then he had become a real indie, and the record was on cdbaby.com. I mean, what are these times, man? Delaney was one of the best, and he was one of the best of all, not just the white people. And he can't get a decent deal no more? That voice, that guitar, that songwriting - he was the boss, definitely. Bonnie did the same, she blew you away with her amazing singing. I think John was pretty impressed back in L.A.; he had never heard anything like that before, especially not in the same room, on the same stage. You'll never forget it." "You mean to say that J.J. Cale learned from both of them, too?" "Bonnie was an angel, and Delaney was a mentor. Who hasn't learned from them? Whoever was with Delaney, whoever was produced by him, who picked up tricks from him as a singer and guitar player, whoever got songs written by him - they were blessed. Always! Just ask Etta James, Dorothy Morrison, Elvin Bishop, John Hammond, Bobby Whitlock, the Staple Singers, King Curtis, Joe Cocker, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, George Harrison, Duane Allman, Dave Mason, Billy Preston, John Lennon, Ray Charles, Jerry Lee Lewis, Tony Joe White, Steve Cropper, Leon Russell. Ask 'em all if they learned or profited from Delaney. Those who can answer you will be very grumpy and say, 'Stupid question!', I guarantee you that. And the others - with the others, you have to be careful that they don't sic some weird guys from the underworld on your mind with questions like that. I'd think twice, man, questions like that." "I love the way you express enthusiasm." "Everything Clapton knows about singing, and that he had even begun to believe in his voice - wouldn't have happened without Delaney. George Harrison, his magic bottleneck game, his song 'My Sweet Lord' - wouldn't have happened without Delaney. Jerry Wexler, the legendary producer and founder of Atlantic Records - you know what he said? Maybe the best music he ever heard in his life was the jam sessions of Delaney Bramlett and Duane Allman, when they played songs by Robert Johnson and Jimmy Rogers together in his backyard for nights on end. Delaney and Duane were great friends, both from out of this world." "And these sessions were never recorded? What a shame." "There are plenty of Delaney recordings that'll make you whimper. And how do you think Eric whimpered in the dressing room when he heard Delaney and Bonnie & Friends on that 1969 tour - and knew he had to go on stage with Blind Faith after they did. You can't take it, you can't top it." "Oh yeah, and by the time he was on this tour he even started to go on stage during Delaney's opening show; just to be there and maybe play a few notes. A year later, when Blind Faith broke up, Clapton begged to join Delaney's band." "You know it." "Yeah, and I know something else." Alvin's eyes light up. "On the 1969 tour, Delaney and Bonnie & Friends said they had a guy called J.J. Cale on guitar for a while. How did that happen?" "Well, word gets around, yeah. Russell is supposed to have called him; John was back in Tulsa during this time and more or less broke, Leon must have known that. If you can get on stage, you don't ask long - not with Delaney anyway. Not one hundred percent sure that this story is true. If it is, then John was definitely not on the whole tour, and not in Europe. Just for a few weeks in the summer of 1969, playing US gigs." "Was Clapton with Blind Faith on that tour?" "As far as I know, yes." "Wow! I guess that means that that's the first time Eric Clapton saw and heard J.J. Cale live. Or am I making a mistake?" "Okay, so your brain's good at deductions. The only problem is, we don't know for sure." "Let me paint a picture anyway. John and Eric met backstage - and became friends." Hartley shakes his head. "Pretty unrealistic. John was a buttoned-up guy, Eric was a shy guy; I don't think they bumped into each other there. Anyway, they didn't become friends until later, towards the end of the '70s." "But back then, at Delaney's, had they heard of each other?" "John knew who Clapton was. Yardbirds, John Mayall, Cream and all those stories - he'd heard Eric on the radio a lot." "And Eric knew about him?" "I don't know, John. Maybe he did." "But he hadn't heard his 'After Midnight' demo." "I'm not sure. I don't think he got hold of it until a few weeks or months later. Hey man, you're asking like a detective." "I just think it's incredibly exciting how it's come full circle." "And I think it's dark that you still don't feel sorry for my stomach. You have exactly three minutes left."

"Oh, uh, wait, Brian, maybe we can do two more short ones. Like the ominous story about the stage name, if you can call it that. How did this 'J.J.' come about?" "Yeah, finally a quick question. Elmer Valentine started this place called 'Whisky a Go Go' on 8901 Sunset Boulevard in 1964; I told you about it. I think it was the first rock club in the area. He had girls dancing in glass cages, and a live band played. Actually that was the beginning of the disco era - not in the seventies as they say. Johnny Rivers was the first act to play in Valentine's shed; there's even a live record of it, recorded in 1964, with bassist Joe Osborne and jazz drummer Eddie Rubin together. Later the club became a meeting place for musicians and business people, label guys, agents, managers and so on. The Doors or Alice Cooper started their career at the 'Go Go'. Anyway, Cale and his friends were there one night to listen to Rivers. The boss comes up to them and says, "You guys can fill in when Johnny gets his night off. It was a good deal at the time. But there was a catch, because Valentine said, 'hey, there's already a John Cale, the violinist with the Velvet Underground'. He suggested we change the name a little bit; 'J.J. Cale or something - looks good on the neon sign'. John just said, 'if you give me a job, you can call me what you want'. The next day they wrote 'J.J. Cale' outside. John kept the name. It was the best he could come up with. Little details like that, that's what the showbiz guys in Hollywood did." "How in God's name did this Jean Jacques suddenly come into it?" "You have to ask your French journalist colleagues. We've talked about this. A fake, but at least one in good taste."

"Yes, we should take that easy. So, quick to the really last question for today: One of the most exciting people Cale has met in these three L.A. years is named Don Nix. Can you tell us about this man?" "Nix? He's a cool guy. You can call him the King of Southern Rock, or call him the Prince of Southern Soul. Don has dated all the right guys in high school, Donald 'Duck' Dunn and Steve Cropper. Yeah, dawns? In 1961 they had their first hit, 'Last Night - Night Before'. They called themselves 'Mar- Keys' and became the session band for the Stax label. Don Nix was from around Memphis. A multi-talent; saxophone, songwriting, arranging, if necessary even singing - he had it all, even then. He came to Los Angeles in the mid-sixties, just like the guys in the Tulsa gang. Leon Russell already knew him; he had met him on a tour with the Mar-Keys. Don also played with Gary Lewis & the Playboys for a while; you know, the group produced by Russell. John and his buddies jammed with Don a lot in L.A.; Leon showed him the most important recording tricks, and the boy later made himself splendid in the studio scene of Memphis, as a producer for Stax or for Ardent. Hey, Don Nix made records for Freddie King, Albert King, Charlie Musselwhite, John Mayall, and he played for Lonnie Mack, Furry Lewis, Isaac Hayes, The Staple Singers. Not bad, huh?" "And the very first record he produced was 'Home' by Delaney and Bonnie. 1969, right?" "Yeah, right. "Delaney and Bonnie was always busy anyway, and Russell made sure... Even Hendrix was there for a while. Everybody who played in that game learned something. You know what I mean?" "Sure, I understand. Delaney's group was like a breeding ground for good rock music." "Modestly put, man. Hendrix is known by every child on the street - and with Delaney you must be glad when young musicians or journalists pronounce his name correctly. That's what I meant! But whatever, it's not your fault. We went to Don Nix, nobody knows him anymore. They play his songs without even knowing it." "Is there such a thing?" "More than you think. When Keith Richards plays 'Going Down' on stage, he sells it as a Freddy King song." Alvin can't help but smile. "And you're surprised by Keith..." "He's not the only one." "Let's talk about this song in detail. It's obviously the most important song Don Nix ever wrote. Can you imagine the history of blues rock without 'Going Down'?" "You are excused because you are hungry. Why would you imagine the story without this song - he made it, the story!" "You're right, of course. 'Going Down' made historic waves in the blues-rock camp - all the stars covered it." "Don't forget one, hehe." "You overestimate me, Brian. I'll have to check that off my list, sorry. Famous 'Going Down' versions are available live or in the studio from: J.J. Cale, Freddie King, Jeff Beck, Deep Purple, Bryan Ferry, Pearl Jam, Stevie Ray Vaughan, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Sammy Hagar, Talking Heads, Eric Clapton, The Rolling Stones. These, of course, are just a few of the most important." "The J.J. Cale version doesn't belong at the top of the list. John Lee Hooker, Alexis Korner, Savoy Brown, Dr. Feelgood, Luther and his son Bernard Allison, Dave Hole, and of course Peter Green." "Your selection is more competent, as always. We'll talk about the J.J. Cale version later; it should not be swept under the carpet. But what we should first clarify is why Freddie King is always being treated as the author of this song. Don Nix actually released his personal 'Going Down' recording in March 1972, when the Freddie King version had been on the market for almost a year. But Nix is said to have written the song in 1969, for a rock band with the obscure name 'Moloch'." "Freddie King made the song famous, but it belongs to Don Nix. Don produced these guys in Memphis who formed as 'Moloch' in 1968. Dumb name for a band unless you want to be the bad guy. But the band was hot, especially this guitarist; Lee Baker - some still call him the greatest guitarist you've never heard of. You know what Jimmy Page is supposed to have said about him? 'The greatest white bluesman'. In any case, Baker had learned his craft from the blacks when they performed at the legendary Memphis Country Blues festivals of the late sixties; Fred McDowell, Sleepy John Estes, Bukka White and so on. Moloch was of course also influenced by the Rolling Stones or Blue Cheer. Still, Don Nix felt that there was something independent about the bubbling. He wrote a few songs for the guys, including 'Going Down', and he produced the album in the legendary Ardent Studios. Unfortunately it turned out to be a flop. I don't think it was Don Nix. Don is and always will be one of the most important architects of the Memphis sound." "Was the album so bad that it was a flop?" "The album was strong, even made it into Rolling Stone magazine. But at the same time, a brand-new band with Jimmy Page on guitar was being pushed - Led Zeppelin. You know what that means." "Sometimes there's only room for one, not two." "Exactly." "So what happened to this Lee Baker?" "In 1971, the band split up. As far as I know, a year later Baker formed a new version of Moloch with Michael 'Busta' Jones - a good bass player who later played for Albert King, Talking Heads, Brian Eno, Robert Fripp and Stevie Wonder. On a local label the guys tried their luck again with a single; this time it was a real shit storm. Baker then played with his Memphis buddy Alex Chilton, and later he and some friends did another obscure thing: Mudboy & the Neutrons." Alvin's eyes were shining. "Wow! That's the band with keyboarder Jim Dickinson; he's done some pretty strong stuff. He played piano for the Rolling Stones when they recorded 'The Wild Horses', didn't he?" "That was way before, man. This Stones session was in 1969; in Sheffield, in a former coffin exhibit." Alvin laughs. "The legendary Muscle Shoals Sound Studio." "Yeah, the Stones were on tour, and Dickinson redirected the English boys from Memphis to neighboring Alabama, because they could record in a studio there without a union card. The first sessions for the album 'Sticky Fingers' - Dickinson's piano is doing great on it." "And Dickinson later became an important partner for Ry Cooder." "You could say. You can hear Dickinson's keyboard on almost every Cooder album, including the 'Paris, Texas' movie. There's even a song by him that made career, 'Across the Borderline'." "Dickinson wrote that song? I thought Cooder made him famous." "Yeah. Dylan liked that number, too. He played it live over and over and over again." "That's great. Dickinson must have been freaked out when he heard about it." "He freaked out even more when, a few years later, Daniel Lanois called to book him on a new Dylan record." "Excuse me? Jim Dickinson produced a record for Bob Dylan?" "You're a greenhorn after all, man. First of all, Dickinson didn't produce the record - because that was Lanois' job. And secondly, on the Dylan album, 'Time Out Of Mind', Dickinson was in charge of everything that had keys, with Augie Meyers. Get it?" "Oh, it makes sense to me. I love that album!" "Dickinson wasn't doing anything half-assed, and Lanois wasn't doing anything half-assed." "But Dylan said he couldn't stand Lanois' perfectionism, and that in the end he wanted to finish the record without him." "That's another story. Dylan has his faults, too." "And so it was with this Dickinson that Lee Baker played under the strange name of Mudboy & the Neutrons?" "That's right. And Dylan raved about this band, 'the greatest band nobody's ever heard of', he said."

Alvin looks at his Dictaphone. "It's amazing, John, the stories that come out of there. I can only hope that the recordings here work." "It doesn't look bad; there's still some lights on your box. You have to trust the equipment, or they'll pay you back - it's told in the studio scene." Hartley pulls his cigarette quite greedily. "We're drifting, man. Soon I'll be starving. Why did we end up at Dickinson's anyway?" "Because of Lee Baker." "Oh, yeah. Do you even know how Baker ended up? He was murdered in 1996. Murdered in his home for no reason by a crazy guy trying to steal something. It's crazy how bad people can be. Baker was the good soul in person, even sang about Jesus and stuff. What a shame." A shadow rolls across the old man's face. "Who knows when our party will end." "How right you are, Brian. All we can do is love people before it's over." "And the animals." Hartley Hand seeks refuge with his friend Blue. "Did John believe in God?" "Dangerous question. He once talked about it in an interview, yes." "And?" "I said yes. He believed in God. But he didn't join a sect because of that, he said." "That's a harsh word, 'cult'. Who did he mean by that?" "I don't know. Probably the Fundis. There are a few in this world." "You can say that again. But sometimes I get the impression that the greatest fundamentalists are in the camp of radical atheists. To rule out any possibility of a higher power on principle, even with this pompous 'if we are, then we are the gods' attitude - that's pretty brazen." "You have to understand, man. Fear can make you puff up if you run away from it." "Fear?" "Fear of the truth." "What truth?" "The truth that we do not know the truth, no matter how fluid science works." "Oh, yes. The one trump card that God can't prove, but you can't take that away from them." "You don't have to. Everyone can find the proof they're looking for. You think a scientifically sound robot could do something like J.J. Cale's music? Forget it. It's proof enough for me." "That's a good example. Maybe the agnostic is the closest thing to the truth." "Well, if you say so. In a day or two, maybe a year, I'll know. I'll just shout to the doorman, 'hey, buddy, I was neutral, never had anything against you'. Well, if I was the doorman, I'd say, 'You didn't care about me, don't come on now with that slimy number'. Agnostic is the most convenient solution." "Wonderful. So that would support Bob Dylan's song?" "You mean, of course, 'You Gotta Serve Somebody'. It's a bit of an exaggerated story, but you can't argue with a Dylan." "What about you, Brian?" "What about what?" "Do you believe in God?" "Of course. But I'm not in a sect because of that, hehe - except maybe for the community of J.J. Cale disciples. You know what? I think it's important that we talk about this, but maybe another time. Otherwise, we're not gonna be able to figure out your book. Okay?" "Of course. It was very indiscreet, sorry. Do you actually know how incredibly willing and detailed you have now answered all these questions? If only for Don Nix." "I don't know how long it's been since anyone has wanted to talk to me about Don Nix. If you come up with intelligent questions, I'll give you something decent. Come on, man, let's break up and get something to eat. The day was more than long enough." "And J.J. Cale's phenomenal 'Going Down' version - it's forgotten?" "You can dissect it later when you get the Really record. I'm definitely not in the mood any more." "I'm looking forward to this record like a schoolboy, Brian. Where are we going for dinner?" "There's a restaurant nearby. John and Eric had dinner there once, I heard..."

Chapter 5 - The happy pill

The two wait for the ordered food; in a corner in the Olive Garden, an Italian restaurant in Escondido. Conveniently located, directly on freeway 15. "Nice place," says the old man with satisfaction. "Cool staff; I think they did their best to treat the ominous Mr. Cale as ordinary as possible." "The master ate here?" Alvin asks excitedly. "And you never met him once, never spoke to him?" "No comment. John worked half his life to remain undetected; worked beautifully. He ate at this place pretty regularly, and the whole time he was there he was some local pensioner. Not once did anyone call him J.J. Cale. You know what I mean? He had his privacy. And then when he came over with Eric after work, all hell broke loose. You wouldn't believe it, man. I mean, some people were in ecstasy. Oh my God... that's Eric Clapton! The two of them hardly came to dinner; Eric had to write his name on some piece of paper and have it photographed by handy little telephones all the time. Haha, the boys could have packed provisions for months - everybody wanted to invite them to eat and drink. The same theatre apparently in every pub they stopped at. Crazy! As a one-off performance such a thing might be funny, but Eric experiences it all the time, no matter where he is. Maybe now you'll understand why it can happen that Slowhand can get grumpy or cold, like in this story your journalist colleague Ralph Thompson tells us." "Oh, of course, perfectly understandable. Anyway, I wonder if these people don't feel guilty about harassing him all the time." "Nonsense, now you're going to the other extreme. Eric didn't walk away from this deal, and this is the price he's paying. Normally he can handle it; there's some people in this league who can. J.J. Cale couldn't. John would have felt embarrassed as a superstar, so he refused the deal. If you're not comfortable in a role - don't get involved. He wanted to play guitar and write songs, nothing more. He probably made it clear to the staff here after this Clapton story that he would only come back if they forgot the whole thing and kept on pretending he was the buttoned-up pensioner. It worked out, as far as I know, very rarely did anyone come to his table and ask for an autograph." No sooner did Hartley's words fade away than someone seems to come to Alvin and Brian's table. A middle-aged woman approaches them and introduces herself. The strange man stiffens up for a moment, then decides to approach the whole thing in a friendly manner. "Oh, I must have talked too loud," he says with a smile. "No, it's not like that," says the woman. "My husband and I are big fans of Eric Clapton, and as far as I know, a certain J.J. Cale recorded an album with him - and you, esteemed Mr. Hartley, are obviously an expert on this J.J. Cale. A magical combination, we think - may I ask you politely for an autograph?" "May you", he replies. "But I can't write Clapton's or Cales' name," he adds with a wink, while he neatly puts his signature on her business card. "You are a great pleasure to us!" The woman seems to bounce as she returns to her table. " 'J.J. Cale expert' - such nonsense," murmurs Hartley. "The world is full of Cale experts, every real fan is an expert. But did you see, Alvin - she didn't want a picture Not attractive enough, hehe. Or just too old, for my part". He's smiling. "That's just crazy. The woman finds you interesting, so to speak, in the third generation - because you know about a musician who made music together with her idol. She finds that magic? It's an insult to you!" "Bullshit. You gotta love people, Alvin. If a woman thinks that's magic, it makes her happy. It's nice to have an old guy like me play a small part in that." "You're too good-natured. Let the woman take an interest in you - in your fantastic guitar playing, for example. Say, Brian; didn't you ever write your own songs, with all your skills?" Hartley looks away slightly embarrassed. "It's not an issue. Let's talk about the master! You see how it works now, this hunt for autographs? After the Escondido record, Cale became a target now and then. Probably one autograph a week or so - well, it was bearable. But it's Eric's fault. Before that it was one autograph a year." "Well, Cale did win a Grammy, thanks to this Escondido disc. Best Contemporary Blues Album 2008. Doesn't sound bad, does it? Some musicians would love to sign a few autographs. Do you think he still enjoyed it in the end, making music and all that?" "I'm sure he did. If John sat down and played guitar, it must have seemed like fifty years ago. Music was his happy pill. But it wasn't the business. He didn't enjoy it. The problem is, once you're doing concerts or making records, a lot of business comes your way. I can't help it. Even if you delegate the stuff, there's always some agent or manager who comes in and asks all sorts of things that need to be decided, or he'll put bookkeeping under your nose. It's part of the job, and John wasn't complaining; it's the kind of thing any contractor has to deal with." "Maybe it's just that he's gotten more and more annoyed with age." "Getting older? Ha-ha, there are a few other worries too. I'm over eighty now, I can't hear or see well, I can't hit all the notes, and I play guitar with arthritis fingers. But other than that, I'm fine - you can't avoid old age." "Oh, Brian; when you're young, everything's not okay either. There are times when I wish I could trade places with an octogenarian. The most important thing is the art of living." "What's that?" "To be in the clear with yourself and the moment." "Sounds good. Have you ever been in that clear?" Alvin's thinking. "I guess there are moments like that." "All right. Never really happened to me before. Although I do shower every day, with soap, even. Maybe I expect too much." "Hey, you're not gonna tell me you can't be happy after a great guitar solo. Or J.J. Cale, he must have been feeling in seventh heaven at that moment - after a great song idea, after a great mix." "Happy? Sure, it happens. Can only speak for me, of course, not for John. The Master was rarely seen with a sparkle in his eyes. But it wasn't an act, I guess he just couldn't do it. And hey, for a guitar solo to come out properly, for a song to be good or a mix to be useful - you have to be very concentrated, I guarantee you. You know what I mean? There's not a lot of time to think about purity and happiness and stuff. It's concentration." "And when you listen to J.J. Cale play, or listen to you - you get the feeling that it's just thrown out on the side, effortlessly, totally relaxed and happy with yourself. Is that really a mistake? Do you have to work so hard to get music laid-back?" "Not hard, but concentrate. Of course you feel pleasure in it, but it only works if you are one hundred percent in the music. Or let's say at least ninety percent - we're not concentration robots. Put yourself in John's film: there are all kinds of things that distract you. Funny stuff in your head; the ego, for example. Or noises, people talking during the concert, pushy looks, glaring headlights. You have to be on your guard all the time, fighting back. That is the job. And in the end, you want it to look like it's being thrown down." "And for the music to carry you away, for you to stay in it effortlessly, that never happens?" "Of course it does. But not at the touch of a button. Only if you do your part without expecting the flight. Then sometimes it comes. Methinks he comes more and more often in old age." A gentle smile flits across his face. "That's nice, Brian. It all reminds me a little of Zen in the art of archery." "It's possible. I don't know much about archery." "And you ask for this flight, maybe to a higher power or something?" The old man remains silent for a moment. "Asking or praying?" "What's the difference?" "Must each answer for himself. Somehow I'm asking to be able to fly, yes. Any second, but without saying a word. It's more a feeling than a thought. Higher power? I suppose so, yes. But we don't need to discuss it." "No, Brian, of course not. There are simply musicians who seek the help and inspiration of a particular spiritual leader; Jesus Christ, for example." "Yeah, there are. I know a few. "It's probably not the worst idea to ask for help. But like I said, it's something that everyone has to work out for themselves, it's not open to discussion. Especially not on an empty stomach. I don't know why it's taking so long today. Normally the food here comes on the table pretty quickly. Hey, you know what, Alvin? From now on, no more talking about me and Cale; we've been doing that all day. I wanna hear something new about you, man. Tell me about Tim. Tell me about your wife. What's her name again? Oh, yeah. Sandy. My fucking memory gets worse with age." He leans back, his eyes sparkling. "Come on, tell me..."

Chapter 6 - Nashville

Day three, Wednesday morning. Hartley wanted to start as early as possible, even though it got quite late yesterday. Alvin is startled for the first moment. Only yesterday it felt as if they were both friends - the discussion became lively and quite personal. Today the strange man seems controlled and a bit cool. Almost like when they first met. As if nothing at all had happened in between. Maybe he's just tired, or maybe he prefers to keep a certain safety distance. "Sleep well, Brian?" He nods wordlessly, sips coffee and says, "If we keep this up, it's not gonna work. I only have till the end of the week. We've got forty years and fifteen or I don't know how many albums ahead of us. I'm worried about the timetable." "I'm sorry, we've gotten off the point. But you know, I don't get the impression that you've said superfluous things so far. People want to know about J.J. Cale as a person, not just his music." "Yeah, he's been cutting that deal for forty years - and now suddenly everybody wants Cale delivered to their house via home story?" "That's not my intention, of course." "We wouldn't get it anyway; we can't do more than speculate. Maybe it's better for the book to focus on the music." "I agree. Are there certain statements from yesterday or the day before you'd rather not publish?" Hartley shakes his head. "It's okay, man. Said is said. It's no different in music. Mourning the notes you play is the dumbest thing you can do."

"That's wonderful. I'm glad. Let's go straight to the big moment. The first J.J. Cale album! What happened immediately before that, why and how did this record come about? We remember: Cale left Los Angeles to come back to Tulsa, about 1967." "Yeah, no more coal. All burned up, drinks and stuff. He didn't stay in Tulsa long, though. He was gonna try his luck in Nashville; you can make more money there. "John went over there in 1968." "He went to Nashville? Just like that, no ties? I mean, how do you start over in a town?" "The way everybody does it - with a little bit of courage and a touch of pushin' around. John asked Snuff Garrett if he knew anybody in Nashville. If anybody could pull those strings, it was Snuff; he had his hands in everything." "And who did Garrett recommend?" "Hubert Long. He owned a booking agency, and he was also the boss of Moss-Rose, a music publishing company. Garrett had started a production company, along with Audie Ashworth, and this label was funded by Hubert Long. All connected, hehe." "So it seems. Audie Ashworth? Isn't that the man who became J.J. Cale's longtime producer?" "Indeed. He's an incredible guy; without him, most of Cale's records probably wouldn't be around. John missed him a lot at the end." "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to open up these old wounds." "It's okay. You should write a book about Audie. So John meets this Hubert Long, and he's got Audie Ashworth in his office. Audie worked at Moss-Rose in almost every position, and at that time he was in charge of Long's publications. He had just persuaded Long to set up a studio with an old console from Bradley's Barn Studio. Now they were looking for a sound engineer, or just a guy who could work with the musicians in a reasonable way. This was John's chance to make some money again." "J.J. Cale just drove down to Nashville, went up to the office and said, 'I'm your man'?" "I guess that's about the size of it, yeah. He borrowed the Mustang 65 from Garrett and drove it to Nashville. Nice car. He took a seat in Hubert Long's office and said, 'Hey man, I can do anything for you - engineer, guitarist, arranger, whatever you need'. From Snuff, they knew Cale knew how to work with equipment, so he got the job." Alvin shakes his head in disbelief. "Let me get this straight. Big J.J. Cale gets down on his knees in front of two random people in the music business and begs for a job. What kind of world is this?" "When you're poor, pride has no place. John was broke, man. What do you think goes on in this world every day; the people begging on the streets - are they all supposed to sink in the ground in shame now?" "No, of course not. But I mean, if a master like J.J. Cale..." "Hey, man," interrupts Hartley, "begging's not cool. But when it does, it's not what you might be, it's what's coming in right now. And the master didn't really have to beg anyway; they both had respect for me, thanks to Snuff Garrett. John felt that." "But below his worth he sold out, didn't he?" "Nonsense. Cale didn't drop his pants in front of those two. Or let's just say, inches, maybe, hehe. He wanted this job, and he got it." "What do you think it was like to work for those two - and what did they do?" "He probably had little to do with Hubert Long. Audie Ashworth was cool. They had it good together from the start. Audie always said that John had his own sound, a special approach to guitar and songwriting. Anyway, he gave him that feeling. They tried to produce some records for Dot Records, but in the end nothing really worked. Once again a lot of hype and no result. Snuff Garrett slowly got impatient and asked for his car. Of course. So John said to Audie, "I think I have to go back to Oklahoma." "Back to Tulsa already?" Alvin asks, almost disappointed. "Yeah. At least he could make a few dollars in the clubs there." "Was he sobered up?" "I don't know. Probably not dramatically. I guess he just started thinking about getting jobs in other ways. Not everybody has to be a musician." "This is all J.J. Cale brought home from Nashville? The feeling of having to give up music?" "In retrospect, no, of course not. In Nashville, he had met Audie Ashworth; that was a switch for later. Perhaps the most important one. But for now, I don't think there was an 'I'll be a star'-euphoria in his head." "Cale began to come to terms with the situation, to consider alternatives." "Like everybody does. Except by now he'd already passed the thirty mark - the angle's starting to get tighter, and you want to have some idea of where the journey's going. There are better feelings than sitting in a waiting room like this." Hartley pulls his cigarette greedily and tells Alvin with a meaningful look that he knows exactly what his opponent's next sentence will be. "Until Eric Clapton pulled him out of that vacuum." "Yeah. Maybe now you'll finally have enough reasons to respect Eric as well." "Long ago, yes. I was and am a big fan of his anyway." "I like you like that, man."

The old man gets more coffee, sits down again rather clumsily and murmurs: "The first record. You got a plan?" "What do you mean, plan?" "If we're gonna go wild with every album, you can smoke the book. There should be some sort of order in it. You gotta get the information together, like a list of all the songs and credits and stuff." "Yeah, of course, I'll do that. Also the record covers, we will discuss them all and also show them, if I get the rights. Most of them are real Bijous, if not artwork, these covers." "Okay, man, bring the list of the 12 Naturally songs." Hartley's smile betrays his anticipation. "Otherwise, people are gonna think we're here having a tea party." "We're going to bring order to this place, don't worry. But the first album is a special case; there's all sorts of stuff to talk about. How did it come about? What happened just before the recordings? What was the trigger? How were the songs created? What did Cale expect from this record?" "Hadn't we already done that? There was a call from Bobby Keys, 'Clapton's gonna play your song'. Then the car radio story, when suddenly his number came up, and finally a few weeks later Audie's call." "Audie Ashworth called?" "Yeah. He told John that it was probably time to get going - in this favorable 'After Midnight'-weather. 'Make an album, put together your best songs', he said. 'OK, I'll make a 45 single', John replied to him. "But Ashworth insisted on making a whole album." "Right. John told him he didn't have enough songs. Audie kept at him, saying, "Well, write some more and come back to Nashville. Miss this chance and you're a fool.' Or something like that. A few weeks later John called back and said, 'All right, man, I'm ready'. Cale was no fool." "He was not a fool in any way. So John went straight to Nashville; they went into the studio on September 29th 1970 and recorded 12 songs in six days. It was kind of demotic, low- budget, full-risk." "You're rushing forward at full speed once again." The strange man sips coffee with relish; almost as if he had to demonstratively let time pass. "The story happened in stages. He drove to Nashville in the old Volkswagen he had then. "Of course, he took Foley, his dog. The two of them went to Ashworth, John played him the songs and Audie said: 'You've changed, John; now it's true. It's your music, your mix. Country, blues, rockabilly - the sauce will be called J.J. Cale.' Audie had a nose." "And then they recorded the sauce in six days, with some studio musicians." "Six days in total, yeah. But not in one go. Anyway, they didn't have to start from scratch, some of the songs were already demoed, quite useful. John had recorded them a year earlier in Tulsa, in the studio of Bill Davis, an old classmate from high school. So he knew roughly what sound he was looking for. Audie and John first went to the studio of Moss- Rose for two days, on September 29th and 30th. Four songs were written; 'Call Me The Breeze', 'Crying Eyes', 'Rivers Runs Deep' and 'Crazy Mama'. The master played all the instruments himself, and they ran this drum machine I was telling you about. You know, the guys had almost no budget. Crazy Mama' was still missing a few things, but they only had four tracks on their Ampex box. So Audie called Owen Bradley's studio and asked if he could use the multitrack machine for a few days for a little money." "Owen Bradley, the Nashville producer?" Alvin's got big eyes. "The legendary Bradley's Barn studio - where all those famous country albums were recorded?" "Yes. Owen's son was on the phone, Jerry Bradley. He had them work at his pad for three days at a ridiculous price on a 16-track Ampex. Audie promised him that if the record sold, he'd come up with some extra cash later. They went through with it on October 2, 3 and 4, 1970. They worked that night. Audie had organized a troupe; Karl Himmel on drums, Tim Drummond on bass, Bob Wilson on piano. Audie tried to get Eric into the studio, too, but it didn't work." "What? Audie Ashworth wanted Eric Clapton in the studio?" "Yeah, Eric and Carl Radle were in Nashville doing a TV show with Johnny Cash. Audie supposedly called Carl and told him, "Take Clapton with you, we're gonna make an album with J.J.. Obviously Eric didn't show up, but Carl showed up and played bass on some of the songs." Alvin flips through his notes. "Yeah, here, I got it. five of the songs had Carl Radle in them." "This is where I think the list of people involved should go, and then we'll have order." "We will, Brian, I promise. But tell me, why didn't Eric Clapton come to the studio? Would've been cool." "I don't know. You'll have to ask him yourself. Maybe he was stressed. Hey, Eric was busy enough with his own solo career, which was just getting started. Why would he have refined the album of a then completely insignificant J.J. Cales?" "And Cale understood that perfectly. You're not all just too good-natured, Brian?" "Is there any good reason not to be good-natured?" "I can't fight back on that." "Put yourself in Clapton's shoes. I probably would have done the same thing. And anyway, we don't even know why Slowhand didn't come. Maybe he was just in a bad mood, drunk or on a trip. It doesn't matter. Eric didn't owe John anything." "Maybe it's just as well." Alvin has a very meaningful smile. "J.J. Cale's debut album is perfect, more than perfect - and no music fan in the world has ever missed Eric Clapton's guitar on this record." "Nonsense. No record is perfect. Besides, if Eric were here right now, you wouldn't be talking like this, hehe." "I certainly wouldn't. But all I'm saying is that no guitarist in the world could have added 'Naturally' to it. This record is so stringently, 100% J.J. Cale." "Stringent sounds good." Hartley smiles with pleasure. "But I think we should get back on the floor and get down to business." "Of course. I'm sorry. So John spent three days with Audie and the session musicians at Bradley's Barn studio, and they did the whole record with the twelve songs ready, including mix and everything? "Very quickly." "Wrong, they only did ten songs at first, two more were added six months later, right before the record release." "Oh, yeah. What were those two songs?" " 'Don't Go To Strangers' and 'After Midnight'." " 'After Midnight' wasn't originally scheduled for the album?" "Not really, no. Why should it? Because that song was already burned off of Eric's album. In the end, John was persuaded to do it, but he wanted to do a completely new version." "We'll be looking at that version more closely. Let's stick with the three-day session for a moment. There were a couple of other guests in the studio besides Carl Radle. Can you tell us about that?"

Hartley sinks for a moment in the cloud of his mental lexicon of music, smiles softly and reappears. "Carl Radle had recorded the bass for 'Crazy Mama'. Audie and John were thrilled, but realized there was something missing. A sharp slide guitar, for example. Audie called Mac Gayden, and he shook up that crazy wah-wah slide solo. You know it." Alvin seems to be hovering several inches above the ground. "I can't believe this song! Did Cale know this Mac Gayden?" "Only by reputation. Audie knew him well; Mac Gayden was pretty much on the ball in Nashville at the time, helping the two country and southern rock bands 'Area Code 615' and 'Barefoot Jerry' get off the ground. Gayden is like a Swiss army knife, you can use him for anything. He's a singer, songwriter, producer, guitarist, slide, banjo." "Between you and me, Brian - I've done a lot of research on this Mac Gayden cos I hardly knew him before. And I noticed that he even had a real hit with the song 'Everlasting Love', which he wrote with Buzz Cason. The song hit the charts several times and was covered by all kinds of cracks, which is the seal of approval par excellence. God knows who played the song, I can only think of a few at the moment: Love Affair, Carl Carlton, Gloria Estefan, and this Irish band ... - Shit, that name is on the tip of my tongue. You know, the superstars." "U2?" "Yeah, sure; how could I forget? What else I wrote down: Gayden's hit was also used in several films." Alvin overambitiously digging through his stack of papers. "I got it, in these strips here: "Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, America's Sweethearts, Forces of Nature and Veronica Guerin." "Gayden's definitely a hot number on guitar anyway. Hey, this guy played with people like Bob Dylan, Linda Ronstadt, John Hiatt, Kris Kristofferson, the Allman Brothers, Leonard Cohen, Elvis, Simon & Garfunkel. Not the slightest shoe size." "I'll say. And he played with J.J. Cale on this beautiful Crazy Mama. How long did they work on these spooky slide parts?" "Tinkering with them? Gayden came into the studio, unpacked his stuff, did a rehearsal - and John said to him, 'OK, recorded, it's done, let's call it a day'. Mac said, 'I can do much better than that' or something. 'You can't do better than that', he got an answer. "Great guys, geniuses! Fortunately, the master wouldn't let him play again." "Producer rule number one - always keep the record button pressed, even when the guys are just tuning. Rule number two - when the time is right, turn off the machines, don't let them talk you into it." "And just by the way, when J.J. Cale played 'Crazy Mama' live, he took over the job of this wah-wah slide guitar, no problem. I've heard it a couple times. Chapeau!" The old man leans over to his four-legged friend, strokes him and sighs in his ear, "You hear that, Blue, somebody's making fun of our dear Uncle John. If you ever feel the need to bite this guy's leg, I ain't gonna hold you back." "Oh, hell, no, Brian! I mean it. I'm telling you the truth. Cale played this guitar beautifully too." "So if you ask me - John probably liked good wine, but he wasn't a bottleneck master because of it. He just played the occasional slide." "He had a feel for that style - that's enough," Alvin disagrees. "And your dog, by the way, he seems to agree with me." "You're reading it wrong, man. He's just too lazy, hehe." "He's copying his uncle?" Hartley nods buddy-buddy, lights a cigarette, gets up in slow motion and trots off with Blue. "Gotta take a break", he murmurs just loud enough after a few metres.

After a few minutes the two are back. "But it was short this time. Is Blue happy with it already?", Alvin asks. "Blue doesn't agree with you, he agrees with me - and that is: We've wasted enough time already. When is the list with all the information about 'Naturally' coming?" "We'll get right on it. Just a quick look at the two additional songs. They recorded them on Bradley again on June 9th, 1971. It was worth it, wasn't it, having that last minute session right before the release? I mean, these are everything but pens; these are two strong songs." Hartley shrugs his shoulders and makes a hand signal, which I think should mean "go ahead." "I beg you! Just 'Don't Go To Strangers' - what can you say; everything's perfect on this song. Cale's voice, the guitar, the groove, the bass line, and of course the poetry of words. A showpiece, incredibly reserved, minimalistic, but perfect. His very own style was already complete at this point, this song shows that as an example. Can't you talk me out of it, Brian?" "Yeah, it's probably one of the songs that he could tolerate later. Seldom happened to him." "I'm glad. Let's take a quick look at 'After Midnight'. So he had to be talked into putting this song on the album? I can't quite understand it." "You're thinking about the money first, of course. Clapton gave the song a lot of momentum - and now everybody was stupid if they didn't jump on the footboard and say 'hey, it's in case my song'. Right?" "You could put it that way, yeah." "I know that's what everybody in the business thinks, it's not really wrong. Denny Cordell, who made the label deal with him, with Shelter Records, he thought in this logic and said, 'you have to put this song on the album'. But what you always forget: It's also about image - and sustainability. John said to Denny, 'I already did that song; I don't want to sing it again'. Cale was convinced that whatever he did with the song now, it could only look like someone was trying to do Clapton's version." "In the end, did Cordell convince him?" "He kept at it, and John said to him, 'OK, if I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it completely different - and slower!' Cale tried a hundred versions at home; polka, reggae, I know what. Then he went to Bradley in the studio; Norbert Putnam was on bass, Chuck Browning on drums, Jerry Whitehurst played piano. Chuck and John were still practicing in the car while driving to Nashville to get that drum feeling. It was worth it - suddenly the number didn't sound like Clapton; it was cool, hung and sexy now." "It sure was. I mean, it doesn't really matter - but still: I wonder how many kids in this world were conceived thanks to that song." "Good question," Hartley says with a wink. "There are people who reduce his music to that, but it's not as funny to me." "I'm with you. Music is more than just a cheap perfume." "It's the time to buy cheap perfume." "Um, how...? I don't understand." "With the expensive ones, you'd have to finance stupid campaigns. It's getting worse and worse. All they know is 'buy the perfume, go wild, get what you want'. It's terrible. I don't want to become a sex beast with a perfume. I just want to be a neat old man who smells nice." "Oh, that's right, of course. What do you expect? It's all part of the act." "Part of what?" "Part of the plan to influence man, to constantly tickle his urges. To make him submissive." "It's all part of it," murmurs the odd man with a wise smile. "Actually crazy: Fifty years ago we freed ourselves from the shackles of morality - today we are slaves to freedom and are only defined by our sex appeal. Maybe we're fools who have been taken in by some big scam." "It's possible, Brian. But you know what? This is the part where we're supposed to get the song list, the cover and all." "You can be laid-back," Hartley grumbles, "or you can be late. With this list story here, the second version applies. We should have brought it by now; you'll have to push when you put the book together." "I've thought it over; we'd better put these lists at the end of the book, of all the albums - for reference. It's probably best to keep it simple. Agreed?" "Okay, not a bad idea." Alvin bends over, unerringly digs out one of the many record sleeves in the suitcase he'd brought, and confidently places it on the table. "Voilà. Of course, the original vinyl record, first US pressing, as far as I know. Everything important is listed on the back, can we take over the content like this, no?"

NATURALLY (1971)

A hidden smile flits across Hartley's face as he tries to appear unimpressed. "Looks neat, yes." "Come on! I want you to be happy with this piece; it's epoch-making, phenomenal, genius." "Take a breath, man. We're not having a rhyming contest here." Alvin suddenly seems to be moving inch by inch away from the Earth's atmosphere. With watery eyes, he starts stuttering, "A miracle, isn't that a mi-miracle...? A p-piece of mu-music- history l-lies ahead of us, a ma-masterpiece ... - ...and we're t- talking about this m-master, here and now." "Hey, buddy, what's wrong? You're all out of breath." The old man puts his father's hand on Alvin's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Brian. It's just too much. Alvin takes a breath, rubs his eyes and tries to get his shit together. "You know, this album, this very album, this very record, has put my son under a spell." He carefully takes the 33 disc out of the envelope, touches it and whispers, "These grooves here opened the door for Tim, the door to a new world." "That's great, Alvin. No need to cry. Tim has the key, has always had it - he just didn't know where. Cale's disc was just allowed to play a little key chain, help your boy find it faster." "I'm infinitely grateful to J.J. Cale." "He'd love it, no question. But it's not only him you have to thank," the strange man said with an unremarkable glance upwards. "Perhaps we should get on with the next record. There are more than a dozen records."

Alvin seems a bit more composed, more relaxed. "You're right, Brian, we should get on. We haven't said very much about 'Naturally'. This album is a universe, the cover alone. Just look at it; legendary, fabulous - and above all, masterful in fulfilling the task of a cover. The image expresses exactly the mood of the album." Hartley lights a new cigarette, takes a satisfied look at the record cover and says dryly: "Can you manage to describe the mood with two words? Not the same two words, please, so no 'laid-back'-story or anything." "Oh, an exam question? Let me think about it, I can't afford to fail." "Can't afford to fail. And you can't think for half an hour either - improvisation happens now!" "I'd say mysteriously down-home, mysteriously simple." He nods respectfully. "Not bad. I've asked this question many times in my circle of friends. Your answer belongs in the big leagues." "Oh, good God, the accolade; thank you! The down-home feeling, this rural southern idyll, it comes across fantastically in the picture. Out in the country, on your own ranch, your faithful dog at your feet. And then this mystical raccoon; you somehow can't catch him, but he won't let you go. I once found out what this animal mythologically symbolizes, what qualities it stands for." "So go shaman, heheh." "Especially in the mythology of many Indian tribes, the raccoon plays an important role. Basically, he is considered a power animal, and in a nutshell, he has two labels: sensitive world traveller on the one hand, nimble and shrewd crook on the other." "Yeah, crook sounds good." "Yeah, but not a common crook. We'd have to back up a bit. The Indians see him as a playful little crook who usually gets what he wants. The raccoon stands for lightness, for the inner child. As a symbol of duality and the connection between the worlds he reminds us of the two sides of a coin. His black and white fur symbolizes light and darkness, the male and the female, but also the earthly world and the invisible other world. Some Indians wore black and white face painting at certain ceremonies; to honour the spirit of the raccoon, to learn from it. He is said to be very clever indeed, and he can even trick wolves or coyotes. For the Indians, the raccoon is a mystical being; an adaptable omnivore that unites opposites and can make itself invisible. A master in playing hide and seek. Well, I mean, if it doesn't all add up to J.J. Cale..." "I don't know," says Hartley, "it sounds pretty far-fetched. Maybe if I had to smoke pot again, I might understand this shaman stuff better." Alvin laughs mischievously. "But the hide-and-seek thing is a wonderful thing about Cale, isn't it? He's demonstrated it brilliantly throughout his career." "Playful little rascal - that sounds cool, yeah. What John wanted, he got: the fun in music. Yet he managed to remain almost invisible, to have a quiet life." "You see? The Indians aren't stupid. This 'Naturally' cover says it all; the raccoon is Cale, and the stuff around him is his music. How did the master come to this picture, anyway? Who painted it?" Hartley raises his index finger and triumphantly says, "Ha, it wasn't originally painted for him. This, of course, contradicts your thesis that it mysteriously represents Cale." "Okay, whatever. But he chose it because he apparently unconsciously recognized himself in the painting. Who was it originally intended for? And who is this mysterious Rabon who painted it?" "Who is said to have painted it? He painted it. Bill Rabon, a buddy from Tulsa. They went to high school together, same grade. "Bill sat diagonally in front of John, scribbling figures as the faculty lectured." "Somewhere I read the name William Harwood Rabon." "Nobody could stand that long a name. Everybody called him Bill. With his talent, he could have gone abroad and had a career, but he wanted to stay in Tulsa. He and John were good friends and he stayed good friends later on. Bill was not always in the sun, for a while he became halfway homeless. Then a TV crew came and made a documentary about him. Somehow he always managed to make a living from his art. In his field, Bill was definitely a crack, in Oklahoma he is considered a legend. ...at least." "They say his genius is still underrated." "You're well informed." "So a similar case to J.J. Cale. Let's get back to the record cover - so Bill Rabon didn't paint this picture for his friend?" "No, it was for Leon Russell - Bill was a friend of Leon Russell's. Leon wanted a Rabon picture for a Russell record." "Oh, I see. Now it dawns on me. The top hat, of course, belongs to Leon Russell, as does the cane. Was Russell using a cane even then?" "Leon always had trouble with his feet; too long bones, it hits the Achilles tendon. And a slight paralysis on the whole right side of his body - because the doctor had to work too hard when he was born and thus damaged Leon's second and third vertebrae." "My God, I didn't know. I'm sorry." "Hey, Leon is not known for complaining. 'Without those two brakemen I might have become a normal guy and would now sell insurance', he is said to have said." "A normal guy - or a music journalist." "At worst, hehe." "So Russell and Rabon were working together on a record cover. Why did the picture end up on J.J. Cale's desk?" "I don't know exactly. Leon had set up this new label a year before; Shelter Records, together with Denny Cordell. When the deal for Cale's debut album was dry on Shelter, the question of the cover came up. Leon thought Bill's raccoon might be cool. John liked the picture right away. I think he liked it later too; it reminded him every day of his friendship with Bill, of their start together. The raccoon sent his album on the runway - and gave Bill's career a boost. Win-win, that's the way it has to be." "A perfect happy ending; the Coon went around the world." "Now you can even buy shower curtains with that picture on them, ha-ha."

Alvin briefly checks the Dictaphone, glances intently at his notes - and strikes out for the next blow: "The Shelter deal. How did this record deal come about? Do you have any anecdotes that could turn us on?" "I'm supposed to turn you on all the time. How do you think I should do it at my age?" "You know what I mean, Brian. Anyone can Google Shelter's corporate history - your readers want to know something specific." "What do you mean, 'my' readers? You're the one writing the book, so it's your readers." "You're one of the protagonists." "Yeah, I thought I was retired and maybe a little bit of a guitarist - now I'm a protagonist, ha-ha." "Brian. You know, too late is not the same as laid-back." "You're right, no time for jokes. So, you want to know how the deal went down." Hartley leans back and gives a ponderous sigh. "The Shelter story has been written in many different ways, to put it politely. "Can't you persuade your colleagues to be a little more careful?" "Are there any untruths that have been leaked?" "Inaccuracies, wrong conclusions - in quite a few biographies you find on the internet." "We will correct that. Go ahead..." "Shelter was founded in 1968, J.J. Cale is said to have signed on in 1969 - and the whole thing was a shoe-in deal, cos Russell and Cale were buddies after all. Wrong data can be passed around if necessary, but to claim that John only got a job at Shelter because of his Tulsa connections is definitely not very flattering." "The nerve! Tell us how it really was, Brian." "Leon Russell and Denny Cordell started Shelter Records in January 1970, in Hollywood. Although Leon had a small label going in 1969, which was distributed by Blue Thumb Records. He wanted to release his debut album, which he recorded in late 1969, on this channel, hence the blue sound on the record cover. But then the partnership with Denny Cordell began; the two of them finally named their booth Shelter Records, and Leon released his record under this name in March 1970. He then returned to Tulsa in 1972 to open a second recording studio there. So much for Shelter. John didn't get his deal because of Leon, though - on the contrary." "On the contrary? What does that mean exactly?" "Leon didn't like the record. If he'd been sole boss, Naturally might never have happened, at least not at Shelter." "What? I can't believe it! Leon Russell and J.J. Cale were like musical brothers." "Yeah, right. But now John Russell wasn't the old Cale that Leon knew. The laid-back stuff didn't seem like Russell's thing. Actually, Carl Radle got John to do the deal. Carl called Leon and told him, 'Cale and Ashworth are working on a record; it's going to be pretty good, you should hear it'. 'Send me a copy', Leon says. He could not get enthusiastic about the songs, as John learned later. The tape finally landed on Denny Cordell's desk - and Denny loved the stuff, wanted to do the record. That's the way it went, if I'm informed correctly. So definitely not a friendship deal." "You got that right. And Cale wasn't offended by that?" Hartley shrugs. "If you can be insulted by anybody who doesn't love your songs, you're in trouble." "That guy, Denny Cordell, he knew him?" "Well, not really. He was a cool guy, though. Irish. Cordell started producing in England in the sixties - Moody Blues, Procol Harum and stuff like that. Then he came to the States, worked with Joe Cocker, sold his share in a label called Regal Zonophone and invested the money in the Shelter story together with Leon. John liked Denny from the beginning; an independent spirit that couldn't be bought. One of the few guys who didn't constantly chant the Beatles myth like a prayer wheel back then." "Anyone who didn't worship the Beatles back then had a tough time in business - so they say." "Something like that, yeah. The few who were not impressed by the Beatles hype were more likely to belong to the lepers' league", the old man jokes mysteriously, before he surprises with the question: "What does Tim actually think?" "Um, what does he think about what?" "Have you ever played The Beatles for him?" "Oh, yes, I have." "So?" Alvin seems embarrassed. "No significant reaction, positive or negative; he doesn't seem particularly interested. You know, Tim's not a music expert, he just listens to..." "...he just listens to music," Hartley interrupts him. "He's just a leper. And because he's not an expert, he likes J.J. Cale, haha. You're getting pretty good at giving compliments." "Oh, no, I didn't mean that. I just meant: Tim listens completely unencumbered, he can't judge the historical value of a band or the groundbreaking nature of a composition." "I get it, man. It must seem funny to you - no music journalist in the world would do that." "Blasphemy is a delicate thing in my line of work, yes, it can get you fired." "Yeah, dangerous game," cries the odd man jokingly. "Come on, let's stop fooling around; erase that stuff, doesn't belong in the book. Where were we?" Alvin ponders for a moment. "When did Cale sign the deal with Shelter?" "Spring, 1971. May, if that's OK with me. By then, Clapton's After Midnight had hit the charts. This apparently gave Cordell enough arguments to persuade Russell, but only on the condition that Cale would put his version of the hit on the album and thus ride in Clapton's slipstream. Marketing logic, John finally agreed. So they went back into the studio for another day in early June and did the two additional songs. Now there were twelve numbers, and everyone seemed happy. Well, happy is perhaps an exaggeration; this ultra-slow 'After Midnight' must have bored Leon Russell." Hartley grins mischievously as usual. "But he didn't let on and probably thought the song would sell to brothels or something." "I love your humour. Anyway, a few million J.J. Cale fans around the world are overjoyed that the story has gone the way it has. Guess what?" "If John had just become a hamburger salesman. If the shop is doing well and you sell, say, a hundred burgers a day, you can make a lot of people happy in a lifetime. If you do the math, it's probably a million to one, hehe." "You can always find an excuse not to be happy about J.J. Cale's life's work." "Totally wrong, man. I'm happy. But are you saying that selling hamburgers is not an honorable profession?" "You've long since convinced me of your artistry, Brian. But this is about Cale's music, not hamburgers." "Okay, good point. Let's move on."

" 'Naturally' was not released immediately. They only released one single. So, what, you're just checking the terrain? Why are you so cautious?" "It's what you always do. They send the single out ahead to get people hot for the album." "That was common back then? You have to understand, I'm too young and I only know how the music business works nowadays." "And you think today's people reinvented the business?" "Apparently not. As far as I know, the first single came out on July 5th 1971, the song 'Magnolia' with 'Crazy Mama' on the B-side. And then, like many times in music history, the B- side kicked in." "Yeah, Wayne Moss, a DJ in Little Rock, played 'Crazy Mama' the whole time." "Little Rock - is that a club?" "No, it's the capital of Arkansas. "Oh, yeah. What about Nashville? Nothing ever happened there?" "Nothing at first. What difference does it make where the sparks start flying? Wayne Moss was a big-time DJ for KAAY radio back then, and he was really into that song. The guy kept calling Audie Ashworth and saying, 'Hey guys, you got the sides mixed up - Crazy Mama is the hit!' He didn't let up until Audie talked to Cordell and Shelter finally pressed a new single before Christmas. Now 'Crazy Mama' was on the A-side and 'Don't Go To Strangers' was on the B-side." "And shortly after that, in December, the album was sent on its way." "Right. Not a 1972 record like your friends write about." "Well, that seems like a pretty small detail for a change." "Anyway. The year starts in January." "You're right. At least now I know what my shoulder pain means." Hartley smiles benignly. "Someone must bow the heavy burden of evil - you have been chosen to rid the Journalists' Guild of the curse. Enjoy the feeling of being the saviour, hehe." "I will, Brian. Seriously though, 'Crazy Mama' was perfect to push the album. The single was known to be the biggest hit of his career. Or even the only one?" "The only top 40 hit. Three more songs made the charts; his 'After Midnight' version at #42, 'Lies' also at #42, and a few years later 'Hey Baby' at #96." "'Crazy Mama' was on the Billboard charts for a fortnight, reaching number 22 on April 8th, 1972. Hey, J.J. Cale was actually a pop star!" "And you're a joker." "Anyway, 'Crazy Mama' was a wonderful start and took the album to the charts right from the start. On April 8th, Naturally went straight to the top of the Billboard at 51st. And the record stayed in for thirty-two weeks. Anyone who doesn't suffer from morbid modesty would easily call it a vertical takeoff. Cale was a shooting star." "Let them talk. Sometimes the sick are the healthy ones." Alvin shakes his head. "If you want, we could say 'a good start', as you might call it." "Sounds better, yeah." "Speaking of which: The Master could have done better than that. If he hadn't been such a hard-ass, 'Crazy Mama' would've made the top 10 for sure." "I knew you'd come up with that story." "Of course I'm coming with it. If there's one story that perfectly illustrates his wonderful pig-headedness, it's this one. In mid-April 1972 he was invited to promote his hit single on Dick Clark's popular music show 'American Bandstand' in Los Angeles. An appearance on this show was at that time almost a guarantee to climb even higher up the Billboard charts. Everybody would have accepted with a kiss on the hand - except J.J. Cale of course. He didn't care enough about the show?" "He cared enough. John knew the show, and he knew how important it was. The show had been on television since the 1950s. Dick Clark put on some very popular records, had a bunch of teenagers dance to it and invited the artists to the studio. Almost everything that was important in the business could be seen there - ABBA, Beach Boys, Chuck Berry, Johnny Cash, James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Michael Jackson and God knows who else. There were no videos back then, but when you were on that show, you had your little movie to the song. The story was really popular and ran until the late 1980s, until the era of music videos just started." "And what exactly was Cale's problem when he was approached?" "Let me tell you. I mean, the logic of it - he just didn't get it." "What logic is that?" "He's had a few episodes in his career. Audie always called and said, 'The record's starting up well, we gotta do something'. John never understood that. When something goes well, there's nothing more you have to do." "Audie probably felt that they should try to get more out of it." "You're driving 100 miles on the highway and the guy on the side seat yells at you, 'Hey, we gotta do something, we gotta pick up the pace!' That's pure stress, unnecessary stress." "My God," sighs Alvin, "we don't have to discuss that philosophy anymore. There's a trace of greed in the normal human race - J.J. Cale is not one of those species. It's not clear to me right now what alien planet he came from - but let's get back to the American Bandstand story. How did that go, exactly? Why did he say no?" " 'Crazy Mama' was number 22, and Audie called him. 'Hey John, if you can get on Dick Clark's show, we'll make the top 10!' He said, 'cool, man, we're going to L.A., I'm gonna get the band together'. 'No need', Audie said. 'They said you didn't have to bring the band'. 'I want them to come, though', John replied. They tried to persuade Clark, but he didn't give up and said, 'We'll play the record and the artist will move his mouth - that's how we do it'." "And Cale wouldn't go over the shadow?" "Why would he do it? From a certain perspective, this playback theatre makes sense; it's technically the easiest way, and no one has to have stage fright. But it's corny. John, at least, would have made it look as phoney as the devil - he was a musician, not an actor. And hey, Dick Clark had already made exceptions; he let Buddy Holly sing live, Jerry Lee Lewis as well, as far as I know. With J.J. Cale, he was stubborn and said, 'Let's just drop it, we don't need you like that. So John must have said to himself. Whatever." "And the following week, did the song get back on the charts?" "Not dramatically. He stayed at number 22 for another week and then in the top 40 for two more. Not having a top 10 hit in your pocket is the least of your problems if you have to leave this world." Hartley is frowning. "We should move on, man." "That's right. So, I suggest we take a closer look at the whole 'Naturally' record and talk about the individual songs - how they came about, how the master created this very special sound. I mean, technically. Do you know anything about that? Are there any recording tricks that he revealed?" The old man stands up without a word. When he notices Alvin's surprised face, he can get over himself in two short sentences: "We're going inside; there's no record playing out here. You wanna talk about sound, don't you?" "Oh, yeah, very good idea." Alvin trotted after him in awe.

There's an old piano in the living room; a duster would do him good. "Wow, you play this thing regularly?" Hartley ignores the question, goes to the record player and carefully puts the piece of vinyl on the plate. "Where were we?" "Secret recording tricks." Alvin takes a quick look at his Dictaphone, which he took inside, of course. "So..." the old man sighs somewhat, "I'm supposed to be telling secrets." After two calm cigarette puffs he starts without batting an eyelid: "Secrets I don't know. But because of me, I found out one thing about the way he works: He wrapped all the microphones in thick wool socks for that warm sound. He also sprinkled some sugar over the socks, for the sweet touch, and sometimes a bit of damp earth, if it should sound muddy. That's all." "Please, Brian, I'm serious. There'll probably be quite a few guitarists among the readers. Or songwriters, people who produce their own stuff. They're really into that sort of thing. What's interesting is, where did this sudden craving for hammock grooves come from? That was a pretty blatant change of direction for him; his previous recordings sounded clearly different. How and why did J.J. Cale come up with that concept?" "How and why did J.J. Cale come up with it? Up until now he'd always played this loud rock 'n' roll guitar stuff like everybody else. He had had enough of that. John wanted to turn around, look for something new. Something that would bring him down and not stress him out any more. So he started to play behind the beat - and not turn up the volume all the time. It worked." "You could say that. But it's not just the groove, the slow tempo - it's this sound. Earthy, warm; it's probably no coincidence that the album is called 'Naturally'. How do you create this natural sound? Was his recipe simple, to do as little as possible with the sound, to leave it completely raw?" Hartley smiles. "On the contrary." "How? You'll have to explain that to me." "You have to play with the utmost concentration to make something sound limp. And you have to turn the knobs a lot to make it sound natural. That's a contradiction most people don't understand. John used to listen to a lot of Les Paul; Les Paul, as you know, was one of the first to start using multitrack machines and all kinds of equipment. The sound of Cale's records was created by changing the sounds. People love this naturalness; but it is nothing but the result of his joy of experimenting. He manipulated sounds, you know? John kept fiddling around until it sounded like a backyard recording. There's a lot of technology involved, and in the end it comes across as funky and unspectacular, or even musty. That's the secret. And if you're expecting me to tell you which box he turned on which knob - you're completely off the hook." Alvin's eyes light up. "Brian, this is great, just highly interesting, you know? The master's been playing us for all these years. These are not random snapshots; there's a conscious and highly focused concept behind them. Chapeau!" "Don't overdo it, man. Consciously, yes - but randomly nevertheless. I guess he could hardly remember in detail how the sounds came about. You just screw around, and when it finally sounds - bingo, on to the next song! With every song the story starts all over again. He didn't have a recipe, that was his recipe." "I can't imagine it like that. Cale must have known what he was doing by the time he was born, and he'd implemented certain sound concepts. And he made albums with that J.J. Cale sound. It can't be a coincidence, there must be a lot of experience behind it." "And if I knew anything about those concepts, I'd have forgotten about it. You overestimate my used-up brain, man." "Okay, I get the message - you don't want to say anything. That's your prerogative. J.J. Cale would appreciate it if you would just keep your mouth shut." "I don't want people to get the crazy idea that they can repeat a sound, or buy it. It's half the music-appliance business, but it's a mirage. Just be happy when you find a sound, and if you haven't forgotten to press record. That's all. The next day you can't get that sound anymore, even if you pull out all your hair. Because you play differently the next day. And because even the equipment sounds different, at least the analog equipment." "It makes sense. Although it's probably in a range of fairly subtle nuances." Hartley shakes his head vigorously. "That's the point - the subtle nuances! Eric made it very clear; 'It's all about subtlety in music'." "I know that when Eric Clapton talks about J.J. Cale's music, about this sound, he talks in a mysterious way about subtleties. But Clapton hasn't been able to crack the code of those subtleties, as he admits himself. Didn't they ever discuss these things during their time together in the studio?" "Hey, I wasn't there, all right? But I think they talked a lot. But hardly about unnecessary things like mixer knobs and stuff." "So you don't want to reveal the hidden treasure." Alvin smiles expectantly. "I can't even blame you..." "Nonsense," interrupts the strange man, "if I could explain it, I would. You overestimate me immensely, as always. And perhaps you even overestimate Cale; I suspect that he himself was always amazed when it finally sounded - and that he often hardly knew how it happened. The things that stuck in his head he liked to pass on. He did, in two books." "Oh yes, I know that. The first one came out in 1980, a guitar textbook called 'J.J. Cale Guitar Styles'. And the other, a songbook, was published in 1997, 'The Very Best Of J.J. Cale'. In both books, he tells things about some of his songs; about instruments and amplifiers used, about the musicians, about the studio." "You know those books?" "Of course I know them. After all, they're the only ones that exist about him." Alvin digs through the suitcase, pulls out these two books and holds them up like hunting trophies. "There you go. Everything John knew is in there. I read them once - and in the meantime I forgot half of them, of course." "It's best if we take this information as a basis, as a starting point, and then see if, at best, you know any more of his recording tricks and want to reveal more." "Sounds boring now, I know - but I don't think Cale really had any secrets. Except the ones he couldn't figure out for himself." "Why don't we just go through all the 'Naturally' songs and see what happens? Preferably in the order in which they're written on the record." "System at last, yeah! But wait, I'm going to the kitchen. Something small for when you get hungry..."

Call Me The Breeze

"So when I put on Cale's first long-playing record and listen to the very first notes of this first song - my first thought is: Rascal! He was a little hustler." Hartley's got a straight face. "You love puns." "Let me explain. I mean, there's this guy making incredibly earthy roots music - and he serves us a lonely, simple drum machine on the intro to his debut album. With these German Krautrock records, which were on the road at about the same time, you would expect something synthetic. But it is just the other way round. While Kraftwerk, Tangerine Dream and what they were called, while they were still working with real drummers at that time, J.J. Cale used one of the first devices that we call drum computers today. And the crazy thing is that it doesn't sound sterile, not at all. It's a machine. No human being understands that. How did he do it?" The old man scratches his head, puts on the usual minimum amount of smiles, and still exudes maximum appreciation. "You have good ears, Alvin. It's a machine, an Ace Tone Rhythm Ace. The world's first fully transistorized drum machine; a forerunner of those Japanese boxes from Roland. In the beginning John used these things because he was short of money and couldn't afford musicians. Later he had enough money, but the machines were still cool for him. Because you can be very creative with them. "Private and private, no one talking your ear off." "Unbelievable! But it's interesting that even experienced musicians, who listened to this song for decades, never had the idea that a drum machine jumps into their ears at the beginning of 'Call Me The Breeze'. And also a device from the very first generation, which really had nothing to offer except this monotonous 'boom-chack'." "You're wrong, man. On the box you can choose between more than a dozen rhythms; there were even Latin things in it. You can change the tempo, and you can mute certain elements of the drums; cymbals, snare and stuff." "Well, compared to later drum machines, I think they were more like children's toys." "Well, they were kids playing." "OK, Brian. But first of all, this song grooves completely out of tune, and secondly, this machine sounds incredibly warm and fat." "It's very simple. He sent the Ace Tone box into a guitar amp, into a Fender Twin Reverb, 65 Blackface - and recorded the whole thing by microphone. That way you can get everything that counts, even cheap stuff, on tape; tube, speakers, air, space." "Ingenious! I told you, a crook. And the groove, how do you get it out of your hat?" "He recorded some percussion on it; some shaker or something. When you combine machine and man, there's always these little messes, because man plays inaccurately. Suddenly the machine starts to groove. And if you add all the other instruments like bass and guitars, there's enough messes anyway." "Fantastic! I got it, Brian. So that's a real shaker you'll be hearing as soon as the band kicks off?" "Sure. There's another shaker on a lot of his recordings somewhere. It's good and free if you record it yourself." "But you have to know how to do it, you know." "If you can pet a dog or a woman, you can shake a shaker - John had that in him. No tension whatsoever, that's all it takes." " 'Crazy Mama', for example, had that drum machine, right? I read somewhere that J.J. Cale was actually involved in the development of drum machines as we know them today. The legendary 'Linn Drum' machine wouldn't even exist without him. How does that happen?" "Another exaggeration." "He was, they say, an inspiration to Roger Linn, the designer." "Indirectly, perhaps. Most people only know Roger Linn as Mr. Linn Drum, but he was a really good guitarist and songwriter at first. Did you know that?" "Not really, no." "You see? Linn had a few good hits; for Clapton he wrote the song 'Promises' for Richard Feldman, in the late seventies. And later in the '90s, for example, Mary Chapin Carpenter's 'Quitting Time'." "What...? 'Promises'? That was Roger Linn? I love this song. It's probably one of Clapton's best. It was released in 1979, as far as I know." "Feldman and Linn were both working on this number in Leon Russell's studio. They used a prototype of the first Linn drum kit for the demo, by the way. Did you know that?" "Of course I didn't, but now I'm beginning to see the light. In 1979 the first programmable drum computer was released, called 'Linn LM-1'. Roger Linn had founded a company especially for it, I read; Linn Electronics, based in Los Angeles. The device was based on samples, like all later drum computers. That means, detailed recordings of a real drum set were made, which can be retrieved in digital form. Sophisticated." "Yeah, and some of the recordings were made by Jimmy Karstein, so I'm told." "Wow, magic! So if Prince had one of these machines running in the '80s, it was actually John's buddy Jimmy hidden in this box." "In a way, yeah. Not sure, a lot of the footage is of James Gadson, who was very hot in the scene." "Never mind who made the drum sounds. But why don't you tell us how Roger Linn got the idea - and what J.J. Cale's part in it was." "Linn was on tour with Leon Russell in the early '70s, playing guitar. And so, of course, he occasionally ran into John. John was the only person who had bought an Ace Tone box like that and he used to lend it out to his mates on a regular basis. Leon thought it was cool, especially because you have a constant tempo during production and later you can play drums with it as you please. Later on everybody worked like that. Roger Linn is said not to have been enthusiastic about the thing at first. I mean, they sounded primitive; it was basically these kitschy automatic accompaniment machines for solo entertainers that were built into the organs and then sold as stand-alone devices. But when Cale pulled off his Crazy Mama coup, Linn realized that you can work reasonably well with these boxes." "Now I get it. It was his single that really gave it a kick. It made guys realise it's more than just a toy, and that you can actually be successful with it." "Something like that, yeah. 'Crazy Mama' was probably the first drum machine act ever played on the radio." "So J.J. Cale made history again." Hartley takes a moment to think. "He was not alone on the podium. At the same time, there was a record that had a similar box on it: Sly Stone and his record 'There's A Riot Goin' On'. That was a real number one album, also the single 'Family Affair' by the way. The guy worked similar to Cale back then. Maybe even more extreme, he tinkered with tape machines in his bedroom for nights on end, recording layer after layer and using a drum box. Another model, though; I think it was a 'Maestro Rhythm King'. Sly and John didn't know each other, played quite different music, but were on the road at the same time with the same concept, it seems to me. His album was released in November 1971, a month before 'Naturally'. So, by accurate timing, he finished before Cale - he's the drum machine king, if you like." Alvin shakes his head. "You know, Brian, the finish line is one thing - but for me it's the style that counts. I happen to know this record, a friend of mine keeps it playing. I don't like it somehow; I hear that Sly Stone was in a bad mood, all the drug stories. And speaking of rhythm - 'Family Affair', this single, is just a bad groove example for me. To my ears it doesn't get rolling, a pretty bumpy story. It's the exact opposite of 'Call Me The Breeze'." "You're exaggerating, comparing apples to oranges." "If you like, but let's stay on topic. How did Roger Linn suddenly become an inventor?" "Leon Russell and Roger Linn were playing around with John's Ace Tone box, and Leon kept saying, 'It would be nice if we had the snare separately, if we could pan it aside in stereo, or if there were high hats and things like that. Leon dreamed of a fancy drum box. Roger was just the right guy for it, a sly electronics freak; he suddenly got hot for it and wanted to revolutionize history. With a box that could be programmed decently and no longer sound like cardboard. The moment was perfect, because digital technology was becoming an issue. In 1979, the first Fairlight music computers came onto the market, these million-dollar battleships. Peter Gabriel was the first to grab one of these things. And Roger Linn put sampling technology in the drum machine." "Legendary! California's inventive genius." "Yeah. But a few years later, he sold the story back to the Japanese. Roger helped Akai develop the famous MPC 60 and MPC 3000 boxes, and in 1986, Linn Electronics closed the doors. Done, passed." "Same old story." "That's the way the world runs. Nowadays you can definitely hear these things everywhere. You wouldn't have rap and stuff like that without Roger Linn." "Wouldn't be rap and stuff like that if not for J.J. Cale?" "He had a supporting role, yeah." "A supporting role that Roger Linn doesn't even mention when he talks about it in interviews. Same old song, I guess." "You got that wrong." He smiles ambiguously. "They waited politely." "I do not understand. Waiting for what?" "For you, man. For you to get the part, hehe." "Oh, I see. I feel all bulbous - and hope I can play it, this part." "Will you get it? But remember the schedule; we're still stuck on the first song on the first record..."

Alvin's looking pretty stressed out at his artwork. "I know we're getting into a lot of detail, and we can't possibly do that for all the songs. But 'Call Me The Breeze' as the opening song is symbolic of Cale's work. In this seemingly harmless little country blues number, I think it already contained everything that made the master. Just the short length; two and a half minutes, then it's over. Hardly any of his songs is longer than three minutes. I never quite understood that. Was he stingy? Or is that calculated radio length? Or after two and a half minutes he couldn't think of anything else to say?" "Do I like the question, hehe. It's a mixture of everything. First of all, he still had the time of vinyl singles in his head; you can't get it out in old age. They used to have a three-minute limit. And then the radios; they won't bitch if you give them three-minute songs. But more important: the stinginess, the concept. You know what I mean?" "You have to explain it to me." "Yeah, let me try. It's pretty much what good cooks do. If you serve little appetizers, you can better tickle people's appetites. If you can't get enough, you'll enjoy what little you have on your plate all the more. If the song fades out early and fast, you'll want to hear it again. With Cale, after three minutes everything was said anyway. They are short stories. Did you notice?" "He was smarter than the raccoon." Alvin's eyes sparkle. "His short song has it all in it. Including his love of overdubbing, this recording of different soundtracks to arrange it step by step. With Cale's records, you don't always know right away who's playing which part because there are so many guests. But on this song you can hear three guitars, and they're all his, it seems to me." "There were usually two stages. At first he would record all sorts of things by himself. Sometimes that was enough for the song - and sometimes a big band was added at the end. Nothing was added to 'Call Me The Breeze' except Carl Radle's bass, of course." "The three guitars are really something, they're nicely spaced out; left, centre, right. Two of them play the rhythm, and in a wonderfully complementary way, so it grooves incredibly well. One of these two could be an acoustic one. And then, outside left, the lead guitar, of course. A lead guitar that scatters minimalistic, delicious melody shreds throughout the song. Dangerously loud, by the way. Exactly this contrast was probably one of his tricks: The whole compact sauce, nice and warm and mild - and then as a contrast a sharp, almost shrill lead guitar. Masterful! Apparently, courage counts when it comes to mixing, too." The strange man nods. "You can write it that way. You know a lot, man. Cool, doesn't need so many questions then - a little time saving can't hurt us." "Wow, glad you agree with my analysis. But you're not gonna get away with it without questions. The bass, Brian. Why isn't the bass in the middle of the stereo image? Isn't it the Basic Law, they say?" "You were leafing through a sound magazine, right? Well, first of all, it wasn't always like this before; just technically, because the first multitrack things were pretty limited. And secondly, rules are there to be broken. He didn't always do it - but sometimes he obviously liked it when the bass wasn't stubbornly going mono. It might even help to give the vocals more room in the middle." "Uh-huh. Maybe that's one of the secrets of why his vocals are so soft and yet so dominant." "If it was a secret, I wouldn't tell you." "Let's stay with the guitars on 'Call Me The Breeze' for a moment. The rhythm guitar was his legendary Harmony H162, which was heavily tampered with; he fitted it with a pickup from Danelectro. The lead guitar was a Gibson ES 335 from 1962; he played it through a Fender Twin amp and sent it through a Teletronix limiter and onto an Ampex two-track tape recorder for a slap back echo and a slight band saturation distortion. The whole song was recorded on an Ampex four- track machine, and mixed on a small Altec tube machine." "You read that in the two books, of course." "How did he actually manage that with only four tracks? If I add it up right; three guitars, a bass, the drum machine, the shaker and then at least two vocal tracks - that's eight tracks already." "Have you ever heard of ping-pong?" "Yes, but I never understood what it was exactly." "They didn't have thirty-two or sixty-four digital tracks back then like the guys today. You had to come up with something. You record four tracks, mix them down to a two-track box, play the stereo mix back to the four-track box, now you have two free tracks and you can repeat the ping-pong match again. That makes eight. Simple math, right?" Alvin's beaming. "You'd make a world-class teacher. All my friends talked about was submix and stuff, and I never got it." "Just because your friends are empty-headed doesn't make me a good teacher." "I'll tell them, ha, ha. But one thing I do wonder: Hasn't this repeated dubbing caused any loss of quality?" "Of course there has. You can't overdo it; if there's a bit more noise, the whole thing gets a bit musty. But the tape machines were great, had their own character, and sometimes John might have liked it even better after the dubbing. Nowadays, in the mastering studios, the whole digital salad has to go through an old tape box to get it back - the character."

"So I've heard, yeah." Alvin gazes intently at the sheet of text in front of him, whispers a few lines, and goes into one of his usual bursts of enthusiasm: "The text, Brian. The lyrics - what can you say? Many people disregard J.J. Cale's word art, reduce him to music. A sin. I mean, the way he paints pictures in this song here with just a few, concise words in an incredibly precise way, that's world class. You can't do better than that! Dylan needs ten verses with twenty sentences each; Cale manages it with a few laconic lines. Just the title alone, or the famous sentence with the green light - what more room for maneuver is there? Everything is said, the mood is conveyed. It hits you right in the heart." "Singers love such numbers because they have to learn so little by heart, hehe." "I'm serious. That's the ultimate in lyric art, that reduction." "Hey man, we should get off this cloud. You can't compare that to Dylan. Totally different shoe numbers. John did what he could, sketching succinct images, almost impressionistic. The dry, noncommittal language comes from Tulsa. That's the way everyone there talks; at least back when he and his friends were young. I don't think John had any intention of selling it as art because of that - it was just a style." "To my ears it sounds extraterrestrially modest now." "Ha, that's a good one! No, he wasn't an alien. John was happy if people liked it. That's why he did it. But if we go through every line of that song literally and put it on a pedestal right now, there's never gonna be a happy ending to this book story. It's Wednesday, it's almost night, and we have to get this interview done by Friday. Forgotten, Alvin?" "No, of course not." "Best thing to do is just leave the lyrics alone, let people google them, save yourself the copyright money you'd have to pay the label guys. Then you can still say 'I like the story' or 'I don't like it' with every song. Okay?" "My God, I like them all. But if you want, we won't take them apart in detail, because they really speak for themselves. But every once in a while I can't help but ponder a line." "I know. But if you like minimalism and laid-back as a principle, I'd try to think as laconically as possible." "It's useless, you manage to trick me in every situation. So practically everything would be said about 'Call Me The Breeze'. Except, of course, that we should also mention the cover versions. After all, there are some very prominent ones. In 1972, a few months after Cale's record release, the country rock band Mason Proffit covered the song for their album 'Rockfish Crossing'. And then of course the two famous versions of Lynyrd Skynyrd; one on 'Second Helping' from 1974, and one on the double live album 'One More From The Road' from 1976. They really kicked up quite a fuss. Didn't the master ever mind how the Lynyrd Skynyrd boys bent his act into a stressful rock song?" "They kicked up some money. That's cool. What do you think John had against that? Those guys were his second life insurance policy. There's a thousand ways to interpret a good song, and these guys weren't doing it for Cale. They were doing it for their audience." "In 1975, by the way, the great Johnny Cash recorded the song, as a duet with his son John Carter Cash. But the recording was not released until 1988, on the album 'Water From The Wells Of Home'. Cale liked that version better?" "It's cool. It's rockabilly. If Cash plays your song, there's not gonna be any questions left. And complaining on Olympus would be in very poor taste and ungrateful." "I can imagine. By the way, a powerful, speedy Rockabilly version is also the one by The Mavericks, on a Lynyrd Skynyrd tribute album from 1994. And now there's really nothing more to say about the song - and there's certainly nothing to complain about. Let's go to the next number..."

Call The Doctor

"In the second number the first surprise; a lonely, suspended slow shuffle in a minor key, with a completely different sound. A splendidly delicate brass arrangement; the master later worked with brass again and again. Plus conventional drums - and of course the lead guitar, which moans. Actually not a typical J.J. Cale solo, not even with the typical sound. But this string pulling, in a painfully distorted blues manner, gets under your skin. I actually wanted to skip this song, because it is rarely mentioned, but I can't help it. The mood is extraordinary, perfectly staged; this pain after a lost, unhappy love. How he ponders about the shady lady who turned his head. And his singing, this whispered, slightly jazzy..." "Stop!" When the old man interrupts in this way, accompanied by that smug 'I just stole a piece of candy'-look, you know he's going to launch an ironic arrow in the next moment. "Conceptual question, man: There are about two hundred songs in the Cale quiver; if you want to report on sex and drug adventures in age-appropriate font size, it will be a thousand page tome. You wanna outbid Keith Richards, let me get this straight." "Um, what do you mean?" "Well, he's written a tome about himself, as I'm sure you know." Alvin laughs with relief. "Oh, yeah. "No, of course it's not going to be a tome. Would you like us to cover sex and drug adventures?" "Do you think I'm crazy?" "I knew it, Brian. We should streamline the whole thing, like you say. Do you have any comments on this song?" His eyes tell a thousand words. "Well, let's just mention the technical stuff. "The song begins with rhythm guitar, arpeggio and chord playing. This was Cale's souped-up Harmony, sent through a 1964 Fender Twin. The crying solo guitar is a 1962 Gibson 335, equipped with a Bixby vibrato. You can hear this vibrato lever in some places. Interesting and pretty crazy is the way he amplified that guitar." "The crying solo guitar, yeah, sounds good. The guys wanted to amplify that stuff a little differently; Audie and John liked to try weird stuff. They sent the Gibson into a Panasonic two-track tape recorder with a built-in speaker. If you turn it up a little bit, that little 3-inch speaker will start to warp. They recorded the whole thing with a Neumann U-87 microphone." "Ingenious! By the way, the entire rhythm section was recorded live, in one go. The lead guitar was an overdub. And I can see your impatient look, Brian, but one last little question about this number: Why on earth did they fade out this song so quickly at the end, as they often do? I mean, that's when the trumpet on the far right starts the solo - and three seconds later the whole thing is over." Hartley smiles mysteriously. "The trumpet continues to play at the end. Can't you hear it?" "It's all right, I understand. So there are now two little peas on the plate - and you're trying to tell me that there aren't a few real sadists in the camp of good cooks?" "Getting tidier all the time, your irony. I like it." He's looking at the clock. "Shall we continue? The next record?" "Pardon? No way! With books you can't use ultra-fast fade- outs; I don't want trouble with his fans." "Okay, man. One more song from this record, then to the next one." Alvin confidently shakes his head. "I made up a schedule for myself. Next up, 'Don't Go To Strangers'."

Don't Go To Strangers

"Haven't we discussed this before, this number?" "Mentioned, yes, because it's on the single. But a side note doesn't do justice to this pearl. J.J. Cale may have made more musical history with this piece than he realised. Every Dire Straits fan should be grateful to him for that." "Yeah, cool. But don't bother; you'll never be able to make an impostor out of John." "I mean it. Think about it: this 'now I'm going to let myself down' philosophy, this tired yet precise groove, the magically stingy blues guitar. His song is like a warm blanket that gives you the feeling that in your own little intimacy the whole universe would rest for a moment. Six years later Mark Knopfler started his glorious career with this concept. Six Blade Knife, for example, exudes exactly this feeling. Has he ever thanked Cale?" "I don't know. The biggest thank you can get is when you make something you like into something that's your own. Knopfler did a hell of a job with it." "But apparently, rumor has it that J.J. Cale was a little surprised then when this English band laid down in his hammock and took over the world." "Nonsense. It happens all the time in the music world - the family tree branches out. Nonstop, endlessly. But endless is not our time horizon..." "That's true, of course. We can discuss his relationship with Dire Straits later. But there is at least one thing that Knopfler hasn't managed - Cale's singing, which is unique in its unobtrusiveness. A monument in history! John was probably the first person to have the courage to sing so quietly." Hartley shakes his head. "Isn't that what every mother does when she sings her child to sleep?" "Couldn't you put it more beautifully. Let's take a quick look at the technical stuff on Don't Go To Strangers: Cale played two guitars; first, a really cool rhythm guitar, recorded with the whole band, and then the magic lead guitar as an overdub. Both were, what you wouldn't expect at first sight, his acoustic harmony, each amplified with an old Fender Pro. This pro amp, equipped with a 15-inch speaker, was one of the first models that Fender started to build in the late 1940s." "I think John loved this amp; it's got two 6L6 tubes in it." "This sound, the combination of his ominous Harmony with the old Fender - it's indescribable. And, of course, the way he plays it, the lead guitar; there's nothing like it! Except maybe Knopfler, but first of all, Cale was ahead of him, and secondly, they can tell the difference between who's listening." "And let's only talk to people who listen closely, hehehe." "Right. But what comes next is the rest of the arrangement, or rather how Cale treats that rest in the mix. The bass drum of Chuck Browning's drums are quite far to the left, his snare is quite far to the right, together with Norbert Putnam's bass guitar. Somewhere far back, barely audible and yet noticeable, Jerry Whitehurst plays piano. And even further back, almost in the esoteric realm of perception, lurks the organ of David Brigg. I know you're going to mock me again as a recording studio magazine reader - but let's be honest: no one in the world would mix the song like that." There's a flicker of joy in Hartley's eyes. "Hey, Alvin, they could use you in the studios. But you know what? On Neil Young's Harvest, the snare is even further out. Came out about the same time, if I'm not mistaken. It was just like that then - they really wanted to use the stereo image, hehe." "They were brave in that respect, I can actually see that in older recordings. Anyway - in the middle is his whispered voice, and it smears honey around the listener's ears, as if the master was only a few centimetres away. It's great cinema that all these delicate nuances are so present at this enormously low vocal volume. And then, at the very end, you can even hear him dizzyingly quietly pulling up the last word of 'calling me' into the head voice one octave higher. "That must have been a joke," Hartley says with a relaxed laugh. "With this he wanted to find out how closely people listen. You passed the test." "Oh, the accolade - I can die in peace now. In any case, this song as an example shows that his style was already complete at that point." "I don't think so. The direction was clear, that's all. An artist's story is never finished, not in a lifetime. You're fooled by the charm that a naive debut album can have. If you're saying now that John hasn't refined it over the years, we might as well call it quits." "That's not what I mean, no! Of course he raised the bar even higher; not only in the music, by the way, but especially in the lyrics." "You want to emphasize how bumbling the 'Naturally' lyrics were, hehe." "No, no, you misunderstand me again! Let's get on with the next song before we get into a fight." "Good idea, man. My hair's not in the best shape for a fight like this anyway."

Woman I Love

"The next number proves that the order of the songs is also of great importance; with its cheerful, driving character it compensates wonderfully for the mood of the previous piece. Funky, downright sexy, I would say. He ends up singing about how she hypnotizes him, the woman, and that he can't complain." "Johnny was in his prime. "Let them use this number for their perfume campaigns, haha." "That's right; his song would do very well. The rhythm guitar was again the 1962 Gibson 335, recorded with the Altec tube board at Bradley's Barn Studio - read about it in the guitar textbook. But honestly, I can hardly hear this guitar in the song." "It's gotta be somewhere, man. No ego should be on that mixer, not even a guitarist's." "That says it all, Brian. In this number the guitar is hardly important, it's a completely different constellation. Browning's drums and Tim Drummond's hot bass give it a boost. Then, of course, the clever use of the brass, and in addition, this time the really loud mixed piano by Bob Wilson - great, how it rolls! And somewhere far behind, on one side a lonely, sharp blues harp, and on the other side even a Hammond organ. We'd better not talk about the stereo conditions in the mix anymore, nor about the fading out of the saxophone at the end ..." "Better not, no." "But that his singing is once again unrivalled awesome, excuse this perhaps inappropriate expression, it has to be mentioned. Any other singer would sing with such expressiveness and power. With Cale it's the complete opposite - and he still forces his voice into airy heights at times, but without it looking like a mess. How on earth did he do that?" "It's gotta be a little hot in here, that's the minimum. How else are you gonna get the story across? Every singer has to try to get the story straight, and everybody has to be able to do it. John's options were limited, so he had to try to do it the quiet way. Anything else would've seemed ridiculous to him." "Well, we know that understatement. I'd say it was a concept that made a mockery of all those affected sports singers." "He did not. At least not the ones who can really do it - there's plenty of them. I'm gonna tell you one last time how I feel about this: It's about design, and it's about being smart. Limitation can become a stylistic device. You know what I mean?" Magnolia

"J.J. Cale himself had once called this song a 'slow, draggy-ass ballad', and he was obviously glad that not he but 'Crazy Mama' made it into the radio. Why this contempt for his song? I think the song is amazing, and so do a few million of his fans." "You've got it wrong. He played it at almost every concert, but it remains a snail's pace number, and I don't want to know how many people fell asleep during it." "Which is not pejorative; I can only fall asleep to really good music, and I'm actually grateful for that." "Sure, I agree. That's why he made 'Magnolia' extra long, it lasts almost three and a half minutes." "Really excessive. It's almost an eternity by his standards." "And if you're not asleep, you have to throw something in. Anyway, the play wouldn't have been a big hit on the radio. If that's the only song people know, they must think Cale's a really lame act." "But in the end, it's one of the most tender declarations of love I've ever heard; the words and the music at least as much. Let's take a closer look at the whole thing: In double duty, apparently his Harmony guitar again; for rhythm, he picked it up on a microphone and recorded it with the band, and as lead guitar later as an overdub with the Danelectro pickup." "You think that this kind of stuff is interesting to the readers?" "For guitar freaks, yes. The whole thing was recorded on a 16-track Ampex machine. The arrangement is so subtle; unbelievable how every splash of paint thrown in takes on a seemingly random role just to create this unique mood. The feathery carpet of bass and drums, some sparkling piano chords by Bob Wilson, some fragile blues harp notes by Ed Colis, Cale's ultra-poor lead guitar - and somewhere in no man's land, some futuristic sounds, probably from a Moog synthesizer or something. And above all his insane whispering vocals, probably recorded several times or electronically doubled. All of this drawn three-dimensionally into a seemingly endless stereo width. And at the end of it all, that mean "Stop it, wake up!" fade-out. This is meditation music of the highest quality. I'm speechless!" "Yeah." He smiles meaningful - and lets a few moments pass to prepare for the perfect ironic counterattack. "Do you talk all the time while meditating, or are you really speechless for once?" "Brian, you're making fun of me again." "Hey, I'm not. You've prepared yourself well, man. You know the songs better than me, and you put every note on a throne. Imagine if John had known back then that his music would be absorbed out there in that microscopic way - he'd have gotten off easy." "Oh, yeah! By the way, would you like to listen to some remarks on covers of this song?" "Shoot. It finally sank a few dollars into John's till, the cover story." "A first version appeared the same year, 1972, by Jose Feliciano on his album 'Memphis Menu'." "The blind singer and guitarist, great guy! He lived in the Los Angeles area for a long time." "His powerful voice and charisma make Cale's song a true tribute." "You see, you can sing it with a little bit of spirit, too - if you've got it." "A year later, a fantastic version of Poco, the pioneers of country rock. Do you know it? On the record 'Crazy Eyes'." "Of course, these guys were from LA, after all, West Coast Music. They played it even slower than John. I like that. And hey, if you listen to the guys, you know the shit the Eagles are up to." "I do. Next, I wrote down the rendition of Joe Simon, the award-winning soul and R&B singer from Louisiana. "Glad You Came My Way, 1981. And this is now the only version where the vocals remind me of the master. Very soulful! I mean, in his genre Simon really is a crack singer - and that's what makes me say: Basically J.J. Cale is a soul singer, a whispering white soul singer." "Ha, I don't think anyone's ever put that sign on him. 'Mister Blue-Eyed Soul' - or how about 'Whispering John Cale'? Sounds hot. Audie and the label guys would have loved it, they were always looking for that kind of stuff." "To me, he's actually kind of a soul singer. Two more versions deserve to be mentioned: Chris Smither on the 1993 album Happier Blue, and Doc Holliday on Good Time Music, 2003." "Holliday's version I know. The Southern Rock guys do it; nice and tender, with Dobro, and then Bruce Brookshire's smoky voice as a contrast. I don't know the other one - what was his name?" "Chris Smither; a folk and blues artist from Florida. Warm voice, nice feeling." "And that's the guy that paid royalties for Cale? I'll listen to it. You forgot one: Beck, the Grammy boy, son of David Campbell, from Los Angeles, of course. He played the song a couple of times live, on his tour in 2002 and 2003. There is a video recording of it; Beck solo with acoustic guitar. Not bad, I tell you." "I don't doubt that for a moment. Beck is strong! By the way, you know how much Beck praised J.J. Cale in the press. "His lightness of touch, his understatement in playing and singing. This quiet and yet incredibly powerful strategy of holding back in a song - it had a strong influence on him, Beck emphasized. It's nice to hear that, isn't it?" Hartley nods and lights a new cigarette. "I think we should go to the next number." "We're already getting to the last song on the A-side of the vinyl album. See how fast it's going?" "Yeah, it's incredible, the tempo..."

Clyde

"My God, I can't possibly pass this song on the express train. Okay, it's not considered a major J.J. Cale event, but I'll never know why. If only what this song does for the dramaturgy of the album! It's the perfect antidote to 'Magnolia' - so that no one really falls asleep. But even if you look at it in isolation, the song is simply great. The lyrics; this sketch of the bass player on the porch, his old dog singing along, his wife who would like to earn a few dollars. An American short story as it is in a picture book. And the music! I'm sorry, but I really do understand a little bit of the western genre, you have to believe me, Brian. Cale's song is pushing forward in an outrageously relaxed way that few people in the history of country music can match. You know that, don't you?" "That I'm sitting here facing a stubborn man who wants to turn Cale into an impostor all the time - I'm aware of that." "Well, that's fine. Let's just let the facts speak for themselves. I recently discussed it with a group of die-hard country music experts, and the verdict was as clear as the sun over the California sky: J.J. Cale is the man who taught country music how to groove. And it was further agreed that his influence on country music was completely unjustly disregarded." "Hey, man, in the Appalachian Mountains, or in Louisiana, or in Kentucky - that's where they always used to groove. You don't have to teach them anything." "Yeah, but Cale's mixed all these different cultures into one spicy sauce; mountain music, Cajun, Bluegrass, Western Swing and so on. In a way, he brought Funk to Country music; this incredibly crisp, feathery beat. Listen to 'Clyde'; it's alien and outrageous how that song grooves." Hartley is beaming, and waving it away. "What exactly do you throw yourself into when you listen to music?" "Continue with the facts. The first established country star to whom this pioneering role is commonly attributed was the great Waylon Jennings. He is said to have ushered in a new era of funky, groovy country music with the song 'Louisiana Women' in 1974. And this song, which happens to be by J.J. Cale - from the second album 'Really'. Bingo! Waylon Jennings also interpreted his song 'Clyde' in 1980, on the album 'Music Man'. And he was very successful with it; number 7 in the US Country Charts, number 1 in Canada. So basically Cale did have a top-10 hit record in his backpack when he had to leave our world." "Definitely a cool buddy, this Waylon Jennings." "All I'm saying is that Jennings is a recognized country legend - and built on Cale's foundation. That's what he said himself when he sang about his hero J.J. Cale in the first verse of 'It's Alright' on the 1980 album. The whole verse is all about Cale and his influence on country music. And about the fact that Jennings feels a Country soul in him, even though people call it Rock'n'Roll or Blues. That says it all, Brian." "Country soul? I guess so. But the idea that Jennings built on Cale's foundation seems a bit excessive. Waylon was already on the road with Buddy Holly in the late '50s and he was already writing strong songs in the '60s. He didn't need John to get his act together. But the fact that they both admired and inspired each other, especially in the '70s, is another story." "Well, Cale did an interpretation of one of his songs, Waymore's Blues. Waylon Jennings wrote this song in 1971 and released it on the 1975 album 'Dreaming My Dreams'. Cale's interpretation came out much later on the 2007 album 'Rewind'." "Yeah, John went into the archives and dug up a lot of old stuff for that record. He's liked those Waymore's blues ever since they came out; sometime in the late seventies or early eighties he recorded them at one of those mammoth sessions at Columbia Studios in Nashville. Christine Lakeland was there, she played the acoustic guitar." "We'll come back to this album later. Let's stick with Clyde. Waylon Jennings' version from 1980 is really strong; it grooves beautifully, sounds a hundred percent country. His vocals, of course, that sonorous outlaw voice that reminds you of his friend Johnny Cash - that's different from Cale's original." "Sure, he made it his own thing. They were buddies, like I said. John, by the way, once played on a record made by Waylon's wife Jessi Colter in the late seventies. 'That's The Way A Cowboy Rocks And Rolls' or something like that. Tony Joe White was on that record. Did you know that?" "Oh no, I'm afraid not. I'll be sure to listen. But again with Clyde, if you really want to know - Cale's version blows my mind even more than Jennings'. I mean, it doesn't get any better than this. Let's be aware that the whole song basically moves on a single chord, the basic chord. A second one is still in play, but without a harmonic role, it's always just a fling. On this monotonous foundation the master now builds up so much groove and dramaturgy that it makes you dizzy; until the end there is always something new and surprising added. Beat after beat, one throw-in after the other! The two fiddlers, Buddy Spiker and Shorty Lavender, are very influential; they provide a good deal of Cajun and Bluegrass flair. But the whole rhythm section, the piano, Walter Haynes' Dobro of course - everything fits together seamlessly. And hey, Cale's guitars! Somewhere there is a rhythm guitar, the Harmony as always, picked up with a microphone. And the lead guitar, also with the Harmony, but played over the Altec desk. And finally, a couple of licks on the Gibson 335." "Hey, man, that's a compliment in store - John'll be sitting back in paradise when he hears you." Hartley lets a breath or two go by with a satisfied smile. "I guess you've had enough of the Clyde act, haven't you?" "No, I haven't. The crowning glory is yet to come: his singing! Mischievous, dirty, relaxed, sexy, all at the same time. And he tops that off by actually acting as the choir. In the second half of the song all the refined second, third and fourth voices are added, just the way country freaks love it. But there was no one in front of the vocal mic but him - these are all overdubs he sang. I am speechless." "Yeah, cool - let's use your speechlessness for a break. Some tea, some snacks? Maybe then we can make the flip side..."

"Were very nice, the snacks, thank you very much. We'll get the finishing touches before our affidavit says it's my turn to take you to dinner." "We'll see. You know how it is with oath stories in politics, hehe." "I'm warning you, Brian. So, let's get right down to the flip side of his phenomenal debut record. That is, not to put too fine a point on it, but two things are coming to mind. We talk all the time about this mysterious Harmony acoustic guitar. You mentioned that he had tweaked this instrument and stuffed it with all kinds of electronics. Can't you describe in a little bit more detail what exactly was built into it and why? I mean, he also played electric guitars; why rape this acoustic guitar into an electric guitar? The whole vibrational behavior is pretty much disturbed when you just turn your back on an acoustic instrument." Hartley sighs heavily and sips his teacup. "These are some questions, man. I know the instrument makers must hate him. John was probably a bit reckless in that respect at times; fiddling with a guitar when he felt like it, even when all reason wouldn't. But you know, even a cheap guitar can sound incredibly original when you're fiddling with it. Maybe even without hairdressing - just because it suits you. John always thought of the practical side of things; he didn't have much money at first, so he wanted to turn the Harmony into a Swiss Army knife. He wanted to use it as an acoustic, for example in songwriting, and at the same time he wanted to amplify it in all kinds of ways on stage or in the studio. So he gave it five different pickups." "Five? That's more than most electric guitars!" "Yeah. Four of the pickups were Gibson parts, two of them low impedance for direct recording. The fifth pickup came from a Sears Silvertone guitar made by Danelectro. His Harmony even had four different output jacks, three high impedance and one low impedance. If you're gonna use a penknife, use a real knife." "You can say that again. And the combination of all those different amps gave him a myriad of sound possibilities. As you can hear, his sound is unparalleled." "There are thousands of guitarists who have their own sound. By thumb I'd say - one third is the material, two thirds is the fingers." "Of course, that's how I see it. And the soul is in the two thirds." "Whatever you call it, sure. The fingers are just puppets..."

"Perfect, Brian. I can check that off the questionnaire. The next one's not really a question. It's just a little side cut." "Sounds good. Let's hear it." "I know Cale wasn't fishing for compliments. But it might be interesting for readers to know what other artists said and still say about him. I'm okay with two more of those statements, okay?" "Why don't you bring something from someone who thinks he's boring?" "Because I don't know anybody who thinks J.J. Cale's boring." "Nonsense. The people who think he's boring don't listen to his records." "All right, I'm sure there's nothing I can do about your logic. But can I still make two statements?" "Yeah, you got the green light, man." "Eric Clapton; I can't remember the exact words, but he obviously sees his idol as one of the most important artists in rock history, and he thinks that Cale has quietly embodied the greatest value his country has ever known. How does that sound?" "Yeah, I heard about that. I don't know what he means by value exactly, but it sounds kinda cool." "Okay, then, the second statement. For Neil Young, Cale was one of the greatest and most influential guitarists of the rock and roll era. Of all the guys he had ever heard, Hendrix and J.J. Cale were the best on electric guitar. Not bad, either, right?" "Well, he's right about Hendrix, but I guess Young's just trying to say he likes Cale's style. John liked Neil's style as well. Young was already doing big things in the sixties when he came to Los Angeles; with Buffalo Springfield for example, then of course the Crosby, Stills and Nash stories, and his own anyway. By the way, doesn't anybody realize how unique this guy also plays guitar?" "Oh yes, you do! And it's kind of obvious that Cale and Young admired each other. It just occurred to me that David Briggs, one of the two keyboard players on Cale's 'Naturally' album, was Neil Young's longtime friend and supporter and had already produced his first solo album for him in 1968. On the other hand, J.J. Cale was the guitarist on Neil Young's 1978 album 'Comes A Time'. But let's not get lost in the maze of music history..." Alvin is smiling and feeling in his element. "Do you know how much fun it is for me, Brian, talking to you about all this exciting stuff?"

Hartley uses his arm to find his dog's fur. As if it were a matter of passing on every stroke he gets.

Crazy Mama

"Can we skip," says the odd man, "we've already discussed, I believe." "The most important thing, yes. There are some interesting technical details, though, that Cale mentions in the guitar book. The Ace Tone drum machine is bubbling along, as I said. And the rhythm guitars, I think there were two of them - he recorded with the Harmony again. But he tuned them one tone higher so that he could still play the normal E chord. Because the key of the song is F sharp major. What do you think, Brian - why the unusual key?" "There are no unusual keys. First of all, the singing commands the key; his voice would probably have been a tad low on E major. And secondly, each key embodies very specific moods - probably something to do with the vibrations. The great composers of classical music, they knew exactly what they were doing. F sharp major is a mystical key; Bruckner, Wagner and all those guys liked to use it." "Now you amaze me. Do you think Cale really studied those aspects?" "Studying may be overstating it. But, hey, these guys weren't fools. They had plenty of time to read; there were books about this kind of stuff." "A mystical key, then. I keep seeing lights coming up." "About time, hehe." "You know what people are saying out there about Crazy Mama, on the internet for example: 'This song is a drug; you can listen to it every day, anytime - and get high on it instantly. One writes, for example, that this play is said to have led him through lonely times in the Vietnam War, in the final phase. These are clear words, and so perhaps the mystique of the key also plays a role?" The old man nods as his eyes betray that he's not indifferent. "Perhaps. But without the overdubs, the stuff wouldn't be getting in. Just listen to the bass of Carl Radle." "Solidly played, but to tell you the truth, I don't hear anything spectacular in the low frequencies." "To play to such a monotonous drum kit is the hardest job in the world. Can't you hear how loose it grooves? The magic only works because Radle had that knack. Every nuance! If he'd played one more note, emphasized it differently, or pushed the tempo even a millimeter - the magic would have been gone." "That sounds convincing, yeah. And then, of course, Mac Gayden's crazy wah-wah slide guitar; it definitely makes you stand up a few inches off the ground." "Maybe even a few feet. Mac played a Lincoln guitar, a Japanese copy of Les Paul. But he put it on his lap; Weldon Myrick, a steel guitarist from Nashville, obviously gave him the idea." "Myrick? The great pedal steeler Weldon Myrick? He was on the legendary Nashville A-Team." "Yeah, he was. The session music elite of Tennessee, these guys played for Eddy Arnold, Jim Reeves, Bob Dylan. If you know what I mean..." "The absolute cracks." "Mac Gayden and Weldon Myrick knew each other very well. They played together in a country rock band called Area Code 615. Anyway, Audie Ashworth had brought Mac Gayden into the studio, and after seven minutes, including preparations, the solo was in the can. One pass. As far as I know, Mac used this Maestro Boomerang; a wah pedal by Gibson, with a simultaneous volume function. Cool device, late '60s, these things came out." "Some say Maestro Boomerang is better than his big competitor, the Cry Baby." "It's possible. I'm not much of a wah-wah guy. Anyway, Mac set the bar pretty high with his combination of wah and slide. He was playing on a Fender Deluxe amp, by the way." "That's fantastic! And Mac Gayden was obviously really excited about this job. "Cale was extremely relaxed, inspiring him with his 'don't worry about the little things' spirit. If I remember correctly, he said that 'in a music business where everyone's trying to be hip and cool, J.J. Cale is a rare person'." "Yeah, Mac practices transcendental meditation - maybe that gave him some weird ideas, hehehe." "Well, your sense of humour is a little off, Brian. Let's have a quick look at two 'Crazy Mama' covers. One in particular is remarkable because it tips the scales in an extreme way." "You mean Larry Carlton's?" "Yes, Larry Carlton's. On his 1993 album 'Renegade Gentleman', he turns Cale's song into a powerful blues-rock number weighing tons. Magical, impressive." "It wouldn't have worked on anybody else. Larry's unbeatable." "He sure is. Well, then there's a version that's not quite so knockout. The Band's version." "Hey, you should bow down to these guys. They made rock history, whipped Dylan into shape, and gave us one of the best concert films ever." "I know all that, and I devoured Martin Scorsese's 'The Last Waltz', a wonderful film about the historic farewell concert of this band. But after a farewell concert, it's over. The original cast was ingenious - all these attempts at resuscitation later, they never convinced me. Especially Robbie Robertson is missing. In any case, the 'Crazy Mama' version sounds like a shot in the dark. Like Carlton, the guys tried to take the song into the blues-rock genre, but with moderate success." Hartley shakes his head. "It's a matter of taste. Jim Weider's slide guitar is definitely strong. The man is no greenhorn, has played with Scotty Moore, or Los Lobos, Doctor John, Taj Mahal, Paul Butterfield and such guys. Hey, Alvin, I don't know why you suddenly feel a lack of respect now." "No, no, it's not like that, honest! I just don't really like that version." "Yeah, well, you can't force it." "By the way, the Rolling Stones stole Cale's song titles for the album 'Black And Blue' four years later - never bothered him?" "I don't get it now, sorry. John didn't invent the term 'Crazy Mama', did he?" "That's true, of course. And the Stones didn't copy the song in any way; their song is the complete opposite. The lyrics alone - while Cale sings about the feeling of longing, Jagger screams an occult story into the microphone." "Two pair of shoes, man."

Nowhere To Run

Hartley's eyes betray his impatience. "Can we skip safely." "Well, I don't know. Sure, the song didn't become a J.J. Cale classic. "But I mean, what's going on is rhythm and blues, funk and pop, all in one. It's a perfect contrast to the previous number. Unbelievably driving and positive, densely arranged, the hot rhythm section, the brass - everything pure joy!" "Yeah, pure joy."

After Midnight

"Here, even I think we have already discussed the most important thing. All that remains is to say that once again his Harmony was in play; for the rhythm via the microphone, and for the lead guitar via the Fender Pro amp." Hartley smiles happily. "Yeah, and the few conga effects in between - that was John. He was drumming on the frame of the Harmony while we were recording." "That's crazy. Anyway, his plan worked out perfectly; with this version he was miles away from that Clapton version. However, Clapton didn't waste much time and approached this slow version again - on January 13, 1973, at the legendary concert at the Rainbow Theatre in London. That was released as a live record in the same year. Always one step behind, the man, it seems." "Hey, still mad at him? Eric played a bit slower on this recording, yes, but that has little to do with John's version. So I think this live record is strong." "A fine album, no doubt."

River Runs Deep

Alvin's voice sounds like he wants to talk about a holy grail. "Here's my favorite song from the album. Only I don't know where to start." "No problem; let's just go to the next one or the last one." "Are you crazy? This song changed the world, and I'll tell you why right now." "Yeah, it didn't just change the blue planet, it changed the whole solar system. If you don't tell me right now what you just popped, dinner is really on you. And you're gonna regret it, because I know a really expensive place." "Brian, it'll be my treat. However, in a completely sober and focused manner, I would like to point out that this song may have been one of the most important in the history of the laid- back universe of which J.J. Cale was the creator. A music critic, I think from Russia, once put it like this: 'If River Runs Deep doesn't give you neck hair, you're definitely not a Cale fan'." "Hey, can someone else say the Russians are in a bad mood?" "Anyway, this song is hypnotic. The master creates this incredible, shivering atmosphere only with his guitars; and of course with his singing, with this icy cold story he tells. Carl Radle plays the bass, and there's also this rather monotonous conga rhythm. Say, isn't that from a drum machine again? I thought it was only used on 'Call Me The Breeze' and 'Crazy Mama'." "Of course it was the Ace Tone machine, some kind of bossa groove. There's some Latin stuff in the box." "In itself, this bossa rhythm sounds pretty cheap, but the crazy thing is that it fits perfectly into the song, giving it that tranquil, trance-like feel. Unbelievable! But what jumps into your ears is the amazing parallel to Mark Knopfler. This song is the final proof of how strongly the Brit was influenced by Cale a few years later. His 'Six Blade Knife' embodies exactly the same mood, similar to 'Water Of Love', which incidentally happens to have some Deep River lyrics in it. His guitar playing, his singing, every note has Cale's genes. Almost even more striking in the song 'Follow Me Home' from Dire Straits' second album from 1979 - there you can even hear the same conga rhythm. Frightening, this closeness. Mark Knopfler must have been bewitched by this music; there's no other explanation for it. Even his chicken picking, those distinctive staccato trills with which he gained world fame as a guitarist - you can hear the model for this in this Cale song here, at the very end, when fading out. That's really creepy." "You've gotta explain it to me, man." "Mark Knopfler created his own laid-back universe during his career, making millions of people happy. But without J.J. Cale, this probably never would have happened. You know what I mean? A lot of Knopfler fans aren't aware of this - Cale had shown their god the way." "You're way too religious. It's like being in a church pew." "OK, it all sounds pretty dramatic, I admit. I just can't imagine that Cale wasn't irritated or even annoyed by it at first. But let's not do this. We'll talk about his relationship with Knopfler later on; after all, they didn't actually meet in person until the 1980s. Let's stay a moment longer with this eerie song here, with the story about the woman who allegedly drowned in the river. Did she have to die because she cheated on John?" "They're metaphors; there are hundreds of old folk songs with images like that When you lose the love of your life, you have to dive down into those icy depths - and possibly kill something there. so that you can go on living." "Very well explained; I imagined it to be something like that. In any case, this song goes through my bones, and it still has an incredibly calming effect. A masterpiece! By the way, I just discovered a few days ago that the song is part of the soundtrack of a film; 'Fortapàsc', by Marco Risi. An Italian story about the death of the journalist Giancarlo Siani." "A Mafia story, yeah; was, I believe, launched in 2009. Flushed a few dollars in John's till again, hehe. Should we celebrate tonight - gourmet joint, my treat." "No way, Brian."

Bringing It Back

"Another perfect change of pace! A fast-paced, atmospheric number, once again with a wonderful brass arrangement, and in the bridge he sings this fiery Mexico phrase, with Ed Colis' bluesy harmonica calls in response. Speaking of Ed Colis, didn't he also play on certain Elvis recordings, sometime in the seventies?" "He did, yeah." "I was almost certain. But let's stick with Cale's play. That fade-in at the beginning, that's kind of unusual; you don't hear that very often." Hartley smiles. "A fade-in intro, why not? If you really want to know - they'd messed up something at the beginning of the recording, so there was only this solution." "It was clever. Feels really good, actually; the song comes out of nowhere slowly." "You see how Bob Holmes arranged the horns? John loved that sort of thing; apparently he just told Bob to pay attention to the guitar riff and make something out of it. I always thought that unison groove, when everybody's playing the same thing, including the piano here, was cool." "And the shaker, it's so loud that it does more than half the job in the groove. You can hear it every now and then in his songs." "If you're gonna do the shaker, do it right," Hartley whispers. "If he goes down in the sauce, he's not for anything." "This hot rhythm guitar is once again the 1962 Gibson 335." "Looks like it, yeah. If you can't play jazz, at least you need a guitar that sounds like jazz." "J.J. Cale's cut-down version of playing jazz, I prefer it to all the scale tempo playing in the world. Say, Brian, those lyrics - they're pretty tough. I know a lot of people who wonder who or what exactly could be meant. Is this a story from Cale's time in Los Angeles? Was he in prison himself? Or any of his Tulsa pals? Why's that? What was smuggled over the border from Mexico? A young woman, maybe? Or grass? Booze? Or is it all just symbolic again? "I got caught with too much soul." The old man lights a cigarette, takes one or two relaxing strokes - and waves goodbye. "When you start talking about your lyrics as a songwriter, you're lost." "I know. Songs are written so that everyone can make their own movie. Before we move on to the next song, I'd like to point out that 'Bringing It Back' is also available on a soundtrack in an extended version. A French movie this time, from 1983; 'La femme de mon pote', here in America it was called 'My Best Friend's Girl'. It features a legendary and now deceased French humorist - a certain Coluche. Have you seen this film?" "Sure I've seen it. There are Cale songs all over the soundtrack; 'City Girls', 'Mona', 'Ride Me High', 'Magnolia' and more. There's some really die-hard fans in France. Not the movie of the century, but pretty funny. And you know what? They rented all those J.J. Cale songs for the movie - so that we could blow my money tonight in honour of John, order an expensive aperitif drink from the distinguished waiter and toast it. When do we go? I'm hungry!" "I'm hungry, too, Brian, but it's not gonna be the same with the money. And we should also mention that one of the most famous progressive rock bands covered this 'Bringing It Back' on their successful debut album from 1974." "You mean Kansas, the 'Dust In The Wind' guys. All the more reason to kick ass tonight, my ass." "We'll see. If you're planning on paying our bill in honor of this Kansas version of yourself, I'd rather not. She sounds pretty strange to me; hyper-rapid and loud, the exact opposite of J.J. Cale." "It's a matter of taste, man, as always."

Crying Eyes

"One litter to end!" Alvin's face radiates that 'oh my God' light again; usually a reliable sign that he's ready to take off. "Timeless, absolutely timeless was our master! The piece has lost none of its impact over the decades." Now it looks like Alvin's spirit is leaving the runway. "His music unites generations! Young people are constantly joining in, rediscovering the song for themselves. Just listen to them raving on the Internet: 'One of the most intense songs about dog days, about the depressive veil that covers you when love is lost'. People are deeply touched; for example, someone else describes how this song brought him comfort and peace after the loss of his sister. Tell me, Brian, doesn't that kind of stuff just get under your skin?" Hartley puts on this 'the next moment I'll get you down gently' face and mumbles: "Yeah, the destination is under your skin - do you know another musical destination? The lyrics of this number, by the way, should make you think." "Um, what do you mean?" "You're looking at it; read it carefully. About the tears John sings there, and about their consequences. Well? What does that mean for us right now?" "I still don't understand. I'm sorry." "Tears blind us. Or in other words, if old Hartley starts crying now, we'll never find our way to the restaurant. My car doesn't have automatic pilot, hehe." "Oh, well, I see. Now I get the point. It's typical that you also immediately flee into self-irony again; that's what Cale does in the song when he suddenly warbles 'Cha-Cha-Cha' into the microphone at the end of the guitar solo. To keep the whole thing from getting too serious?" "You need humor in any situation." "You're right. Let's talk about the technical details of the recording. Apparently it's another Latino rhythm from his Ace Tone machine; after all, the song is from the first four-track session, you can tell by the stereo distribution. At the very beginning of the recording you can even hear John breathing in and out. No 'clean erasing' of the tracks, as they are called today?" "Do I know that? Maybe the guys were too lazy, forgot this fader when they were mixing - or wanted to leave it on so it would sound like at home on the porch." "It's really good, it feels almost like those field recordings that Alan Lomax did with the old bluesmen. Cale's guitar was obviously tuned back to F sharp, you can read about it in the song book." "Yes, and on the piano he played only the black keys. In the key of F sharp that's cool - you get this China effect." "Awesome! And the wonderful guitar interjections are different overdubs?" "Yeah, with the Harmony and with the Gibson." Hartley's got a hand gesture that looks a little impatient. "Are we done for the day? I think it's all said on this record." "Everything? No way! But with the realization that his song leaves the listener in a cloud of peaceful and comforting feelings at the end, we can safely close the circle." "That sounds good, man." "Yeah, but a few minutes doesn't really matter anymore. I'd like to talk very briefly about what happened in the time it took for the follow-up record to come out. Really' became a topic very soon; in April 1972 the studio recordings began, in October the first single 'Lies' was released, and at the end of December his second album entered the charts - and reached position 140. Was there at least some time for the master to recover in between?" "Time? It would have been nice. As soon as 'Naturally' was in the shops, Cordell insisted that they go on tour. That's the music business. You gotta get out there on stage. Preferably as an opener for established acts, so the risk is small. Cale opened for some rock bands; Black Oak Arkansas for example, or Quicksilver Messenger Service - pretty crazy guys from San Francisco. Must have been pretty exhausting. For a few days off, John would fly back to Tulsa each time to get some rest. Once he is said to have said to Audie Ashworth, 'I'm not going to be a star - just send the money and let the boys become famous'. But Ashworth did not let up. The debut record had caused too much dust, and the only answer in the minds of business people is to step on it even more." "It's understandable. You gotta keep the fire going and make sure it doesn't go out again." "You'd make a great label man." "I heard Mac Gayden was on that tour." "If there's good people in the band, you can take anything. John and Mac motivated each other. One night they were in Baton Rouge as openers for the Black Oak Arkansas guys; the young crowd started booing Cale and his band and even throwing bottles at them. Mac and John then simply turned up the guitar amps until the crates tugged hard. It worked, hehe." "Yeah, I know that story. The next day was Mardi Gras; they were playing at the Warehouse in New Orleans for Quicksilver Messenger Service - and J.J. Cale sat on a stool with his back to the crowd, just in case." "Yeah, but he didn't have to, cos there was no bottles flying that night." The weird guy laughs and gets up and says "Come on, let's go eat. If hunger continues to gain ground, I'll just bottle..."

∞

"You know what our job is today," says Hartley as he pours coffee. "Oh, is there anything else to do in the field? If I can be of any help, with my two left hands, I'd love to." "Funny man. There are endless things to do on the estate. Same with the house - the Queen returns in two days; you know what that means: We blew my money yesterday at the Spunten, I can't afford cleaning staff. But our real problem is something else, something bigger." "You'll have to explain that to me, Brian." "The math is pretty simple, man. Thursday, day four. Tomorrow night is the end. Saturday, Mary comes back. Two and a half dozen albums - so far, we've got one on dry land. Great record, haha. Doesn't seem to be stressing you out. Laid- back's cool, man, but you can fall on your face when you do." "It's gonna be close, I know," says Alvin, nervously digging through his suitcase and finally putting the record he's looking for on the table. "We'll make it, I'm sure we will..." "Humor is not wrong. But I'll tell you now how we're going to make it happen for REALLY. From now on, we're going to tighten the story. No more debates about every song and every note; we're going to make it tighter. Only the most important things! For example, the overall impression of a record, maybe one or two of your favorite songs from each album. Or just the few successful songs of his career; you can count them on one hand. If we keep this up and don't keep talking about unnecessary things, we'll be there by tonight - and tomorrow you'll help me clean up the whole place. Is that okay with you?" "We'll tighten things up, of course. But we can't rush past all these albums that fast; they're Cale's life's work and they're just too great. The fact that only a few songs are supposed to have been really successful - is of course again one of those nonsensical claims that are growing on the breeding ground of a morbid modesty." "The prospect of the Hartley here having to vacuum alone at the end of the day is not good humour. There is only one solution, and that is to step on it. A quick rundown on the key points of the second album and then a sentence or two about what you like about the record. If there's anything to tell." "Easy, Brian, there's a lot to tell."

REALLY (1972)

"You know what, Alvin?" The old man's features suggest he's got an idea brewing inside him that he finds highly interesting. "We're going to turn this whole story around Isn't that what you journalists are usually after? A good record review must mercilessly point out the sore spots, right? Let's do the same here, instead of just twirling this puff piece." "To be honest, I'm a bit overwhelmed. I don't want to make up something bad about his second album." "What if the boss in the newsroom gives you a job tearing up the Cale record? Commissioned work - good writers can do that." "Okay, I would try to find out what you could find bad, depending on your perspective, and I would ask how and why other people have already criticized the album." "Sounds good, man. Go ahead; you find people like that in a multipack. But remember our rule: big arch, a few sentences, straight to the point." Alvin ponders with focus, almost regretting quitting smoking years ago. "Well, I'd say that the album 'Really' could have two weaknesses; and this word is almost driving me crazy, it seems so exaggerated to me. Both points have something to do with the opening number. I don't know how to put it, but it's almost as if 'Lies' is going down the wrong road." Hartley seems positively surprised. "You mean 'Read' is living up to its title - lying to the turntable." "I love your puns. Let me explain how I meant it. The first point concerns the recording technique, the sound, the way it's produced. If you have the debut album in your ears and then you hear the first bars of the second record, you're instantly surprised. 'Lies' strikes completely different tones. The piece comes across more modern and powerful, arranged in a bigger way. No longer that intimate fireplace atmosphere; J.J. Cale now performs in a big band dress. Powerful drums, brass, choral singing, expressive funk and blues guitar. The whole sound is wider, the room bigger. And as a real surprise, even his singing adapts to this higher volume. Cale actually sings here somehow changed; less modest, no more whispers, in some places even downright cheeky and with conviction. All in all, one has the impression of listening to a formidable Rhythm'n'Blues band - and no longer to this lonely troubadour. That's a clear statement - but in the end it's a wrong track, because this sound doesn't run through the whole album as expected. Most of the other songs are again the pure opposite; intimate, simple, quiet, a completely different sound. You can basically feel that they worked in different studios and in different ways. If you don't like such contrasts, you can shout with reasonably good reasons: There's a certain unity missing, now only in terms of sound. We'll talk about the style in the second point." "You see, it's not that difficult. So at least we have something to discuss. And now I suppose you want an answer to that - or worse, an explanation." "Either way, it might be interesting to know why J.J. Cale didn't work like everybody else. I mean, the normal case is that you write songs, arrange them, rehearse with the band, finally rent a studio for a certain time and produce the record there. There doesn't seem to have been a clear concept at Cale; the different stages were constantly mixing, depending on the song. And with 'Really', for example, there were four or five recording studios and twenty-seven musicians involved at the end." "Yeah, John loved recording studios, you know. "Every one of those studios has its sound, its history, its soul. For him it was probably like travelling - visiting different cities or just different studios. It was the same with musicians, there were so many of them who were really good and they were all different. John couldn't paint a picture with a single brush, or he didn't want to. And they even had a bit of money for 'Really'; why shouldn't he have had the luxury?" "Completely agree with you. However, he could have invested the money in renting a certain studio to produce everything in the same place and with the same people." "He could have, yes. But it gets quite complicated; you have to book them in advance, and then everyone has only a certain amount of time available again. If you want to do something like that, everything has to be ready: the songs, the arrangements, the musicians, the release date. Tastes like a master plan - I guess that wasn't his thing. Sure, if you just book a studio for half a year, exclusively, then all problems are solved, but the guys didnŽt have that much money. But they had the Joker with Shelter; they were easy going, not like the big labels. There was never a release date - his records came out as soon as they were finished. Only Audie Ashworth sometimes made a bit of a fuss when he came back every year with the same number: 'We need a new album', John would ask him: 'Was there something wrong with the last record? He just grinned and said, "John, we need new songs, the journey must go on. Well, maybe it was the Shelter boys who put the pressure on; Audie just had to take the rap. But if you know how it is in business - they were all very nice and patient, hehe." "Well, John's lucky, and I don't begrudge him that." "He was probably still under enough stress Once 'Naturally' was up and running, he had to be back with another dozen songs. Hey, it had taken John thirty years to collect stories for his first record - now he had to deliver the same in a couple of weeks. There were still a few ideas on the reserve bench, but to quickly come up with a whole album from scratch tasted like work. Sure, people kept sending him demos and hoping that their songs would end up on a J.J. Cale album. But they never did - because John couldn't sing that stuff. His vocal range is three tones, he once said self-ironically. Some songs were too complicated anyway; you probably heard that they were written for the songwriter and not for the listeners. John wanted to do simple things, and for that he needed his own little niche. He had to write the songs himself." "And when he went into the studio, were all the songs ready and arranged?" "No. He took a sackful of ideas with him that were far from cooked. Sometimes he had ideas about arrangements in the back of his mind, but most of the time it was different. Usually he'd construct the framework with his guitars and then everything was open. The song was created bit by bit, without a blueprint. John was always open to any direction. When you work like that, you can't finish everything in one piece in the same studio. He stayed for a day or two, took the tapes under his arm and continued in the next pad. Or his own place." "He started the 'Really' recordings in Nashville at the Quadrafonic Studio, right?" "Well, not quite; they were at Bradley's Barn one day before that, April 4, 1972. Two days later they went to Quadrafonic, and the day after that they went to Sheffield, Alabama. First to the Quinvy Studio on Broadway Street, and the day after that to the Muscle Shoals booth, a couple hundred yards over there." Alvin makes the usual big kiddy eyes. "Wow! At Quinvy, they recorded Percy Sledge's song of the century, 'When A Man Loves A Woman'. And let's not even mention the Muscle Shoals Studios, the people who went in and out, Dylan, the Stones, Willie Nelson." "Remember Paul Simon. And Rod Stewart, one of those voices that, for once, shouldn't be mixed too softly." "And J.J. Cale! Muscle Shoals Sound Studio recorded the song 'Lies'. How do you think it felt to be in that sacred hall?" "Yeah, the guys there must have been great; they were all cracks. With musicians like that you can hardly breathe out and it's all over. In the summer, we went back to Nashville and spent another two or three days with Bradley and Moss Rose Studio to finish the record." "Five different studios - so that's why the album doesn't have that absolutely consistent sound." "Maybe, yeah. It's the songs, too. Everybody's different. But John did most of the mixing himself, along with Audie." "There's the familiar story of the two of them looking at each other's fingers." "That's the one. John and Audie were both sitting in front of the console, and each prevented the other from moving the fader. We're just talking about the vocal track, of course; Audie wanted to keep the voice up and John wanted to shut it down." "Apparently John won the power struggle; half the world has since wished that J.J. Cale's wonderful voice had been mixed a little louder. Just a little bit louder..." "Ha ha, there's that cooking story again," the strange man calls with a grin. "Just a little bit more on the plate, and people have enough. It's just not clever. But it depends on the voice, there are some that get better if you push them forward. Rod Stewart's, for example. Not J.J. Cale's. And another thing - when the voice is at the back, people reflexively concentrate on the music, immerse themselves in it, instead of just letting it flow." "Well, that sounds like a concept to me. Nashville, of all places; Cale must've been swimming against the current there." "Yeah, I'll say. They're going for the vocals and building the rest around the voice. Kind of like the French in their chanson tradition."

"With your permission, Brian; we're still taking the desired critical look at his second album. The other point I wanted to make is perhaps due to this aspect, to his voice mixed in the cellar. I was talking about the opening song; there is a lot of pressure on 'Lies', the voice is more or less present. And then, right at the second song - the break in style. You get the impression that the rest of the record is a continuation of 'Naturally', so to speak, and that it's back on the laid-back map. Maybe even more extreme, because sometimes the whispering voice is mixed so far into the background that you get the impression that Cale wants to let people starve on purpose. For example, with 'Going Down' or 'Changes'. Don't get me wrong; I really like these songs - but I think they really break world records in the discipline of lowest vocal volume. Didn't he exaggerate a bit?" "Sometimes you have to exaggerate. Otherwise, would we be talking about this right here and now? Seriously, I think the volume is just right. Those who want to and those who listen closely will understand every word. If you only play the disc in the next room, for ambience, the music is more important." "You're right, of course, but it's still brave. However, critics claim that the laid-back excess is not only due to his voice, but also to the tempo of the songs. 'Lies' is actually already the fastest number on the whole record." "It's misleading. If You're Ever In Oklahoma' and 'Playing In The Street' are objectively measured much faster than 'Lies'; listen to how they go. People confuse volume, tempo and stress. A number can have a lot of traction and still not be stressful; because it's played loosely, and because it doesn't brag about volume. The good country boys, the old country boys anyway - they can do it. They're going full throttle, but you never get the feeling they're playing one note too many." "Wow, now I've learned something again!" "You see - buttering me up is cool, but the only real brains are the critical eyes." "Um, there's something about that, Brian." Alvin looks for the thread for a moment. "As always, you've come up with the perfect catchphrase: Country. There are two real country legends on these two songs, Josh Graves and Vassar Clements. What was it like for Cale, working with people like that?" Hartley eyes light up. "What was it like? I think John once said it was one of the better moments in his life or something. He was a big bluegrass fan; Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs had been his heroes in the past. Josh Graves used to play all that Dobro stuff on Flatt & Scruggs, and now the guy was suddenly in John's studio, at Bradley's Barn." "Wow! Uncle Josh Graves, as they called him; he was sort of the father of the lapsteel dobro in bluegrass." "Exactly. And Vassar Clements they called the Father of Hillbilly Jazz, to John he was simply the Bluegrass Fiddle King. And now these two cracks were in the Bradley joint, you know? Josh and Vassar were so good that John hardly dared to play himself anymore - because he just didn't want to miss a single note from them. Just like Buddy Emmons." "Buddy Emmons, the pedal-steel king. He played on Cale's 'Troubadour' record, 1976; we'll talk about that later. But you know what - on 'If You're Ever In Oklahoma', I don't necessarily get the impression that our master couldn't keep up. The way Cale hammers the rhythm into the strings is unbelievable. And it's a perfect electric guitar to go with the bluegrass." "If you're gonna be in a boat with guys like this, you gotta row with them." Hartley thoughtfully tugs on his cigarette. "They've both gone, and it's been almost ten years now. Fine fellows. You know, Alvin, I love bluegrass, too." "Oh, so do I. Anyway, I can imagine that J.J. Cale never forgot that recording session. And there was a third country star in the boat with the song 'Ridin' Home'." "Yeah, Charlie McCoy. He was the crack man in Nashville. He played with Elvis, Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison. Of course, people talk about his harmonica, but this guy can play almost anything this music needs. Any instrument." "McCoy was even inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. His short harp solo is really gold in this song about train travel. And all the rest of it, including the bass and piano, Cale recorded it himself, by the way. Another one of his wonderful solitary songs. Even the drums are his, it says in the credits. Ridin' Home "Ha-ha, he's got that Ace Tone thing going again." "And nobody in the world is bothered by that. This whole song couldn't be more earthy." "Yeah, you don't usually do songs in the hope that people will be bothered by them." "That would be pretty hopeless at Cale anyway. I'm noticing that his music has almost no polarization. Some people worship it almost unconditionally. You hear this statement over and over again: If you love one J.J. Cale song or album, you love them all. Many fans think that he simply couldn't write a bad song." "And the others?" "They ignore him. But nobody cares about him; most people don't know him anyway." "Perfect. Because there were enough who found him boring - he had his peace," Hartley murmurs with a satisfied grin.

"Still, good things should be spread, that's why we have this book. I would like to talk about the opening number again, about 'Read'. For certain fans it is one of his best songs. Really incredible how he grooves. The drums, for example, are awesome." "Hey, that's Roger Hawkins. He's got it." "He was part of the legendary Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section." "Yeah. The Swampers of Alabama, they called them." "If you look at the list of century songs that this man played drums on, you get dizzy. 'When A Man Loves A Woman' by Percy Sledge, 'Respect' by Aretha Franklin, 'Mustang Sally' by Wilson Pickett. The list is endless; Hawkins has played with The Staple Singers, Cat Stevens, Duane Allman, Joe Cocker, Paul Simon, Bob Seger, Rod Stewart, Albert King, Willie Nelson..." Hartley nods. "Together with Jimmy Johnson he founded the Muscle Shoals Sound Studio in 1969. Bassist David Hood and keyboardist Barry Beckett joined them - together they were unbeatable." "This whole rhythm section was used on 'Lies'?" "Yes. Hawkins and Beckett also produced Canned Heat stuff, like the album 'One More River To Cross'. 1973, if I'm right." "We're actually writing a book about J.J. Cale, Brian, not all the others." "I know what you're talking about. But people need to know what this guy Hawkins is capable of. If you don't tell them, I'm gonna be doing all the talking, heh. Hawkins was working with Eric later on, as I'm sure you know." "Yeah, on Eric Clapton's 1983 album, 'Money And Cigarettes'. A strong record, there were two other string wizards - Albert Lee and Ry Cooder. Did Clapton go through Cale on Roger Hawkins?" "No. Eric and Roger had known each other for a long time; they met in the late sixties when they both played at an Aretha Franklin session." "Oh yeah? On their 1968 album, 'Lady Soul'? Jimmy Johnson was also on that record - the fantastic guitarist who contributed the rhythm guitar here on 'Lies'. Can you hear how it grooves? A fantastic guitarist; played so hot and to the point." "Yeah, funky. Johnson played a Fender, probably a Telecaster. His favourite instrument, the Gretsch 6120, didn't seem to fit in here. Listen to him squatting on Barry Beckett's electric piano with millimetre precision." "Oh, yeah. Awesome. By the way, the eternal keyboarder's big question - did Beckett play a Fender Rhodes or a Wurlitzer here?" "I'm not a keyboard player, man. But I think it was a Wurlitzer, bony and grumpy as they come. Anyway, those two were one - all four Swampers were one. Groove kings! Jimmy's cool. Impressive boy." "Jimmy Johnson and J.J. Cale are obviously sick in the same understatement hospital. Johnson once said that he was just dumb lucky. That could have been Cale's line. In any case, Johnson is incredibly multi-talented; a brilliant session guitarist - and at the same time studio magician, sound engineer, producer, publisher. Each of these facets with great success. His whole background sounds like American pop music history itself." "You've done your research, as usual, man - but you're not wrong. The list of all the records with Johnson alone fills a book; you better not bring Jimmy's discography here or we'll run out of printing costs." "Don't worry. But we can mention that he was on 'When A Man Loves A Woman' and 'Respect', just like Hawkins. Or that he produced, among other things, the early Lynyrd Skynyrd. And, of course, the story of the Rolling Stones at Muscle Shoals Sound Studio for the 'Sticky Fingers' album. "Of course, Stones always sounds good and important - you have to do it, right?" "What do you mean, Brian?" "I just felt like making a rhyme, that's all." "I don't believe you. You felt like taking a shot." "People have to think your book is important and historic. So we have to put in good names. We've talked about that, hehe." "It's okay, we understand each other. The 'Sticky Fingers' album made history, no matter what sexist clichés the cover may cater to." "Hehe, the penis story was created by Andy Warhol, the Stones are said to have cost £15,000." "He wasn't exactly a nobody, Warhol. I don't think £15,000 is rude." The old man's smiling very clearly. "Yeah, at least the price of the record cover wasn't insolent. But the important thing is we talked about it, hehe. And Warhol doesn't sound so bad either - he's got to be in the book. The guy even produced music - not the master, but at least his namesake." "He produced the other John Cale, the one from the Velvet Underground group. But now you're the time-waster, Brian. We should move on." "Sure. Where were we?" "Um, Jimmy Johnson, and this Stones album that he's supposed to have been involved with - sound engineer, co- producer or something." "Or something, yeah. 1969, he recorded three songs for the record. 'Brown Sugar', 'Wild Horses' and the Fred McDowell song 'You Gotta Move'. Wasn't really the plan, but Stones producer Jimmy Miller didn't make it into Muscle Shoals - so Johnson played the boss and sat down at the mixing desk. Apparently it got on his nerves, he once told me; the Stones were not in a good mood at the beginning. Every recording person knows how it is: Sometimes nobody talks to you for hours in the control room as if you were air. But when it comes down to it, everyone counts on you to have the tape machine running at the right second." "And later, nobody talks about the person who kept the machine running. But let's get back to J.J. Cale's album. The crowning glory of 'Lies' is without a doubt his lead guitar, except for the vocals, of course." "Vocals, lead guitar and even the brass section were later recorded by the boys at Bradley's in Nashville." "And now I just gotta change the plane real quick, Brian, or rather the universe. I mean, we were just talking about the Stones - and now, with all due respect, we have to get in the spaceship and jet off. Cale's guitar here, because it's definitely from another star. We agree on that, don't we?" "Is there gonna be another truckload of honey for Cale? Mick Taylor was in the boat with 'Sticky Fingers', and Ry Cooder. They're in the Champions League, the boys." "Well, they were guest musicians. ...but this 'Lies' solo, that's unparalleled. Blues guitar at its finest. It screams, sings and rocks, virtuoso and yet not pompous, rat sharp and always at a safe distance from exaggeration. And this sound! By the way, what kind of guitar was that? Don't get me started on the Harmony again - you can't play on an acoustic like that." "I'm sorry." Hartley laughs gloating. "It was the Harmony. John played it over an old Fender Bassman with four 10-inch speakers; they turned it up pretty high and placed the microphone, a Neumann U-87, about six feet from the amp. That gave a nice amount of air and space." "Sounds fantastic! And the intensity of the attack - did he get that with just his bare fingers?" "No, John played with a pick for a change." "It's all clear now. It's definitely a solo you can't get enough of." The old man is smiling. "Your honey, however, will more than fill a man's stomach." "One may proclaim the truth. We've talked about his singing, including the hot backing vocals of this certain Joanne Sweeney, an unknown singer. Let's take a quick look at the lyrics to this song." "Same old story; we won't have to analyse it too long." "Objection! Of course, an old story, almost archetypal. Being betrayed and deceived, losing love - themes often found in his songs. But J.J. Cale had a very special way of telling it. It comes across as airy, with this certain c'est la vie tone. A bit ironic, sometimes almost cynical, but still sensitive and always uplifting. It's not the text alone; it's the music, the whole mood. As if he wanted to say: 'Okay, not the first time I've been burned - is part of life. Let's wipe it off so the train keeps rolling.' You can't explain it exactly, but his songs are comfort and motivation at the same time. Because they save us from drowning in self-pity in a very elegant way. I think a lot of Cale fans feel that way." The strange man pours coffee with no apparent emotion. "Another sip before it's cold?" "Yeah, I'd love some." Alvin is rattled. It's possible he just got his analysis all wrong. "Hey, man, don't look so offended. I've gotten into the habit of keeping quiet when there's nothing clever to add." "Does that mean you can more or less identify with my thoughts?" "Yeah. You say yes - it can't be explained; then let people have their own film." "Good idea. But if you don't agree with my analysis, you have to tell me." He smiles. "No worry. I'll be in touch if you say something stupid."

Alvin digs into his notes and finally shows up excited. "'Read,' I guess we can check that off. Let's just skip ahead to the second number." "I thought we had a deal, buddy. We tighten our moth, right? Let's make this record exactly one more song, just for a few seconds. You can pick one." "Brian, that's mean! "But okay, if I really have one more song to give. One thing we have to mention though - that 'Lies' was a huge hit as a single, with 'Ridin' Home' on the back. In October 1972 it was released in the USA, as I said; for eight weeks it was in the Billboard Top-100, and on December 2nd it finally reached the second best chart position in Cale's career: 42nd place, just like 'After Midnight'. Not bad, huh?" "Shelter did a good job. During the year, they released singles all over Europe and even in Japan, starting with their debut album. In January 1973, 'Lies' was released in the UK, but didn't do too well." "In any case, this was the concentrated effort required to promote his music worldwide. The plan worked and that must have given him a lot of confidence. After all the relative false starts of the sixties, he finally got the recognition he deserved - and probably also some money and future prospects." "Yeah, cool, the Cale fairy tale, so to speak. So when are you gonna come up with that second and final song?" "Okay, it's 'Changes'." "I thought so. Recorded April 6 at Quadrafonic Sound Studio in Nashville. Norbert Putnam on bass, Farrell Morris on congas, no Ace Ton history for a change, ha-ha, Bobby Woods on piano, and the guitar chords with Cale's Harmony over the microphone. The lead guitar then again as overdub with Bradley, with the Harmony played directly into the Altec tube console. Okay, I think we got it. Moving on to the next album?" "You're not gonna get off that easy, Brian. I mean, just the whole thing. The 'Quad' studio, for example, as people call it, is another place where music history was made. You gotta let it melt in your mouth." "You'd better make a second book, about the recording studios of America." "This one is really something special. David Briggs and Norbert Putnam had founded this studio a year earlier. By the way, both of them look familiar to me; Briggs played keyboard on 'Naturally', and Putnam plucked the bass here on 'Changes' and other songs. Everything somehow connected, right? Did Audie Ashworth actually find these people?" "He did; Audie knew the scene better than the back of his hand." "The quad studio recorded century albums; Neil Young's Harvest, legendary Joan Baez, or Jimmy Buffett's famous hit Margaritaville. What do you think, do you actually feel a kind of spirit when you enter such rooms?" "You know, visiting studios is like visiting cities. Of course you can feel something if your antenna is off. But I think you have to sort out the music yourself. No spirit can help." "J.J. Cale has done a masterful job. And that bass player, Norbert Putnam, he's obviously quite a well-known name." "Yeah, in the '60s he was part of the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section. Do you know that Norbert opened as a session musician with some band the night The Beatles first played in the US in 1964, in Washington/DC?" "Oh! No, I didn't know that. You think we need to mention some big names again?" He smiles. "After Putnam moved to Nashville, he played a thousand songs; Elvis Presley, Ray Charles, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton, George Harrison, Linda Ronstadt, Tony Joe White. Then in the '70s, he started producing; Joan Baez and Dan Fogelberg, for example." "Wow! And Farrell Morris, this percussionist who was on Changes?" "Also a very special guy. Popular guy in Nashville; played on albums by Kris Kristofferson, Johnny Cash, George Jones or Dolly Parton. Farrell was known for unusual ideas and grooves. Drums, vibes, glockenspiels, all kinds of crazy stuff." "And then, of course, there's the wonderful piano by Bobby Wood." "A crack. The boy played on some of the most important soul and country records ever released; Elvis Presley, Dusty Springfield, Wilson Pickett. He was on the A-Team in Nashville. Bobby later began writing his own songs; his biggest hit was probably 'Still Thinkin' About You' for Billy Craddock. "He did a lot of stuff for Garth Brooks in the '90s." "So again, it was quite a glorious gathering of people who came together to record Cale's beautiful number." "Yeah, John must have enjoyed working with these guys." "You can hear that on this recording! The song sneaks up on you with a fade-in, drifts forward and at the same time exudes a melancholy calm that makes you want to cry. His singing is wailing, tender, haunting and yet completely unobtrusive. There is nothing comparable in this world. And the lead guitar, what can one say; it paves its way into the ear canals so sensitively and elegantly. I imagine what Mark Knopfler must have felt when he first heard those notes." "Why don't you write a book about him, man?" "Oh, I think others will. Maybe Knopfler will even find time to write it himself; after all, he used to be a journalist. But before we go on to the next album, Brian, let me ask you a quick question: This soft, gentle singing that Cale was famous for - what do you think it's possible to do on stage?" The old man's sigh reveals that he does not find this question overly exciting. "John just sang. What exactly was he supposed to 'realise'?" "The only thing I notice when I look at concert videos of him is that sometimes that joker didn't really come into his own on stage. You get the impression from his records that he's whispering in your ear, you can hear him breathing. Live, his voice often seemed to go down a bit, and that magic effect of doubling was missing." "You're not wrong. The spell worked best when John could sing softly. Live, that's tricky, especially if you have to party. It's technically difficult; you don't have the same microphones as in the studio, you have to cover large rooms and be careful of feedback. On the monitor you can't always make your vocals as loud as you'd like. John himself probably couldn't hear the nuances anymore, and that's hard on the motivation. That's why he sang even worse on stage most of the time - I think that's what you meant to say." "You're taking this the wrong way, Brian!" cries Alvin excitedly. "Why do you keep putting things in my mouth that I'm not thinking? And why are you dragging Cale's voice in the mud?" "Hey, wait a minute, boy. You got it all wrong. I'm as big a fan of his voice as you are. But first, you have to be a little bit challenged to get out of your head. And secondly, I'm just parodying the master - you know, John used to tell that story about the bad singer. Cool down, Alvin, we're both on the same page. At least vaguely." "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get angry; I misunderstood you. Anyway, at J.J. Cale, you can tell the difference between a studio and a concert stage, and now I know why. You see, it's exactly what I wanted - for you to be able to talk to your readers with your background in laid-back music." "Retired people like me talk more than enough, hehe." "It can't be enough here. Now let's leave this album, or rather, let's quickly mention with due respect that 'Really' stayed in the US album charts for almost three months and climbed to number 92. The album was also very well received in Europe; number 11 even in Norway. Cale was on the right track, and that must have been a good feeling for him, right?" "Yeah. It smelled like work, though - you know how they react to that in business." "I understand. Um, do you want to take a short break, or can I just point out two more things? That his fan community finally got to see a first photo of him, albeit with sunglasses and only on the back of the record cover. And then, of course, his wonderful rendition of 'Got My Mojo Working'." "You can't." "Okay, I still like the version; the fast beat, Jimmy Karstein on drums, the jazzy rhythm guitar, the minimalist country licks in the short solo part. Anything but a Muddy Waters copy. He played that song for his audience, not for blues fans, right?" "Something like that, yeah. "It'd be pretty risky to take on Muddy, wouldn't it?" The old man gets up, looks for the lighter. A split second later his dog knows what's going on and runs ahead barking excitedly.

∞ "No idea how he does it," says Hartley contentedly as he strokes his panting four-legged friend. "Blue can enchant you; after a quarter of an hour with him you're as relaxed as after a day's fishing. We can go full throttle, man - I'm fit again!" "I'm glad." Alvin looks intently at his papers and scribbles down any notes he sees. "The guys were going full throttle back then, too - just a few months after the release of 'Really', back in the studio on May 7th, 1973. Between May and December, Cale recorded the songs for the next album at three different studios." "That's right. At Bradley's Barn, and then at Columbia Studio and Woodland Studio, two fine places in Nashville. Actually, it was four studios; some of the stuff he recorded at his place in Tulsa." "On the back porch, so to speak! And basically again with Audie Ashworth as producer; a proven team." Hartley's mind seems to be going somewhere. "Audie was a good buddy, they all say. He had a fine way of saying when he didn't like something. A way of leaving your ego alone. When John played 'Cocaine' to him, in a jazzy style, he said, 'strong, man, but it's not going to work like this. So Cale turned it into a rock 'n' roll song." "And he left a jazzy note in there anyway, with this funky groove. "Cocaine came later, though; let's stick with the third album for a moment, Okie." "Yeah, sure. I just wanted to give an example of how cool it was obviously to work with Ashworth. Audie had been working as a DJ before, with his own radio show and all, and he could hear immediately if a song was working or not. The two records didn't go badly, and together with the royalties of Clapton, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Konsorte enough came in. John and Audie could live quite relaxed. Of course Audie tried to raise the bar even higher every now and then - J.J. Cale should have worn a five thousand dollar designer suit to look like Porter Wagoner. And on the record cover, Audie wanted a picture of the star. But John talked him out of it stubbornly, and Audie got it. Cale wanted to be part of the show, but not the show itself. That was the principle of his life sentence. He knew enough celebrities that were too scared to leave the house. If people don't know what you look like, there's only advantages - you can get a sandwich in the city and nobody turns around. Sure, Audie always tried to be careful and launched his 'we need a new album' story every six months. But they got along fine, anytime. No stress, just good teamwork." "It was a stroke of luck, this collaboration. And that it has borne fruit, the third album is more than proof enough. Okie' is a masterpiece, for quite a few fans even his best album. We've got to give this record enough time." "You can only take what's there." "We still have enough time. Let's get going."

OKIE (1974)

"Hot cover, isn't it?" shouts Hartley. "What would a photo of him be doing here now? It would have been stupid." "You're right. It's the perfect picture to set the mood." "Yeah. So, before you go back to the "let's go through all the songs" number, I'll suggest a new concept." "What's that?" "You know the motto, big arches. Pick a specific theme, any aspect." "Um, what do you mean, exactly?" "Maybe there's something you like about Okie. You ask a question about it so we have something to discuss." "Brian! Any song, we could talk about it for hours." "Did I tell you that sometimes he would've liked to call back half of his songs or records later?" "Well, I guess a lot of people do that when they listen to their own music. But I'm sorry, once let go, the songs no longer belong to the artist alone." "I know that. Before we open the Philosophers' Regulars' Table again, choose a topic and let's get started." "Okay, I'd say we're talking about his voice again." "Are you serious?" "Absolutely. I've noticed that the master was even more consistent in his approach here at Okie. I mean, the ingenious way he orchestrated his minimalist vocals. Can you tell us anything about that? How to record and produce it, how to mix it, and all that." "You mean, what Eric Clapton hasn't figured out in forty years, I'm supposed to tell you now in two sentences. Now you're making an impostor out of me." "Oh, come on, I know you've worked hard at these things. Give it up." Alvin smiles expectantly. "What you hear especially well here at 'Okie' is the doubling, this multiple recording of vocal tracks, which are then laid on top of each other. Or perhaps first of all the basic question: Are there certain microphones that J.J. Cale preferred? ...and equipment, preamps, compressors?" "For vocals, J.J. Cale preferred the Neumann U-67, as far as I know. Or sometimes the '57 Shure." "Shure SM57... This is a stage microphone for instruments - a rather cheap one, and obviously not made for vocal recordings. Can it compare to this fine Neumann studio microphone?" "It depends on the song. Neumann is always good, Limousine, so to speak. But sometimes it must be a cheap compact car. The SM57 is good for singing, sounds pretty muddy; just rock 'n' roll." "I see. And equipment? Certain favourites?" "There were lots of them. I read about it once. He had an old Sony portable EMG mixer. Later on, he used to run the vocals through a Millennia preamplifier, fancy stuff. The thing was still souped up, with tubes from Telefunken. And John also had some of the old compressors from back then, some UREI boxes." "The 1176LN Peak Limiter by UREI ..." "You seem to know." "The Recording Journals, Brian. Experts are raving about this legendary device." "Right. There are others, like Teletronix' LA-2A." "And how many vocal tracks did he record? Did he sing the same thing several times in unison, or did he double in octaves? And why this multitrack singing at all?" "Why?" Hartley laughs smugly. "'Because I can't sing,' he says, and you know what he says." "He didn't really mean it." "John saw himself as a songwriter. At the beginning of his career it would have been better to work with a real singer, he said later. Of course, when Cale muttered 'I can hit two or three notes and that hinders my songwriting', that was his modesty. But he wasn't completely wrong. John loved melody, and when he wanted to write a melody, sometimes he couldn't sing the stuff. So he had to write within his limits. 'That's why all my songs sound the same', he said." "People like his songs and melodies. The master never noticed that?" "He heard about it, yeah. In his opinion the whole thing worked somehow, and yet he felt limited as a songwriter because of his voice. He would have written differently if he could have sung better. And the doubling obviously had something to do with it - they recorded his voice two or three times to blur the intonation. It seems he sometimes had trouble with precise intonation." "Oh, well, that's clever, of course. By overlaying different recordings, the whole thing becomes a bit blurred; the small pitch differences balance each other out, you might say." "Audie is supposed to have said, 'It sounds like a crappy choir', ha-ha. Of course, today they have these pitch adjusters. Awesome equipment; you can just run your voice through a box like that and everything is perfect. They didn't, back in the day." "Anyway, J.J. Cale fans are certainly glad he wasn't a 'good' singer. One more detail: Did he sing in unison, or were there second and third voices?" "When doubling, usually only in unison; you can also try not to sing the lyrics when repeating them, but just whisper them, or hum an octave lower if you can get that far down." "I suppose one of the tracks will remain the main vocal in each case, and it will be mixed a little louder. The various auxiliary tracks are then distributed in stereo panorama - right?" "Hey Alvin, you're turning into a real studio man! But there are no hard and fast rules in this stereo story; sometimes everything works differently. With some songs you have to put all the stuff in the middle, almost mono. You gotta try it - John was a tinkerer." "What I noticed with 'Okie', though, is that the vocals are mixed quite a bit in stereo. Sometimes the different tracks are almost equally loud. It creates these wonderful phase shifts; the syllables hissing back and forth, left to right." "In any case, don't let anyone claim you were only listening to the discs superficially." "Hey, Brian, there's a lot of people out there who appreciate what's brewed in the studios." "Cool, if you're right." "And in the later recordings, did J.J. Cale still work like this?" "You mean the double? Not every song, I guess. He used all these tricks when he thought they would help the song. In the end, it's the result that counts." "That sounds wise. One last question: If he recorded the vocals several times, did they always go through the same chain? The same microphone, the same equipment?" "Most of the time. Because it was convenient - especially if he was working alone. If John rented a studio and there were sound engineers there to take care of everything, he would let them work if they were motivated. The guys would sometimes try different combinations and sounds." "Was Cale more of a solo act or more of a team act?" "About fifty-fifty, I guess. Also mixing; he mixed half the songs on all his records himself. Sometimes some studio crack would mix it, and then John wouldn't like it. Or he didn't like his own mix and had someone else mix it again." "Brian, this is all incredibly exciting! We've still got to move forward and do the songs. I just wanted to say how incredibly cool and smug the master's voice sounds on this album in general." "Yeah, it does. But like you said, we're gonna do the numbers. I'll just let you do the talking, don't have to put my two cents in all the time." "Okay, sure. But if you think of anything you'd like to say about a song, please do." He's nodding. "The chances are small; the way you dissect the songs is more than enough." Crying

"J.J. Cale apparently enjoyed starting records in a strange way; 'Naturally' is the first thing to start with a bumming drum machine, 'Really' a wrong track - and here on 'Okie' the opening number starts with a cunning laugh. Crying' is a bluesy ballad, catchy and at the same time tricky in its rhythmic structure. Typical for his joy of experimenting; the different sound tracks interlock perfectly - a tired old guitar line in the background, a second guitar that reminds of reggae feeling, and in addition to that, sparse organ sounds. Not the highlight of the album, but in the sum of all elements, the song makes you curious about everything else in a sophisticated way." Hartley looks astonished. "Curious about the record - do you know any other sense for an opening song?" "Of course, I agree with you. The session crew includes a certain Reggie Young, by the way; we'll talk about him, at the latest during the song 'Cajun Moon'." "Reggie played the hot reggae guitar - right, hehe."

I'll be there (If You Ever Want Me)

"A country song by Ray Price and Rusty Gabbard from 1954. on almost all albums there are one or two foreign compositions each; no hits, the originals are mostly even more unknown than the J.J. Cale version. How did he come up with these songs?" "Unknown? No hits? Every country freak knows 'I'll Be There'!" "Oh, yeah, it's a nice number with nice lyrics and pictures about love. What's striking is how Cale brings the song to life rhythmically, while the original comes off rather clumsy in a honky-tonk boom-boom dress." "That's Karl Himmel on drums; the permanent eighths on the hi-hat and ride cymbals - they give it the thrust." "In any case, it's a fine example of how you can interpret songs rhythmically in different ways. Cale's version has charm and style." "There are many charming versions; Clarence Gatemouth Brown's, for example, with Ry Cooder on slide, 1996 on the album 'Long Way Home'. I mean, speaking of groove." "Yes, we are. I also find Martina McBride's on the 2005 album 'Timeless', with this crisp guitar by Steve Gibson, in the style of the old picking masters Merle Travis and Chet Atkins." "A journalist who knows about country music - good for the humors, man." "Oh, here comes honey for me? Thanks! Leon Russell later recorded the title, by the way; 1984, for his album 'Hank Wilson Vol. II'. He, in turn, makes the song sound a hundred percent country, almost old-fashioned, which is somewhat surprising." "A series of four records; rock'n'roller Russell wanted to play those old country and bluegrass things. Vintage. There's only one problem." "One problem?" "A problem that we're not moving forward. And that the impending vacuum cleaner job is making me sneer and sneer, hehehe." "Don't worry, I'll be happy to help you clean up."

Starbound

"What a surprise, this play! It shows how free J.J. Cale was." "Free?" "He was not tied down to any particular sound or style. When he felt like it, he'd leave the Americana compound and take off. It's a perfect score. I mean, the bar is set pretty high in that genre - and he just happened to pull one of the best psychedelic songs in history out of a hat. Makes me speechless! This atmosphere; detached and leaning back, but not at a distance, but deeply connected, with grace. These mystical linguistic images when he sings of the floating star, of the mystery wrapped in a sound, which the sky holds. The phasing effect on his voice, the finely resonating brass sounds - everything aims at otherworldly levels, but without wanting to befuddle. Nobody needs drugs on this song, the trip comes naturally, without any unwanted side effects." "And even with a real ending, without fade-out", Hartley says with a grin. "Exactly, that's what's crazy: All his earthy songs are faded out at the end so that we fly away. And of all things, this song here at this altitude - the master brings us back to earth at the end, gently but firmly." "Yeah, I guess he didn't want to be sued by people who burned their wings with his records." "Great, slick, chapeau!" "People have to get back down, there's more songs on the record after all." The old man pulls his cigarette with relish and mischievously glowing eyes.

Rock And Roll Records

"You know what I'd like to call out here, Brian?" "I don't know, but just shout as briefly as you can." "OH MY GOD! - that's what I'd like to shout. He's just totally fucking with us on this one. It's a stroke of genius. For many of his fans, it's one of the best Cale songs ever. I don't know where to start, but..." "Take a breath, Alvin, and drink some water," Hartley interrupts with a laugh. "If this keeps up, I'm going to call the paramedics. I guess we can finally put an end to the hope that you'll help me vacuum tomorrow. I don't like it. And I don't even have any relaxation pills in the house for you to pop. What am I gonna do?" "You just listen to me. That's what you should do. Everything about this song is genius. The groove; cool, unbelievably funky, and it's only created by the interlocking of the different instruments. The sound of the guitars; they don't sound acoustic, and they don't sound electric. The central role of the wind instruments; they cling firmly to the listening brain with this simple, seductive theme. The voice, of course; razor- thin and therefore strong. And the text first! A few sentences, and you don't know if Cale is making fun of the rock'n'roll industry, maybe even himself - or if he is singing self-modestly about the privilege and passion of being able to bring joy to people with a simple song. In any case, you know how right he is: It's a funky deal!" Hartley thinks for a moment, straightens up a bit, as if it were a matter of avoiding the impression of indifference, and finally calmly says: "Good question. I suppose a little bit of everything. But what's certain is that John was also thinking about the people who listen to this stuff. He wanted to be with them when they were in a bad mood - he sings about that in the last verse."

The Old Man And Me

"Now I have a problem, Brian." "You mean the timetable." "No. The problem is that I've already burned through certain phrases. The OH MY GOD, for instance. I'm in desperate need of an augmentation to adequately cover this song." "Your problem, hehe. Why do you think John always puts on that scowl in public? If you're always beaming around - how are people gonna know when you're in a good mood?" "Wow, he's strong! I'm beginning to understand the philosopher Cale. Ingenious." "Philosophers ask questions, and I'm gonna ask you one of the most important ones: Remember the timetable?" "I'm gonna try. 'The Old Man And Me' is one of those back porch songs that J.J. Cale recorded at his house in Tulsa. Unfortunately, the term 'genius' is already outdated - the most I could do is to add a few exclamation marks. In any case, this song is magical, mystical, a work that combines art and spirituality. When I hear this song, I somehow have to think of Taoism - of the ethical teachings from China, of observing the course of the world. It reminds me of the principle of ziran, the 'of-self-being' of nature. The piece reflects the cosmos and its eternal..." "Stop," Hartley interrupts theatrically. "You gotta get back down, man. Otherwise, I'm really gonna call an ambulance. and it'll be on your tab." "Oh, no. You're going to have to go through that. "Listen to what people are saying about that song out there. They say it's like Zen, automatically slows the heartbeat, conjures up incredibly powerful images. Hey, our master was a shaman, a healer. Few people have ever succeeded in depicting the serenity of nature and the eternal regularity of the world order so aptly. In only two minutes, with a single chord change repeated like a pendulum, with an unsurpassable minimalism, with a story that descends, then again disturbs and at the same time reconciles, comforts. Incredible! The power of the text would have been enough long ago - with only a few sentences it creates an effect comparable to Hemingway's 'The Old Man and the Sea'. But then there's the way Cale sings, and the way his voice is recorded and mixed - both of which increase the effect to infinity. I know of only one singer who does similar things; Bossa Nova King Joao Gilberto, with his quiet singing and transcendent guitar playing." "Gilberto? Finally, a down-to-earth comparison that's a joy to make. You can smoke the rest - or shall we say, save it for when you want to write some esoteric advice later." The old man grins in a way that suggests the flood of compliments is making him happy for J.J. Cale."

Everlovin' Woman

"Can we skip it," murmurs Hartley. "As you wish. Maybe not a big hit, but still a bizarre, driving love song - and an important contrast that helps the album's bow. For once, a real keyboard song." "Wurlitzer piano. It's okay to be dominant, after all it wasn't just anybody playing it, it was Hargus 'Pig' Robbins." "That's the famous blind pianist and keyboard player, one of the greats of the Nashville session music scene." "That's right. Pig played with every crack from Dolly Parton to Kenny Rogers to Merle Haggard. The boy's been Country Keyboarder of the Year seven times, Musician of the Year 1976." "He also played for famous rock and pop musicians, as far as I know." Hartley nods. "Dylan brought him into the studio to record his Blonde On Blond." "That's back in 1966. Robbins can also be heard on Joan Baez, John Denver, Neil Young. And, by the way, on an album by Mark Knopfler; 'Golden Heart' from 1996, the beautiful piano sounds in the song 'Are We In Trouble Now'." "Yeah, you should really write a music dictionary." "Anyway, Brian. It's not just Robbins' keyboard that pops in your ear here, but that weird accent on Cale's whispers-- it swallows half the words." "Weird accent? It's the Okie style!" "I suspected as much. It's definitely very pleasant." "Likeable or not, Okies can't help it.

Cajun Moon

"What am I going to do? Here comes another highlight." "Let me know, man, before you take off." "'Cajun Moon' is one of the first selections from his life's work, almost all the experts agree." "Cool. Who are these experts?" "By experts, I mean the loyal fans who bought his records." "You know what? I think Cale was gonna be happy as a kid for the rest of his life with every record he sold. It must have been like a fairy tale to him." Hartley gets up. "I'm gonna make us some fresh coffee real quick, okay? You can keep driving, I'm listening..." "Sure. I'll talk a little louder, and I see the Dictaphone is still running smoothly." "You don't have to shout. I wasn't deaf in my ears. I was on stage even less than Cale - hardly ever." "He was trying to preserve his hearing - that's why he didn't tour excessively?" "A welcome side effect of that. First of all, touring is a stress factor, secondly John hated flying - and thirdly, he liked listening to sounds, yes. Most rock stars don't hear a police siren when they're old. But maybe it's time to talk about Cajun Moon." "With great pleasure. The song is remarkable in more ways than one. First of all the overall impression; funky, relaxed and at the same time muscular, with powerful drums. Basically a contrast, because Cale sings about the moon over the south of Louisiana, where the French Cajuns are at home - and he doesn't bring any element of traditional Cajun music into the song. Instead, he tells a mysterious story about the moon and its influence on our lives. This moon is supposed to be responsible for when a life partner leaves us, and we are not supposed to worry or reproach ourselves. He leaves a lot open in this story." "You have to, in a good story." "True again. Anyway, the message is comforting in a way. And musically, anyway, his song is uplifting. It's not pathetic. It's a kick in the ass song that says, "You can't blame fate - stand up, be cool and keep dancing." After a strong sip of coffee, Hartley's gaze reveals that he doesn't find this interpretation off-key. "He probably didn't think that much about it when he wrote the song - but it sounds cool what you're saying." "Oh, I'm nowhere near done with the analysis, Brian. Musically, the song is rather untypical for Cale; it seems to almost reverse the roles. As a guitarist, he hides behind Reggie Young, plays just a few tunes and buries them somewhere in the mix. As a singer, on the other hand, he seems unusually spirited and does without this wafer-thin whisper. One gets the impression that he stepped back a few centimetres from the microphone for once to sing with a little more power. Does very well! And he sings a second, higher voice - both together make this elegant, self-confident sound. Still, for all the untypical - you recognize the master immediately." "Agreed. Let's talk about Reggie Young - do you hear how terrific that boy is playing? His solo, that razor-sharp sound! Most people don't have a clue; they hear that lead guitar and they compliment John." "I've been doing that for a lot of years, I must admit." "You never read the credits on the record sleeve?" "Not right away, anyway. And somehow this solo could be from Cale, it's not very far from his style." "It's possible. I think Reggie was better with those grooves, though. By the way, he played a limited edition Telecaster from the early sixties on this number, using a Garnet and a Fender Deluxe amp with Altec speakers. And in front of that a Fender volume pedal. Hot, isn't it? The whole mix is hot." "It is. The man has made history as a session guitarist." "You can say that again. He was the best back then. In the late '60s he played lead guitar with the Memphis Boys - you know, the house band at the American Sound Studio in Memphis. Just what went on there; the 1969 session with Elvis, for example. Suspicious Minds, Kentucky Rain, Don't Cry Daddy and In the Ghetto - hey, Reggie played it all. By the end of 1971 the studio closed down in Memphis, so luckily he came to Nashville." "I don't know much about Reggie Young, but he's actually traded up. He is said to have refined great records; by Elvis as I said, but also by John Prine, Dusty Springfield, Herbie Mann, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis or George Strait. So it's wonderful that he was involved with J.J. Cale, the same league, after all." "No honey, man; doesn't go with coffee. Young was a professional to the core, made for the studio, and is told in the scene. You can work with guys like that; you ask, 'hey Reggie, can you play something cool in the intro?' - and he plays a hookline that fits the song exactly. You know what I mean? He didn't say, 'give me twenty minutes, I'll figure something out'; he played it right away! Cracks like Reggie, they got the right notes in their head at all times, for all songs." "He hit the bull's-eye on Cajun Moon. A cross between B.B. King and Chet Atkins, he was called, I think, at one time. "That's what Reggie called his style when asked about it." "Definitely a genius, this musician. I think we're still gonna have to move on to the next song. Okay with you?" "Of course I'm okay." "Uh, hold on. We should probably mention that there's a very fine cover of Cajun Moon. The two most famous are probably those of jazz musician Herbie Mann, 1976 on his album 'Surprises' with singer Cissy Houston - and the one of the famous jazz singer Randy Crawford, 1995 on her album 'Naked And True'. So even in jazz circles the master seems to be respected, that pleases me." "Maybe the jazzmen just wanted to interpret the song really well, hehe. Cissy Houston is by the way the mother of Whitney Houston, you know for sure. And Randy Crawford's version completely knocked John out, by the way." "That's an incredibly good interpretation; no wonder Cale liked it. There are a few more strong ones around - for example Maria Muldaur on her 1978 album 'Southern Winds', or the country rock band Poco on their 1982 album 'Cowboys & Englishmen', and there's a completely crazy version by an unknown jazz band from Russia; Lera Gehner Band."

I'd Like To Love You Baby

Alvin is beaming. "The lead guitar alone is a delight. Tom Petty is known to love this song; there is apparently a strong live recording of it from 2003, which was released on his album 'The Live Anthology' at the end of 2009." "Yeah, I didn't know that. I'm sure it sounds good on Tom Petty." "Yeah, and if he loves a song, it can't be worse. At best, the lyrics are debatable. A praise to polygamy, to infidelity?" "John was young then. Christine Lakeland came into his life a few years later." "They were a wonderful couple."

The old man nods. "Their mutual smiles and glances spoke volumes."

Anyway The Wind Blows

"Sorry, Brian, it's getting on my nerves again - if I have to tell you how epochal, monumental and divine this next song is." "And I've got to figure out what the number for the ambulance service is, or if there isn't a Valium lying around the house for you somewhere." "That's what J.J. Cale got us into, back on the porch, back home in Tulsa. Could he install the microphones, tape recorders and such on the patio without any trouble at all?" "You know, 'back porch' is a cliché. He probably recorded that stuff in his shed, in the studio." "Oh, well. Anyway, this song is a triumph. It's the ultimate triumph of minimalism and concentration. At three and a half minutes it's the longest piece on this record - and he had the nerve to serve us just one chord. A song with one chord! No verse, no refrain, just groove. The number races away, unstoppable. Reminds me a bit of Dylan's 'Subterranean Homesick Blues' from 1965; but Dylan's number works with volume and needs three chords. Dylan can't manage this reduction, his singing also needs volume to impress. No, there is only one reference, one lesson in minimalism - and that is this song here. Makes me speechless." "For a speechless person you talk a lot, hehe." "That was just the beginning, sorry. The peak of reduction is yet to come - with this arrangement. Unbelievable! I mean, the one-chord trick, Cale repeated it later, in the song 'Friday' for example, 1979 - but with a lot of effort, a whole rhythm section and with all kinds of bubbling lead guitars. Also very effective. But here, in 'Anyway The Wind Blows', he takes it to the extreme. He lets his cheap drum machine chug along with a simple, gnarled bass, two or three feather-light boogie rhythm guitars on top - and together it sounds like a lesson in groove, in the perfect balance between looseness and forward drive. In between a short performance of a smooth slide guitar, and nothing else. Except for his fabulous vocals, of course, but we'll talk about that later. What is going on here musically is so monotonous and beguiling at the same time that it scares you. Never again has anyone managed to achieve this dreamlike nonchalance. Many people have tried to get the Tulsa groove right, sometimes even with amazing success, like Clapton for example in 'Lay Down Sally'. But no one got near J.J. Cale. It's impossible." "Take a deep breath, my friend. Your heart should last another half century - give it a chance." "You're making fun of me." "No, of course not. You think that song is cool, I'm glad. But you need too many words to explain it to me. I thought you were into minimalism. "Well, I do, but we mere mortals can't achieve that kind of minimalism. And I'm not trying to explain it to you. I'm trying to explain it to our readers. We, Cale's devoted audience, are trying to unlock his secret so that we can enjoy his music even more. And cracking that code is a very difficult thing to do. It takes time, patience and sometimes a lot of words. Are they so wrong, my words?" "You just want to hear the opposite, haha, need a spoon of honey. And you know you can analyze properly - and hopefully write. The question is whether we'll make the appointment, and maybe also whether people really have that much patience to read all this." "There's always a solution for appointment problems. If we have to, we'll continue this another time. Or I'll just write up to here, we'll publish the whole thing and later bring a second volume with the continuation of his career. I don't care. Better to go deep with a proper flashlight than dig hastily and half- assed." "All right, Alvin, it's not wrong. However, people are used to Cale songs moving on after two or three minutes - and you talk about each number for half an hour. Can they stand it?" "Good question, but let that be my problem. His fans are hungry for every little detail; they finally want to know more about this music that has enriched their lives for decades." "Oh, come on, you haven't been around for that many decades." "No, but a lot of Cale's loyal fans are." "Okay, man, if you want to make a second tape, that's cool, the plan. That way we can solve the vacuum cleaner problem, hehe." "Okay, but let's finish this album. Then we'll go out to dinner, and tomorrow I'll help you fix your house. When Mary comes home, I want her to be dazzled by the cleanliness." "Glossy's not our thing, man; it's just the minimum, and there's enough to go around. Besides, I got a couple more jobs for you out in the field. But you're right, let's get this window dry, then we'll go eat." "Wonderful. Let's take a closer look at the ingenious play Anyway The Wind Blows. The lyrics are somewhat cryptic. You get the impression that it's about dancing, about a certain joie de vivre. "If it wasn't for that line in the song where Cale warns us not to go to heaven..." "You think too much and smell some divine message behind every line - it's even worse with Dylan. Hey, songwriters are players; they write songs because they enjoy it. And sometimes they don't even know what that stuff means. It just has to groove! Check out the continuation of this line - John even admits in the lyrics that it's all about the rhyme. You can't make it more obvious." "There's nothing to say?" "I don't know. Just dance - that's probably the message. Isn't that enough?" "I see, that's probably the message: Don't take life too seriously, dance with the wind." Hartley smiles understandingly. "There you are. You found it – your message." "Okay, let's talk a little technicality. Recorded the number at his home with an Ampex 1-inch eight-track. There are two rhythm guitars, and his two books contain conflicting information. In one he says that both were the acoustic Harmony, and in the other he talks about the Gibson ES-125 with double pickup. So what's the deal?" "I don't know. Let's just take the middle of both: One rhythm guitar was the old Harmony, the other was the Gibson. Happy?" "Sounds plausible. Anyway, what's interesting is that for this boogie rhythm he tuned the whole guitar up a notch." "Maybe he was just too lazy, hehe. The song is in the key of F, but this boogie groove on two strings is easiest to play on E, with the open E-string, which you mute a bit. There's nothing to prove in the music; you don't have to be a martyr and struggle with the more difficult variation." "That makes sense to me. The easier something is to grasp, the more you can concentrate on the groove and the nonchalance. However, the Master could have done the same thing with a capo in the first fret." "Yeah, maybe he didn't have that one on hand. By the way, the guitar vibrates and sounds different when you tune it higher. You can hardly hear it, of course, but still..." "Oh, I can imagine; an instrument like that is alive and responsive to every nuance." "Exactly. By the way, there's a third guitar, the slide in the middle part; that was definitely the 125 Gibson, played on a Pignose amp and picked up with two Neumann U-87 microphones, one very close and one further away." "Those little Pignose things, those legendary portable guitar amps? It sounds fantastic! And with this solo, Cale definitely proves that he was not a mediocre casual slider, but one with style." "Definitely no one can complain to you about not having enough honey, man." "The truth can be sweet. Furthermore, it says in his books that he played a Silvertone bass right into the console here, and that the drum rhythm came from his Ace Tone-machine. That's pretty confusing now, because the album credits say Joel Green played the bass and Terry Perkins played the drums. Can you untie this knot for us?" "Can I, at random. They're both right, hehe." "How do you figure that?" "Perkins and Greens played their part properly; there was nothing to shake, the lads got their money. But somehow it was all too much for John's taste. It had to be simpler, reduced. In the end, there was no other solution than to delete the stuff. Then he'd let the drum kit go and record that primitive bass himself. Not because he could do it better than Perkins and Greens. Sometimes you gotta do worse." "Exciting! Anyway, this song gives you that fantastic feeling of being on a hot day on a shady porch, swaying in a rocking chair. A milestone!" "By the way, there are some hot covers of it. Brother Phelps, 1995." "Yeah, or in 1999, Bill Wyman's Rhythm Kings, not bad, with Albert Lee on guitar, among others. And a strong band version of course on the Escondido album together with Clapton; somehow this interpretation doesn't radiate the same magic, I think." Hartley shrugs. "They wanted to give it a little bit of steam, but it's got its charms." "Of course, there's no question. He played the number with Clapton at the iPayOne Center in San Diego on March 15, 2007. Anyway The Wind Blows was the opening song of his set, after which they played After Midnight, Who Am I Telling You, Don't Cry Sister and Cocaine. He obviously enjoyed playing with Clapton, Derek Trucks and Doyle Bramhall II. A summit meeting! Did you notice how they blossomed when the master came on stage - and how they gave him the leading role without discussion?" The strange man laughs. "What did you think they should have discussed? They're not greenhorns, the guys; every decent musician knows that at a gig it's always the songwriter or singer who's at the wheel." "Wonderful. By the way, this concert was recorded and recently released; the album is called 'Eric Clapton, Live In San Diego - With Special Guest J.J. Cale'. Who came up with the idea for this live record?" "I don't know, but it was probably Eric, cos it was his night. Definitely cool, this record." "Speaking of Eric Clapton - his famous 1977 song 'Lay Down Sally' is, as I said, the definitive tribute to J.J. Cale, and he obviously went out of his way to do justice to the Okie groove." "Slowhand hit the jackpot. Eventually, there were a couple of Okies in his band, hehe." "Yeah; Carl Radle, George Terry and Jamie Oldaker, for example - and they're said to have been instrumental in shaping the song. Clapton himself says that he embodied as much of the ideal of the Tulsa sound on this song as is possible for an Englishman. For Cale's colleagues from Tulsa, however, it was perfectly normal to play like that. Nothing in this world would convince them to rock the English way. Because Okies have their own idea of drive and groove?" "Eric cracked the code, I'd say." "The Okies don't go for volume, they go for subtlety." "Actually, they don't rely on anything in Tulsa; they just play the music the way they wanna hear it." "You have it in your blood. I envy you!" "Why 'you'? I ain't one of them." "Come on, Brian. You're from Tulsa, and I heard with my own ears how good you play. Just because you didn't want to be a professional musician for some reason doesn't mean you can't have a say. To me, you're a part of it, no ifs, ands or buts." The old man's gentle smile flashes up only briefly; the will to control yourself seems stronger.

Precious Memories

"After the windy dance song, a calming country ballad comes naturally to balance the music. J.J. Cale's sense of drama is truly remarkable." "Country ballad? It's gospel. You don't know this piece?" "Yes, it's a traditional song, quite old. Definitely beautiful; warm and soothing - the perfect soundtrack to gratefully linger in the here and now." "It's supposed to make you feel good. The song - Cale probably did it on purpose, hehe." "A good feeling is something that all of his albums give you. But can you tell us anything about this song here? Why do you think he took that trip to the classical corner of country music?" "Your hearing aid, man!" Hartley smiles good-naturedly. "It's not country, and it's not traditional, by the way. Written by a guy named Wright, 1925, if you don't mind." "Yes, I know; J.B.F. Wright, born 1877 in Tennessee." "And I was beginning to think your encyclopedia bulb had a few holes in it after all." "It has countless holes. I only know all this because I wrote it down in my stack of papers. It's an old song, so it feels like a traditional song, sorry." "Fifty years from now, they'll be trading Cale songs as traditional folk, that's what you're saying." "Let's hope not; our book should help give its name enough historical weight But let's talk about his interpretation here - gorgeous, this polyphonic singing. He sang it himself, didn't he?" "Of course he did. It was probably too complicated for him, a choir - it was quicker if he sang it himself. John knew how to set the voices; he'd played in country bands and listened carefully." "Anyway, this whole cloud of singing comes like a warm blanket that soothes and soothes. And the delicate arrangement does the rest; two sensitive country-style guitars, one by Cale and one by Reggie Young, some intimate piano sounds, and especially the vibraphone by Farrel Morris. And after a little over two minutes, a sadistic fade-out..." "You can't let people fly away, hehe." "Mean, as always. In any case, his version does not have to hide from all the famous interpretations. It's like a who's who of the list of stars who recorded the song: Tammy Wynette, Rosetta Tharpe, Johnny Cash, Emmylou Harris, Daniel O'Donnell, Bob Dylan, Dolly Parton, of course." "And you're hiding Dolly's sister because she has less bust, right? Stella Parton recorded the number for her album 'Appalachian Gospel' - great cinema. You forgot about the Stanley Brothers, by the way; bluegrass doesn't seem to be your thing after all." "You're wrong, John; I've shortened the list arbitrarily, because of time constraints. The Stanley Brothers, of course, are a household name to me." "The Stanley Brothers were gods, and the number is on their 1965 album 'Bluegrass Gospel Favorites'." "I didn't know that, I'm sorry. Which of the countless versions do you actually like best?" "Let's mention one more that you forgot - it's definitely one of the better ones: Aretha Franklin on her live record 'Amazing Grace', released in 1972, I believe." "Could this have been the beginning of J.J. Cale, a year or two before Okie?" Hartley leans back, takes a few breaths and finally shakes his head. "She's on another star; then more like Stanley Brothers, the hillbilly stuff suited John better." Now his smile turns mischievous. "Maybe he said to himself, 'If Franklin can sing it, I can sing it.'" "I love your humour, Brian. One last question: Cale only used a few lines of this, shall we say, 'holy song'; the original is much longer. Why the abbreviation?" "The most important part's inside. If you're gonna be a nouvelle cuisine man, you gotta be cheap on the words too." "True, he has condensed the story to the essentials very skilfully. On the internet, by the way, his text is usually misquoted. Instead of 'As I travel ...' they write 'Hell, I travel ...'. What's the point of that?" Hartley laughs heartily. "You have to ask your colleagues. They don't understand his Okie accent, and they're copying each other's. The same old story." "It's very odd, the brightness of this sacred gospel song." "Yeah. Shall we continue? This next number has no words, so it's not like it's gonna happen..."

Okie

"Actually, an instrumental. It bubbles and flows; here the master shows his skills on the acoustic guitar and radiates pure joy of life with this piece. After less than two minutes the spook is over - at least with a real ending. An idiosyncratic ending, shall we say." "Call it an intermezzo. I'm sure he enjoyed it. The second guitar, by the way, is by Paul Davis."

I Got The Same Old Blues

"The album ends J.J. Cale with a love rocker, if I can call it that. The famous story of a broken relationship; hurts, we all know. But what he does with that feeling of being cheated on is great. A defiant song that somehow reminds one of southern rock, with a funky groove that you won't forget so quickly. Two ingeniously complementary guitar motifs, in the middle a strange short slide solo, pushed by a second lead guitar that winds itself snake-like around the structure, and at the end a fat electric piano. But the real sensation is his singing! In principle, the piece calls for a strong blues or rock vocal; Cale, on the other hand, remains inexplicably quiet, even in higher registers, where any other singer in the world would sing with pressure. Puzzling above all because his voice does not come across as powerless in the end, but leaves a great effect; it is dirty, cool and emotional at the same time. Have you any idea how on earth he managed that, Brian?" "Take a breath, man, before you keel over." "Now you're making fun of me." "Hey, Alvin, when are you gonna get my humor? Cool down, man. You did a pretty good job describing that song. I don't have to add mustard. I want people to listen to the song, be happy, and have their own movie." "Yeah, but the singing..." "Voice recordings are snapshots," Hartley interrupts him. "Ten minutes later, your voice doesn't sound the same. John has also been working on the buttons as usual, I suppose. It never sounded the same later on stage, not even during the live session at Leon Russell's Paradise Studios." "We'll talk about that 1979 session, which was released as a record and a DVD. I think it's the fact that you can't repeat something like that that's what makes it so magical. If the magic of a voice is recorded at the right moment, it's definitely a blessing." "That's what I said - keep the red button pressed at all times. You never know when the spell is going to knock." "Did he record the rhythm guitars on the Gibson ES-345?" "He recorded them directly from the mixing board, filtering out quite a bit of bass frequencies. And the slide, that was played again by Mac Gayden, with his Lincoln Les Paul and Maestro Wah pedal. "So let's go out to dinner, shall we?" "By all means, my wallet is ready for our dinner. Do you have a last second, though? I mean, this song has become a real blues-rock classic, and we should definitely mention some of the best covers." "I was afraid so. Okay, a few seconds." Alvin is beaming. "Back in November of 1974, half a year after the release of 'Okie,' the great Freddie King put a hot version of Cale's song on his album 'Burglar'. How does it feel to have your song interpreted by a blues legend?" "How does it feel? Never happened to me before, man, but I would speculate: incredibly cool! I think it gives your ego a powerful boost. Freddie was at Shelter at the time, too, and Leon Russell must have sung it to him. It's made for guys like Freddie King - for people who can really sing, John would probably say." "That same month, Captain Beefheart came out with his version on the album 'Blue Jeans & Moonbeams'. Wonderful laid-back, original vocals, atmospheric arrangement! Two years later then Lynyrd Skynyrd on her famous 'Gimme Back My Bullets' album - now the song had definitely landed in the southern rock corner. I have to admit that this version doesn't knock me off my feet; the slide guitar even really gets on my nerves, it's always slightly off." Hartley smiles. "You're not a Southern Rock fan. The Skynyrd version was the one that helped Cale feed himself and walk around with decent clothes. I'm sure he was happy every time someone picked up a piece of him. For a songwriter, it's the greatest feeling of happiness, and John earned three- quarters of his money that way. I'm not aware that he ever made a bad judgment about a cover version." "Oh, yes, I understand that. Let's move on to the next one: Bobby Bland, 1977 on his album 'Reflection In Blue'. Oh, my God. She's blowing my mind. The way this Grammy-award winning rhythm, blues, and soul star sings on this one is amazing." "I told you this number was written for singers. Bland is a knockout." "Finally, in 1978, Bryan Ferry's song on the album 'The Bride Stripped Bare'. Ferry's a very special singer. He's got style. He's a gentleman. And that's where the slide guitar is strong." "Waddy Wachtel played it. That boy's great. You can hear him on James Taylor and Jackson Browne albums. Ferry knew what he was singing about, by the way - his girlfriend Jerry Hall had just left him because Mick Jagger had more to offer her." "Poor boy; J.J. Cale's song was just right for him at that moment." "That's life. Jerry Hall later saw the same story when Jagger made her feel stupid. And we're - we're gonna end it right now!" "Yeah, except for Steve Young's story on No Place To Fall, 1978. Young was a key figure in country rock, Americana and alternative country then." "He was an outlaw." "Probably the fastest version in terms of tempo." "Good point. If we don't pick up the pace now, we're not gonna get anything at that sandwich shop I'm gonna direct you to. I think they close at 20:00." "Sandwich shop? We're going out for a real meal, on me, like we agreed." "What's wrong with sandwiches? Hey, they can be really good if you make them right." "But I wanted..." Hartley and his buddy pulls up, and he says, "I'll tell you where we're going. You won't regret it; these things are big and tasty, yet cheap. Think of your family, Alvin; you have no right to throw money out the window unnecessarily. There's a second advantage to all this - if we go to the sandwich guy, Blue can be there too..."

∞

Alvin is dismayed. Last night they were in complete agreement, at the Country Junction Deli in Valley Center, less than a quarter of an hour from Hartley's house. The sandwiches delivered what Brian had promised, and the mood was relaxed. A certain festive mood was in the air, almost like a closing ceremony - Alvin knew there was more than enough material for a first band, and he was looking forward to helping the strange man clean up like a buddy today. But when Brian now opens the door for him, Alvin immediately notices that the wind has changed. The view is cooler, a bit more distant, almost like the first day, and the house seems to be tidy. "Change of schedule," the old man grumbles as he waves in. "Forget the idea of the second tape." "But you wanted me to help you clean up, and then we would sit together for a few days for the second tape later - that's how I understood you," says Alvin intimidated. "Sorry, man, changed my mind. Another week like this is too much for me; I want to get this thing dry today." "This place is so clean. How'd you do it?" "Last night; I often work late. "I bet it's not your job to run the vacuum cleaner in this dump - I don't know how I got the idea." "It would have been my pleasure, Brian. But how are we gonna finish our book? We'll never finish it in a day! It took us four days to finish the first half." Hartley keeps a straight face as he puts the tray with all the trimmings on the table. "I've got the coffee all ready. We can let go. You brought the paper and the dictation box, I hope." "I wasn't sure if I should take the folder - but you're lucky, I packed it after all." "Yeah, cool." "Um, I really don't want to stress you out; it's a great honour for me to be here at all. But I really can't imagine that we can discuss the whole second half of his life's work by tonight." "As a journalist you know that you can compress a story to any size. The editor-in-chief gives the maximum amount of characters and the writer gets it right on the dot. Let's not do it any differently now; you'll get from me, let's say, 50 more book pages. Hey, when was the last time you got more space for a text?" "Yes, it would be a luxury for a newspaper article, but for a book?" "The talk with you is cool, believe me. But all the unnecessary talk we're about to have is at the expense of the book. Come on, we can do this. Let's go." "Um, that with a bigger translation, we can get the second half down to fifty pages, with very big sheets and a focus on the main highlights - I don't doubt it. But compared to the previous rhythm, where we illuminated everything nice and bright and detailed, such a hard change of course must seem pretty abrupt." Hartley leans back, disappears into his thoughts for a few seconds - and with changed facial features he finally announces that he has found the solution. "Abrupt? That's perfect, man. The book is supposed to fit J.J. Cale. You know what I mean?" "Not exactly, no." "Nouvelle cuisine, hehe. We're gonna do the same thing he did with his songs: In the best of moments, when the important thing is said, a sharp fade-out, and that's it! Translated to the book, we're at two minutes; let the lead guitar go for another ten seconds and then we fade out quickly." "Wow, you're brilliant!" cries Alvin awestruck. "I understand, the readers are supposed to take off happy but not sated and fly away on the back of the mysterious laid-back king. Still, I wonder if the most important thing about the Master has already been said." "If you put what we talked about this week onto paper properly. People have long since figured out what makes Cale tick and how he works. We're gonna be able to move on to the final scene." "Well, we've got over a dozen albums to go, and over thirty years of his career. What did you have in mind in terms of compression rate and response time?" "Wise guy, hehe; the recording magazines are not good for you. But okay, let's fiddle with the compressor. Response time 0.1 ms, the absolute minimum, in plain language - we start now! And compressing is like this: We skim over each decade; a few pages on the rest of the seventies, a few pages on the eighties, nineties and so on. The albums are massively slimmed down. Three or four basic words to each record, then you get exactly two songs per record, your favourites, and a third one, the worst number you would ever drop as a producer. All in short form, if the term exists in your dictionary. So, let's have some more coffee, I'll have a few packs of cigarettes, and then it's serious."

Alvin tries to enjoy the coffee, but his thoughts revolve around the question of how to adapt to the completely new schedule in the shortest possible time. "And it's no trouble at all for you, Brian?" "It's not; I'm looking forward to it!" "All right, let's improvise - let's talk about the seventies." "Yeah, let's hear it." "'Okie' was released in the spring of 1974. What happened in the years after that, how did J.J. Cale spend that time?" "He rode a motorcycle, bought a Porsche and a boat, hung out and lazed around in the camper. That's what you wanna hear, right?" "Is it true? He really bought a boat?" "Of course not a yacht, hehe. The whole thing was obviously one of his schemes; he peddled the thing back pretty fast - to Audie Ashworth." "Well, they all rode motorcycles in those days, and we'll talk about the RV later. But I don't think that Cale was particularly lazy at that time." "Finally, someone who gets it - John would have loved you." "The master was busy touring these years, I know that. Right after the release of 'Okie', it all started, with a concert in Canada, for example, on March 17th, 1974, at the Southern Alberta Jubilee Auditorium in Calgary." "You have a list of all the gigs? Incredible guy!" "Not all of them, just a few select dates." "He went on tour, yes. You can imagine how Audie and the Shelter guys pushed, especially after the 'Troubadour' record. Not just in the neighbourhood, man - halfway around the world, they got him gigs. Like I said, John hated flying, but he had to get used to it." "He travelled quite a distance in those days, he did. Even as far as Australia, and I heard they celebrated him like a superstar there." "Yeah; the posters had his name at the top, even before the Doobie Brothers or the Average White Band. John didn't really understand what was going on there - but I'm sure he enjoyed it." "I guess he had to get used to being a headliner. He was in a lot of shows here in America at the time, preheating for stars. Like March 29th 1975 for ZZ Top, in Dayton, Ohio." "It's amazing that you can pull those dates out of thin air." "What do you think it was like playing to those bearded men?" The strange man sighs and smiles with understanding. "I would hazard a guess that he didn't get much of that stuck in his head. Everyone was doped in those days, both in the audience and on stage. Same thing in Europe." "In April 1976, Cale and his band flew to Europe for the first time, and again a year later. Great Britain, France, Germany, and so on. He really had no memory of that tour after that?" "Yes, of course he did. I'm sure John wasn't that weird. They saw these VW vans everywhere, and big cities - he told me later. It must have been cool, this trip." "It must have been in Germany. On Friday 25th March 1977 he played at the Musikhalle Hamburg." "It's disappointing that you don't know the exact time and the brand of shoes he wore on stage. John certainly remembered London; he loved the fish and chips. And then after the show this story that's been going around ever since - backstage Carl Radle and Eric Clapton suddenly appeared. Apparently nobody knew anything about their visit. Eric and John had never met in person before; Slowhand introduced himself very politely and John showed him a guitar he had assembled. 'Wow, it's fantastic', Eric is said to have said, and John replied in his usual low-brow manner, 'it's just a piece of junk'. Clapton seemed modest and reserved, he seemed to feel comfortable in Cale's presence. After the concert they all went to some studio to jam. I think it was at the Olympic Studios, where Clapton was recording the 'Slowhand' record. Eric had a surprise ready and played his version of 'Cocaine'. Nobody wanted to cover this song before - and now Clapton. Hey, Good News! Even on two records, on the album 'Slowhand' and later on the B-side of the 'Tulsa Time' single. "That night, the two became friends." "It's a wonderful story, Brian. Alvin goes through his notes. "Um, you know what, I actually have a set list from one of those concerts in Europe."

Instrumental Sensitive Kind Traveling Light I'am A Gypsy Man Hold On Ride Me High Band Intro Clyde Instrumental The Old Man And Me Cocaine Read Call Me The Breeze Magnolia Bringing It Back Crazy Mama After Midnight

The old man looks at the list thoughtfully. "Yeah, looks cool. Where did you dig that up?" "French typists; you know, we're networked. Say, 'Sensitive Kind', was he playing live back then? That song came out two years later, on the album 'Five'." "Maybe so. He carried some songs around with him for a long time before they were put on a record." "Anyway, J.J. Cale worked pretty hard during those years, even working as a session musician for various colleagues." "Yeah. He wasn't on stage three hundred nights a year, but it was stress enough, especially the big events. John liked the small clubs; he'd even play alone sometimes and run a Linn drum." "He played solo and had a drum machine accompany him?" "Occasionally, as far as I know. Why not?" "In music circles at the time, Cale seemed to have already established a very good reputation; in the 1970s a couple of records were made with him as a guest guitarist or even as a producer." "He wasn't what you'd call a studio musician, but every now and then a request came in because they wanted his style. You have a list of all these records, of course; let's see." "I'd be happy to. There'll probably be more, but I made a note of these..."

Bob Seger, Back In '72 (song Midnight Rider, 1973) Jimmy Rogers, 'Gold Tailed Bird' (1973) Art Garfunkel, 'Angel Clare' (Song 'Traveling Boy', 1973) Don White, single 'Prison Song' / 'Overtime' (1973) Leon Russell, 'Stop All That Jazz' (1974) Leon Russell, "Will O' The Wisp" (1975) Maria Muldaur, 'Sweet Harmony' (Song 'Sad Eyes', 1976) Jessi Colter, 'That's The Way A Cowboy Rocks And Rolls' and Gordon Payne, 'Gordon Payne' (both 1978) Neil Young, 'Comes A Time' (1978) Eddy Mitchell, 'Après Minuit' (1978) Jonas Band Fjeld, 'Back In The USA' (1978) Lee Clayton, 'Naked Child' (1979)

"We probably don't have time to look at these albums in detail. Most legendary seems to be his string work on 'Comes A Time'; Neil Young brought his greatest idol into the studio for his comeback album for the electric guitar post." "Yeah, Neil and John adored each other, you know. And you're right on that assumption, by the way - we haven't got time, hehe."

"I see. Then we'll look at what else happened at Cale over those years. The Master bought the luxury of setting up his own recording studio with Audie Ashworth." "Yes, 1975, as far as I know. They had spent more than enough money to book all the studios - it was time to invest in their own studio. By now they'd put some money aside, mainly thanks to the 'Crazy Mama' single." "And that's why they called it Crazy Mama's studio." "Right. John had moved from Tulsa to Nashville, and they set up shop in the basement of Audie Ashworth's house. John brought his Ampex 16-track machine and Audie brought his console." "And it was on this console that George Harrison's masterpiece, 'All Things Must Pass', was produced in 1971, a mixing console with royal blood in its veins." "Nice wheels, yeah; by the way, they also had equipment that used to be used for Herbie Hancock stuff. You always like to hear that, don't you?" "Famous names? Yeah, sure." "Imagine if the equipment had been junk - Harrison and Hancock would have made it sound anyway, hehe." "I get your message, Brian. But let's take this joy in myth. How big was this studio?" "The one at Audie's house? Hardly bigger than a hotel room, they say. Anyway, they had everything they needed, no unnecessary decorations and stuff. Ashworth also recorded young talents he believed in in this studio and released them on his own label 'Crazy Mama's Grammophone Company'. One of them was named Don Schlitz, for example, and the guy really wanted to record his song 'The Gambler'. You know what happened to that number later; Bobby Bare, Johnny Cash - and then Kenny Rogers, who sold two million records of his version. Not bad, right?" "Oh, I never knew that. Music history has definitely been written in this basement. Danny Gatton recorded his second record there in 1978, 'Redneck Jazz', right? He later became one of the greatest Telecaster guitarists of all time." "Danny was incredible. He was a star. He could play anything. And then that sad ending in 1994..." "Yeah. Unbelievable." Alvin tries to stay focused. "Close to Ashworth's house, Cale was said to have rented a room for himself at the time - so he could stay overnight during intense sessions. From then on, did he do all his recording at the Crazy Mama's?" "Let's say half. For larger sessions with several musicians, they continued to rent luxury recording studios in Nashville. And when everything was in the can, John would usually take the tapes and work on them at home." "I wanted to talk about that anyway. At about the same time, he bought a real house just outside of Nashville to set up a studio in." "Yes, at the Hermitage, where a hundred and fifty years earlier Andrew Jackson lived, our president and slave driver." "How?! Jackson had lived in this house?" "Of course he didn't. Nearby! It was a comfortable house and John stuffed it full of appliances, tape machines, consoles, microphones, a piano, an organ - everything he needed to work. From the kitchen there was a direct access to a large balcony overlooking the lake, Old Hickory Lake." "Wow! So he invested all the money he made into getting back to work." "Yeah, sure. Later he moved to California, and Audie moved his studio to the other side of town in an old shack with 10 acres of land he'd bought earlier."

"Let's get back to the famous trailer ..." "Yeah, man, you gotta bring it, that's what people wanna read - Cale, the lazy hermit who used to hang around the camper." "It became a cliché, I know. But he had that legendary Airstream trailer, didn't he?" "That's right; John bought the Airstream 532 because he wanted to get away from it from time to time. He parked it at the KOA campground near Nashville, in Opryland, just a few miles from the Grand Ole Opry. There it was even quieter than at Old Hickory Lake. And in winter he could leave Nashville and take the Airstream to Florida or California. John needed the heat." "In California, he was said to have lived in a campground near Disneyland for a long time, posing as Charles Johnson. An alias?" "That was a couple of years later, I understand, when he moved from Nashville to Anaheim, near that Disneypark. His sister Joan also lived in Southern California. I guess he just wanted to be left alone there, so he left the name Cale in the drawer, just in case. " "You know, J.J. Cale and his trailer life is the subject of a lot of stories. He was almost unreachable by phone; if someone wanted something from him, he had to try a telegram or leave a message with Audie Ashworth, hoping that the Master would call back some day. Is this true?" "Possibly; but it's nothing special. People forget that in those days, these telephones didn't exist. If you were out and about, you were really out and about - and not available every minute." "The second story is much more spectacular: For years he is said to have hidden his money in the lining of his caravan because he didn't want a bank account." "There's most likely a point to this. He hid the dollar bills in the Airstream, but not because he was a wacko. Because at the KOA campsite, they didn't take checks, only cash. So what good is an account? Credit cards haven't been around for a thousand years, remember?" "Okay, another myth losing its magic. One last try: J.J. Cale - the man who hid in a trailer and tinkered with his songs and recordings in an improvised recording studio." "Well, there was room for a couple of guitars and some equipment in the Airstream, I think. If he had an idea, he had to be able to record it somehow." "Ahh, finally; it stimulates our imagination!" "Yeah, good for you." There's no trace of mockery in Hartley's smile. "Everyone needs their film. I'm just afraid you generally misjudge. If Cale was producing at home, it wasn't like a real studio. He had the equipment, but most of the time it was tucked away in a back room somewhere when he didn't need it. When he wanted to record, he'd take everything out and set it up on the living room table, sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the camper, wherever. " "Wow! How do you know all this stuff so well, Brian?" "I don't know anything for sure, man; I've been reading about it. Christine Lakeland or Mike Kappus for example, they can make us hot with memories like that."

"Wonderful. Real artists like J.J. Cale can work in any place, in any space, that's the insight for us. Let's change the subject. There was another event in the 1970s that changed his life forever. You know what I mean, Brian?" Hartley puts on a slightly suspicious face, but he's not the best actor - you can see the anticipation. "You want to talk about John's personal life, am I right?" "About love, yes." "Pretty brave, man. Not afraid I'll get grumpy?" he asks with a wink. "Um, yes, I know privacy was sacred to the master. But this isn't some cheap tabloid story. Christine Lakeland has become the most important person in his life; they were together for well over thirty years, and Lakeland also played in his band and on many of his albums. This is a wonderful story for J.J. Cale fans, and maybe you know some anecdotes that you can make us happy with. Like how they met, for instance." "Okay, man, as long as I have to make you happy and not hot." A gentle smile flits across his face. "It happened in 1977 in Nashville, at a benefit concert for a prison "B.B. King was the headliner, along with Waylon Jennings. John used to hang out backstage with friends and all sorts of people; it was very relaxed at that time, everybody went to their colleagues' gigs, and you could easily go backstage, people weren't scared all the time. Suddenly this young musician appeared; she was in the country scene, playing in bands of Merle Haggard and such cracks. Chris Etheridge, Willie Nelson's bassist, introduced them to each other; 'I want you to meet Christine Lakeland,' he said to John. You can imagine how enchanted he was by her charm. They hung out, talked for the rest of the evening, watched the concerts together, and later went to a bar to continue talking. Thirty-six years the conversation finally lasted, and if you ask me, they still talk to each other now. She was twenty-two then, and he was thirty-eight." Hartley seems lost in thought, but his eyes light up in a way that betrays romantic compassion. "I think John knew right away - it's her!" "Wow, Brian, this is cinematic! And the enchantment was mutual, as Christine said in an interview; she found him very handsome and smart, and he obviously made her laugh over and over again." "Humour was important to both. They met more and more often; it wasn't the 'come on, let's go to bed the first night' story. Christine Lakeland is an exciting, very creative person, a fantastic musician - John was very enthusiastic about her in every way." "And he immediately brought her into his band." "One of the guys had just dropped out of the band, so he asked her the very first night if she would play rhythm guitar and sing second voice at the next concert." "She hardly had time to learn the songs; it must have been a great stress for her." "Yeah, going on stage without any rehearsal. Christine was obviously quite intimidated, but she did what all good musicians do: If you don't know exactly what you're doing, you just listen, don't play anything for a while and find a place for your notes somewhere. It was a trial by fire for her - a gift for John and his band." "Christine Lakeland stabilised his love life after all his previous disappointments in a wonderful way, and she also enriched him as a musician. The two of them were made for each other." "Now you're almost talking like a marriage counselor, hehe. But remember, you're not getting any bedroom stories." "Oh, that wasn't my intention. But Cale seems to have been bitterly disappointed in love a few times before; it's pretty obvious in some of the songs." "Music has a life of its own, it doesn't have to have anything to do with the songwriter. His songs are sometimes quite frivolous and immoral - it was all just a game, he didn't mean those things seriously, hehe." "The erotic allusions are not serious?" "Sensuality, as I understood it, was already available to him. But John was not the adventurous Casanova he sometimes played in his songs. He loved his wife." "You could see that they loved each other. There were very beautiful moments on stage where their mutual glances told whole volumes of history. 18 years later, in 1995, I understand they got married." "Yeah, I read that, too." "Didn't Christine have problems with his hermit character?" "John wasn't really a hermit. In fact, he was quite domestic. Christine was obviously even more of a loner than he was, as she once said. It was a perfect match." "They lived this hermit life together, so to speak. Did she also travel with him in his camper?" "I'm not a peeping Tom, man - I wasn't there. But from what I know, they traveled across the States a couple of times in the '80s. I guess they were kind of travelers and they had a very simple life." Old man's enjoying a good, strong cigarette smoke. "If you want to know more about Christine Lakeland, you might want to try Mike Kappus to get an interview with her." "Oh, um, I don't know. Let's see, maybe next week." "Okay, we'll talk about it some more. Now we have to move on - our timetable. If you do, write something else about the artist Christine Lakeland, cos she made a couple of records of her own." "Oh of course, I know that." Alvin's digging around in his papers. "We'll be sure to mention that at this point." "We'll forget about it later, I know that. Let me see your notes so I can tell you if the stuff is complete."

Christine Lakeland, 'Veranda' (1984) Christine Lakeland, 'Fireworks' (1989) Christine Lakeland, 'Reckoning' (1992) Christine Lakeland, 'Turn To Me' (1998) Christine Lakeland, 'Live At Greenwood Ridge' (2005)

"Yeah, looks neat, the list. In J.J. Cale's band Christine Lakeland was very important; since they knew each other, Lakeland has been instrumental in all his albums, sometimes even in writing. She makes sensitive songs, has a wonderful voice and can play almost everything; guitar, of course also electric guitar, bass, keyboard, percussion, harmonica. An all- rounder!" "Anyway, a wonderful story, this couple." "I agree." Hartley's gaze is gentle. "Don't get me wrong, we must continue. What's on your mind?" "Let's go back to the '70s, the biggest thing. Let's go back to the two albums, 'Troubadour' and 'Five'. Okay?" "Okay, makes sense. You know the compression ratio - two songs per disc, and another one for the trash can." TROUBADOUR (1976)

Hartley moves restlessly in the chair. "Come out with your two favorite numbers, I'm curious. Then I can tell you my side of the story on these songs." "I'd love to, but first, two or three general words. For many fans, 'Troubadour' is one of his most perfect albums in terms of unity and warm sound, and on this record the master has obviously mixed most of it himself. Half of the twelve songs were recorded at Crazy Mama, the rest in six different larger studios. The unity was certainly not easy to achieve, because the album is also stylistically very diverse, hardly any song is like another. Nevertheless, everything seems to be from the same mould, and it sounds somehow more modern, faster and more powerful than the three predecessors. There's funk in it and even rock, and I've chosen two numbers that represent that perfectly: 'Travelin' Light', perhaps the most underestimated Cale number - and 'Cocaine', the big hit with which he made music history. Of course there are also quiet numbers and country sounds on the album; the dreamlike love song 'Cherry' for example, or the single 'Hey Baby' with 'Cocaine' on the B- side, which stayed in the Billboard Top-100 for three weeks. But many songs have a powerful drive, like the legendary 'I'm A Gypsy Man' or 'Let Me Do It To You' with this incredibly crunchy chicken-picking guitar - which once again reminds us of what inspired Mark Knopfler to write songs like 'Setting Me Up' or 'Southbound Again' two years later. Definitely a fantastic album, also the cover by the way. In Europe the most successful record of his career, as far as I know; the first one that made it into the charts in England, of course also thanks to Eric Clapton's 'Cocaine' hype. Troubadour' is without doubt a masterpiece that gave J.J. Cale his final breakthrough." "Yeah, doesn't sound bad, man; you should be a music journalist, hehe. But the compression ratio is still too low - half the length will do, otherwise we won't get through until tonight." "I'll give it a try. Before we talk about the two songs, one question comes to mind that has been burning on my mind for a long time: How did he actually write his songs - first the lyrics or first the music?" Hartley thinks for a moment. "The famous question. There's no rule, but I think music usually came first with him. However, he didn't sit down and say to himself 'now you're going to write a song'; he just liked to play around on the guitar, and if an idea came to him, a melody or a groove, he would look for a few words and record it quickly to work on it later. In my estimation, the music had more influence on the lyrics than vice versa. On the other hand, he had no trouble finding stories; there was always something on his radar that he could write a song about." "Exciting! So let's look at the two songs, 'Travelin Light' and 'Cocaine'." "We've already talked about 'Cocaine' quite a bit." "Hardly about everything that makes up this song. But if you want, we can start with 'Travelin' Light'."

Travelin' Light

"Rankings don't make sense, I know, but I would still suggest this song for the J.J. Cale Top-10. A crazy piece full of contrasts; a small, romantic ballad with a magical and somehow sad atmosphere on the one hand - an incredibly driving funk groove with a whispered and mysteriously optimistic message on the other. The mixture is beguiling! And once again one wonders what exactly is meant by this light; it could be a drug, just like a metaphysical, spiritual force that builds up and carries away." "Yeah, and no human being can answer that question. Unless he listens to the song..." "I understand; the songwriter only gives the kick - dreaming is something you have to do yourself. But the arrangement is also fantastic, not just the story. What's going on in terms of groove is something James Brown has dreamed of all his life. Once again Karl Himmel on drums, and on bass a certain Tommy Cogbill - no beginner, this Cogbill." "To Jaco Pastorius, Cogbill was a model, so I guess that says it all. Tommy was the four-string boss, one of the Memphis Boys, by the way. This guy had it all. R&B, soul, country, jazz. Dusty Springfield's 'Son Of A Preacher Man' or King Curtis' 'Memphis Soul Stew' - played Tommy Cogbill. You can hear him on records by Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Wilson Pickett, Chuck Berry, Kris Kristofferson, Bob Seger, Neil Diamond. It's a misery that Tommy had to leave when he was 50." "A stroke, yes, very sad. For 'Travelin' Light', Cogbiel's game was just right. and then at the very end of the song, this fiery bass line. How had Cale met him?" "Tommy had already been on Okie. John last recorded with him in the early '80s, for Shades and Grasshopper - news of his death came a year or two later." "What makes the groove so bewitching is the subtle interplay of the rhythm guitars. The two left and right outside, of course; but there seems to be a third one in the middle that fuses with Cogbill's bass." "This one is by Harold Bradley." "I don't know that man." "Well, you ought to. Bradley was one of the Nashville A- Team; he played in the big leagues with the likes of Hank Williams, Buddy Holly, Patsy Cline, Willie Nelson, Roy Orbison and the Everly Brothers - if you know what I mean. A few years ago Harold was inducted into the Musician's Hall of Fame; his first job as a session musician was with Red Foley in 1950 - the acoustic guitar on 'Chattanoogie Shoe Shine Boy'. Bradley doesn't need a lesson in groove." "Now I get it. His playing is very discreet and hardly distinguishable from Cogbill's bass; the interplay between the two is magical. But the peak is these two funky guitars; unattainably hot! They're Cale's, I assume." The old man nods. "James Burton style, nothing new. Both played John only on three sides; one on the three high ones in the ninth fret, and the other with the F#m-Barré handle in the second fret." "And the lead guitar? It may have a brief flash, but it's a universe unto itself." "The Harmony, as always - played right into the console." "I can't believe it. It sounds fantastic. And then there are these mystical bell sounds, which somehow sound like jazz, and yet quite nicely double the melody. Is that a glockenspiel, a xylophone or a marimba?" "Neither - a vibraphone. Played by Farrell Morris." Hartley smiles appreciatively. "He was in charge of the jazz department." "The bells definitely make the song more special. By the way, this song was actually played in space. On Friday, May 21, 2010 - to wake up the Atlantis Space Shuttle crew before their spacewalk. After that song, nothing could really go wrong up there." "Yeah, looks like it, hehe." "I know we don't have much time, but here's a quick reference to Eric Clapton's great cover, 2001, for his album 'Reptile'. Slowhand was based largely on the original, except for his slide guitar. I like it very much, probably the best piece on this record." "Cool, just two things you've picked up That gives me hope." "What things?" "The timetable and Eric's class." "Oh, yeah, you see, I'm willing to learn. Let's go to the second of my song favorites."

Cocaine

Hartley reaches impatiently for a cigarette. "Do you have any questions about this number?" "A few. J.J. Cale originally planned this song as a jazz number. Was it so easy for Audie Ashworth to talk him off the track?" "Yeah, you know, John was a fan of Mose Allison, and he wanted to record the song in this style; cocktail jazz, swing and all. But when Audie asked him if he wanted to make money off the song, John knew. So he turned it into a rock song." "Probably the most rocking song of his entire career." "Maybe, yeah. That simple riff is what makes the whole song; anyone can play it and sing it. John recorded the motif three times in a row, on just one string at a time, with Harmony on the desk. Later on stage he realized that you can play the whole thing with a barré finger over three strings. Sometimes he seemed to have a pretty long line, hehe. " "This riff is a musical historical monument, similar to Deep Purple's 'Smoke On The Water'. But what makes this song so sexy in the first place are these funky licks floating above it. And then, of course, the sparse, rocking lead guitar." "That's Reggie Young's, they added later, in Audie's basement. Reggie played a Fender Telecaster, limited edition, early sixties. This is his signal chain, in case anyone's interested: Fender volume pedal, Herzog Garnet preamp and Fender Deluxe guitar amp with Altec speakers. Reggie dropped the licks in one rehearsal, is told - and of course came up with the usual 'I can do it much better' number. John talked him down quickly and definitely." "Fortunately, it wasn't tampered with any further. I've got one more question. It seems the master played the bass himself. Why? There was no bass player in the studio?" "You don't know this story? When they recorded the basics at Columbia Studio, drummer Ken Buttrey and the bassist got into a fight over some detail. The bass player took off, so later at 'Crazy Mama', Cale played the riff theme with a Silvertone bass right into the console." "Makes perfect. The only thing that surprises me is that he left that obvious mistake at the end. At about two minutes and twenty seconds the bass slips and plays the last two notes one whole note too low; instead of 'b' and 'a' you hear 'a' and 'g'. Why didn't he correct that?" For a brief moment, Hartley seems surprised, then smiles mischievously. "Because he knew we would correct it in our heads." "Clever answer, Brian." Alvin doesn't have to think twice about whether it makes sense to keep drilling. "Let's leave the mystery alone and instead make a brief mention of a cover version. I don't mean Eric Clapton's famous one - we've talked about that a lot. One of the most surprising ones, to me, is by the Scottish rock band Nazareth." Hartley nods. "Good choice." "On their 1980 album, 'The Fool Circle', a very idiosyncratic and funky interpretation - not really Nazareth style at all." "Yeah, you underestimated the guys, that's what you're saying." "Something like that, yeah." "I knew you would. By the way, Alvin, you still owe your readers the worst song on the record. Forgotten it, or hoped I would?" "Well, yes, of course. But is this really necessary? I can't find a bad one, you know that." "It has to be done. Just pretend you were Cale's producer, haha. What song would you have thrown out? "All right, I would leave out 'Ride Me High' with a heavy heart. The song is musically very interesting, with that trance- like groove, the psychedelic arrangement, the crazy and for that time quite progressive synthesizer sounds. But the story the lyrics tell doesn't appeal to me that much; it's somehow too boldly about sex. The strange man laughs and aims his hand at an imaginary wastebasket. "Too direct for a decent boy like you. No problem, let's get rid of this number..."

FIVE (1979)

"The longest studio break yet. 'Five' was released in August 1979, so J.J. Cale had spent three years on this album. Was there any particular reason for that?" "Three years just flew by, man. It wasn't a break, as far as I know anyway. John was trying to write or record all the time. But he was on the road quite a bit; 'Troubadour' was doing well and you know what that meant." "As many concerts as possible." "As many concerts as possible. Not too many, but more than enough." "They say Cale felt like he was at a crossroads back then." "Standing at the crossroads, the old blues story eventually catches up with everybody. At the concerts he realised there were all these young boogies in the audience." "Boogies?" "Yeah, that's what he called them - young, crazy people who want to party and hope you'll give 'em a run for their money. John and his band could have pushed the whole thing in that direction, and he might have become a real star. But he didn't want to ride that track, and you know it." "He could resist the temptation and he didn't change it, his style. In fact, he continued to refine it. It was disco and punk back then, and J.J. Cale was doing simple, bluesy pieces in a minor key. That's pretty sassy." "People were always looking for the opposite of that and they were happy to have someone else bring the stuff. It was the same with Dire Straits. People loved the handmade, relaxed stuff." "Did the huge success of the first Dire Straits record encourage him?" "John was doing his own thing and didn't need any encouragement. He may have heard the Dire Straits story, but it didn't change his life. But it did confirm that there was a market for the music he had always played." "Wonderful, so it motivated him, not annoyed him. He was a positive person." "If someone was inspired by him, that couldn't be a bad sign, hehe." "Exactly! Anyway, on the album 'Five' the clean guitar rules, similar to the young Mark Knopfler. In contrast to Dire Straits, J.J. Cale continued to work mainly as a loner and less as a band. He even recorded the bass on several tracks this time." "Sure." Hartley's eyes started to light up. "And the loner, by the way, wasn't really alone any more..." "Oh, yes, of course, Christine Lakeland was in the same boat now. She played and sang a lot of songs and brought a noticeable new note to his music. Not everyone liked it though; there were also some hardcore fans who liked Cale better on his own." "They're always around. It doesn't matter." "I couldn't agree with you more. Let me say a few general words about the album before I tell you my two favourite songs." "The general words you've already said. And your favorites, they're pretty easy to guess." "Oh, yeah? Why is that?" "I know what you're like now, man. You can drop the erotic numbers, hehe." "Well, we'll see. There are a few general things we should mention. Again, the recordings were made at four different studios in the Nashville area." "They only went out for three songs; most of the songs were recorded and mixed by John at Crazy Mama and his pad at Old Hickory Lake. If all that equipment's at home, it'd be foolish not to use it." "The album is called 'Five'. A provocation, this terse title, even the cover - isn't it?" "Provocation? That's cool, isn't it?" "Yeah, it looks cool in a way. But come on, Brian - while everyone else was impressing with sharp photos and clever titles, our master came up with the original layout 'album number five'. It's almost cynical." "Hey," says Hartley with a wink, "if after ten years you still haven't got a call from a fashion photographer, you know what to do. Then you just come up with something to capture people's looks in a different way. But I guess Cale never really cared much about the design of the record cover anyway. He wrote songs and made music and he was happy to have somebody take care of the artwork." "I can understand that. 'Five' is a logical continuation of his previous work - and yet it's also a small change. At least you get the impression that he wanted to try new things; there are some pretty complex arrangements and innovative sounds. But most of all you notice that the songs are suddenly longer now. 'Sensitive Kind' is over five minutes long and generally no song is shorter than two minutes. Thematically there are as always some erotically charged songs like 'Boilin' Pot', 'Too Much For Me' or 'I'll Make Love To You Anytime'. But then there are also two exceptionally tender songs, 'Mona' and 'Sensitive Kind'. Two other songs seem to have been written for the troubled workers; in 'Friday' and 'Let's Go To Tahiti' he sings in a sensitive way about the intense desire to escape the monotony of working life. And there's another category of themes when he sarcastically reflects on tour life and the fate of musicians in general - in 'Thirteen Days' and in 'Fate Of A Fool'. Definitely a first-class album with everything that makes J.J. Cale what he is, and as always with wonderful contrasts in terms of tempo, groove and volume. 'Thirteen Days' and 'I'll Make Love To You Anytime' are the most rocking numbers. By the way, 'I'll Make Love To You Anytime' has a strong cover version - Eric Clapton, on his album 'Backless'." "Yeah, there was a sharp slide-wah-wah guitar he played!" "He sure did. Why did his version come out before Cale's record, back in 1978? I mean, it's just unusual to get ahead of the original." "It happens. John had made a demo and Eric was really excited about the song. You don't have to ask about the schedule, as long as he's recording it. So in the end, Eric was just faster. Nobody cares any more." "You got that right." Alvin's going through his papers. "Oh, and here's an interesting detail. In the opening number, 'Thirteen Days', a guy named Billy Cox plays bass. That's the former bassist of Jimi Hendrix, isn't it?" "You know that? Cool! After Hendrix' death, Cox worked as a studio musician; he was just in the area and Audie Ashworth grabbed him for a session. Great musician, you hear that?" "Oh yeah! By the way, Tom Petty seemed to like 'Thirteen Days' as well; he often played the song live. A concert recording of March 30th, 1992 at Le Zénith in Paris was released as an album, 'Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers - Petty Fleurs'." Hartley nods. "I hope you made a note of what shoes Petty was wearing at the time. But remember, time is running out. Come on, let's do the guessing game?" "What guessing game?" "Your two favorite ones, I'll tell you what they're called. If I'm right, you get three more sets for each of the remaining albums - if I'm wrong, you get six sets for each disc. Okay?" "My God, Brian, we're never gonna make it! But I think we should step on it. I think you're right. First of all, let me just say that I really like this original choir in 'Thirteen Days', although there are fans who are annoyed by it. It was Christine Lakeland, wasn't it? "Of course she did, and of course you want to be ingratiating so you get more lines, heheh." "No, I really like this choir; it's kind of weird, seems strange in this song - but that's what makes it interesting. By the way, drummer Karl Himmel also does a great job on this song, as always. Powerful! And refined, the way he always turns the groove around." "Is 'Thirteen Days' one of the two favorites?" "Um, no, almost, but not quite." "I know that. I'll tell you what your favourites are called: 'Mona' and 'Sensitive Kind' - a real find for romantics like you." "Not bad, Brian, but only half true. I've chosen 'Sensitive Kind' and 'Friday'." "Yeah, you've got a soft spot for workers, too. I like that." Sensitive Kind

"Okay, man, why don't you tell me what you like about this number? Your hearing aid is on, right? So you've heard the operative word, 'short'." "You got it, boss. 'Sensitive Kind' is one of those rare gems that has found its way into the male music world. I don't know much of anything like it. Maybe most likely 'It Hurts Me Too' by Tampa Red. How sensitively J.J. Cale here promotes selfless love is impressive. If you compare his message with the countless macho lyrics of the rock and pop world, the whole thing almost seems to be from another star. I don't want to know how much agitated couples he could comfort with this song. Chapeau!" Hartley's features soften, as if they were trying to match the tenderness of this song. "Yeah, music has a thousand functions; the healer role is perhaps the greatest thing songwriters can experience." "I think Eric Clapton mentions at the end of his autobiography that most of his musician friends are aware of this role and the enormous responsibility. Something like that, anyway. I think that's impressive." "Of course, Eric's right, but he also says it's hardly ever discussed. With the blues, this awareness is a tacit prerequisite for being able to touch people. But as soon as you put the magic on, it disappears." "Oh, I guess it's like humility - it can only play if you don't want to score with it." "And that's why we're changing the subject. How do you like the music from 'Sensitive Kind'?" "I wanted to talk about that right away. The ballad is very uncharacteristic of Cale, especially the string arrangement." "It's a bit over the top, hehehe - you don't like it, do you?" "Oh no, you can't say it like that. It's not a Hollywood sugar rush, the strings are solid and contribute to the overall sound in a pleasing way. Still, I wonder if this song wouldn't look more intense in a simpler dress." The old man leans back and takes a breath. "If you look at it that way, no problem. I suppose they wanted to make the song somehow radio compatible; it was in vain, though, the radios hardly played it at all. Live it was always much more earthy, as John wasn't touring with a chamber orchestra." "Thank God you don't misunderstand me. It's a fantastic song, it's a fantastic song, it's one of my favourites. Do you happen to know anything about the details of how this song was recorded?" "What I do know is quickly told. Once again Carl Radle on bass, on drums Buddy Harmon, and the string arrangement is by Cam Mullins. They recorded the whole thing at Audie's house, the rhythm guitar and the first solo was played by John on the old Harmony, and in a second round he recorded some more rhythmic accents and solo licks with his 1960s Sunburst Les Paul plugged right into the desk. There are also congas by Jimmy Karstein, the vibraphone as always by Farrell Morris, and Audie has organized brass players - I can't remember all the names. It's in the album credits." Hartley smiles meaningful. "Anyway, you can see the boys have laid it on pretty thick." "You could say that. If you're gonna arrange it, arrange it properly. The production sounds very exciting and yet incredibly relaxed; also the way the song is mixed. I like to listen to such things with very good headphones - and I'm right in the middle of the action." "Cool, man - it's a pleasure to know that there are people out there who really appreciate this endless studio fiddling around." "I think there are a lot of hi-fi freaks among Cale's fans, and they're really getting their money's worth. Another question: This Buddy Harmon, the drummer who played drums here and on two other tracks of 'Five' - he doesn't mean anything to me at the moment. Who is he? In 'Sensitive Kind', he plays very discreetly." Hartley looks like he meets an alien. "You're kidding, right?" "Uh, no, unfortunately, I really don't remember that name." "Yeah, I've been waiting for this - a glitch in your dictionary brain, haha. You must know this Buddy Harmon! Know him too, I'm sure; he plays over eighteen thousand records." "How many? Eighteen thousand...?" "That's right. He's considered the most recorded session drummer in the history of music." "Oh, I'm embarrassed. It's a big mistake." "No problem, man, makes you sympathetic; sometimes you really seem like a computer. Buddy died a few years ago, in his 80s. He was the head drummer in Nashville, on the A-Team, and he won several awards. If I tell you the legends that he was involved in, we'll never finish. A few names, though, just to put you to shame: Elvis Presley, Chet Atkins, Ringo Starr, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, Gordon Lightfoot, Loretta Lynn, Reba McEntire, Willie Nelson, Merle Travis, Doc Watson, Bob Wills..." "Wow, Doc Watson? I'm a fan of Doc Watson!" "Welcome to the club. Buddy Harmon played the Newport Folk Festival with Doc Watson in 1963 and 1964 - was recorded, this gig. The legendary live album, 'The Essential Doc Watson'. Don't tell me that record is missing from your collection." "Oh, no, of course I have that album! That's Buddy Harmon on drums?" "Be careful with the headphones, they make you hard of hearing." "To a music journalist, this lapse in judgment is unforgivable. I'll do my best to make sure it never happens again. I must prepare myself better." "Nonsense; I told you it would make you sympathetic." "Um, there are some interesting covers of 'Sensitive Kind'. J.J. Cale always seemed to be able to get big stars to love his songs - two years after 'Five', a certain Carlos Santana recorded this song for his album 'Zebop!'" "Yeah, Carlos turned that song into a Santana number." "Exactly, with that typical Latino touch; his guitar sings unique as always, he delegated the vocals to Alex Ligertwood, and Santana had quite a bit of success with that version." "Yeah, they played it on the radio, it was cool!" "He made the charts; his 'Sensitive Kind' reached #56 on the billboards and stayed in the top 100 for eight weeks. That must have made Cale's box office ring." "Okay, hold on a second, I'm gonna go to the office, and in a minute I'll tell you exactly how much John made..."

After a few moments, Hartley comes back with a tray of drinks. His eyes betray a certain triumph, but, as always with him, it doesn't seem mocking. "You actually believed it? I just came to get a drink, hehe." "I could have been - you were probably his secret accountant or something." "Funny guy." "Anyway, something cold would be good." Alvin enjoys the first sip. "I didn't really wanna know that much about it anyway, it's none of my business. Let's stay with the covers for a moment; there are other notable ones. In 1986 Spencer Davis recorded the title for the album '24 Hours'. A relaxed and rather slow version; sounds like a classic minor blues, played very soulfully." "It's a classic minor blues!" "Yes, and an extraordinary version was also recorded by a classic bluesman from England - John Mayall, for his 1990 record 'A Sense Of Place', also much slower than the original, specially and quite atmospherically arranged. It's almost like a soul number, with wonderful slide passages by the way." "Mayall is a gentleman, he has style. And hey, you know who took care of the Bottleneck job on his record." Alvin's joy was premature. "Oh, I'm sorry, I seem to have a gap again. Who was playing that guitar?" "Well, now I can play boss and teach you something, man. Sonny Landreth was a special guest on this Mayall record, and on 'Sensitive Kind' Sonny played with Coco Montoya." "Wow, here we go - the slide guru! I had no idea. Mayall always had a nose for future stars. Landreth wasn't at the height of his career then." "I'm not sure, but I think Landreth was considered a slide master even then. Maybe he was even the sole ruler at that time - in the meantime, the balance of power has become a little more difficult." "You mean, ever since that Derek Trucks guy came on stage." "You got it." "Landreth and Trucks, in my opinion, are not comparable; their style is completely different. Both are alien good." "Yeah, now you're catching up in points. But you know, the world works only as a race - people need a winner. Preferably a single winner, a second one makes it complicated. If someone asks you 'who's the king of slides, what do you say?" "Blind Willie Johnson." "Hey! A guy who's not alive - that's your ticket out of here. Good trick, man." "You got me figured out, just like always. Let's go to the second favorite song. Or no, wait, just a quick note about another cover version. By Donovan - not bad either." "The British singer-songwriter? I kind of missed that one. Did he pay for the licenses?" "I don't know. Maybe you'll have to go back to the office now and go through the whole royalty folder after all." Hartley shakes his head in laughter. "It's gonna be okay." "It's possible this whole thing might have gone off the record. Donovan's 'Sensitive Kind' is on a cassette released in 1993 by his fan club newspaper Donovan's Friends under the title 'From One Night In Time'. A bootleg, so to speak, with a collection of unreleased studio recordings." "Well, that's how it went. Cool! So, what's the version?" "I like it. Donovan. And a strong blues guitar, which also plays slide in between. I don't know who's pulling the strings here." "Okay, can I assume that Donovan wasn't doing anything halfway."

Friday

" 'Friday' we talked about; was it yesterday or the day before? Anyway, we got through it fast, man. One chord, one groove – monotonous as the workweek." "We only mentioned the song briefly, compared to 'Anyway The Wind Blows'. 'Friday' is one of Cale's pearls, in every way. Unbelievable, this music - a four-minute boogie groove, a one- chord trick. Monotonous in a way, yes, but still very much alive, with this moving water of guitar licks." "Moving water? Ha, you should write novels." "I'm looking for images to match this song. Hopefully you'll tell us more about the music. I'm equally impressed with the lyrics. There are a lot of songs that work with that weekend feeling; mostly quite clichéd, like 'that was a hard week, but now it's Saturday night, we want to party and forget everything'. Here, however, a completely different story is told - Cale doesn't celebrate Friday night, he lets you experience the days of the week up close. The master paints a pretty bleak picture of working life, accompanied by a stimulating groove that helps you hold out. A perfect way to express compassion without drifting into pity; on the contrary, it's tailwind. Chapeau! No wonder that many people worship J.J. Cale almost like a god; they feel that he really understands them in his songs." "Ha-ha, you should write spiritual advice, man." "If I write about Cale, it might actually be a spiritual advisor - but I can't help it." "Cool, he's excited about the flowers, I'm sure. Now you want the studio transcripts of what buttons he was working on, right? The whole session was broken into the Crazy Mama studio. You hear a couple of guitars, rhythm and lead, each one staggered; did he play them all with the Sunburst Les Paul. Towards the end there's a wah-wah pedal from Vox. They recorded the vocals with the Neumann U-67; for once without doubling, but the voice was placed a bit further forward. By the way, Rick Horton mixed the song - with Cale, the voice would probably have ended up further back. On bass again Carl Radle and Buddy Harmon, and a few piano sounds by David Briggs. That's all I know, these are the official statements. Satisfied?" "That's quite a lot, yeah. The voice sounds really nice and warm, typical for the noble tube microphone from Germany, and thanks to Rick Horton it is loud enough so that you can understand every syllable without any problems." "Which is not the case with all of his songs, that's what you're saying." "You know what I mean. A lot of fans have been wanting a little bit more of his voice for forty years; maybe a decibel, maybe only half a decibel more." "Yeah, half a decibel - you need little to be happy, hehe. You see, that's probably what John was thinking about the whole time his finger was on the vocal fader: If you make people wish for nothing, they will never be happy..."

"Oh, Brian, there's tons of lines in here for a counsellor. But I know you're waiting for the song I'd leave out. It's a very difficult decision and I'm undecided." "Okay, well, you'd best tell me what numbers you're torn between." "Whatever you want. It's three songs..."

Too Much For Me

"A jazzy one-chord piece with drum machine and a constantly repeating walking bass; the guitar work very typical for J.J. Cale, with a cool story about sex and drugs. Still, I could do without that story if I had to."

Boiling Pot

"Wonderful laid-back; you could at most argue that there are already a lot of such airy grooves from him. Again, the story is quite strikingly about sex, with original puns, though."

Let's Go To Tahiti

"Atypical; maybe it's because the song was written by two Okie friends - Roger Tillison and Bill Boatman, both of whom were on the Leathercoated Minds record at the time. The music takes some getting used to, but in some ways it's very interesting. The recurring choir has a lot of arguments - some find it trivial, others find it attractive for that very reason".

"So? Which number has to go?" Hartley asks impatiently. "Um; none is bad enough for me, sorry." "That's all right, let's skip the exercise. Let's talk about the eighties for a moment." "I'd love to. There was this session in Los Angeles, though, in Leon Russell's studio - we can't forget that." "Yeah, that was in June 1979, about the same time they were running 'Five'."

J.J. CALE FEATERING LEON RUSSELL - IN SESSION AT THE PARADISE STUDIOS (1979)

"The live session was professionally filmed and finally released on DVD and audio CD in 2002. Why not twenty-three years later?" "I have no idea. I guess it was forgotten; the recordings ended up in a drawer in Leon Russell's archives. It was rediscovered in Nashville in 2001, and Mike Kappus was desperate to get it out." "Kappus, Cale's manager? Thank God! Without him this session might never have been released." "Yeah, you know, managers are interested in regularly adding wood to the fire. Mike Kappus had also organized the release of the live record a year earlier." "By the way, is this a deceptive impression or are these several film sessions? At least the master doesn't always wear the same shirt, and sometimes he plays with glasses." "There's music playing - and you look at the shirt, haha. The guys weren't at Leon's studio for just half an hour; the whole thing was cut together later." "And how music was made there! The session at Russell's Paradise Studios in Los Angeles is a stroke of luck, as far as I know the only good film recording of a live session. The combination of a concert and a studio session is very successful. An eleven-piece band gathers in a circle, including Christine Lakeland of course, and the joy of playing of the whole band is as audible as it is visible. Twenty-six songs, if you add the bonus tracks; in general they sound more powerful than on the albums, with a deep, rich bass. Laid-back, yes, but powerful at the same time. Leon Russell's Hammond B3 organ definitely gives this music an extra touch, and very harmonious are the moments when they both sing together. By the way, there are a few numbers that are not found anywhere else on an album; 'No Sweat' for example, or 'Ten Easy Lessons' - obviously a song fresh off the presses, of which Cale puts the lyrics on his knees while playing. In the repertoire, there is also a well-known song that made it onto the album 'Grasshopper' in 1982 - the wonderful 'Don't Wait', written by Christine Lakeland and J.J. Cale together. In short, a high-quality contemporary document for which the entire fan community is grateful. "They've had a good time together; that comes across." The old man is smiling. "His hair was quite thick then, and it wasn't the same colour as it was later." "But his look was always the same; in certain moments in the film he looks like the kid in the candy store. The music made him happy - and he knew he had a few trumps up his sleeve." "It's the same for all of us - time is running out, but the look on his face is still there. But if you keep talking like that, man, I'm gonna get all nostalgic." Hartley leans back, pulls the cigarette as if by remote control, and finally gives a jerk to land back in the moment. "Are we gonna play the same game as always? Which number is your favourite, which one ends up in the bucket?" "Oh, there's no question for me: 'Going Down' is the climax; right after the already great 'Cocaine', Cale's band grows even bigger. The energy with which the band interprets the song by Don Nix is amazing! One track that is not one hundred percent convincing for me is 'Don't Cry Sister'; the groove seems to fall apart a bit here and there. "Finally you got it: Don't OD on honey. That's what a statement has to sound like. Let's go back to the 80's."

Chapter 7 – The ride goes on

"You know, Brian, I wonder what could have been the most defining moment in his life during the '80s. In interviews he is said to have said that during those years he spent his time cycling, mowing lawns and listening to rap or Van Halen. Was that meant ironically?" "Why was that ironic?" "I mean, Van Halen and rap..." "You don't really seem to understand J.J. Cale. Eddie Van Halen's guitar playing knocked him out, and good rap is really cool." "Well, he was always good for a surprise, I'm beginning to realise that. I've heard he even told me once that he listened to Britney Spears." "Yeah, but only because he was interested in how they produced the modern stuff. He ticked like a studio man, you know; as a sound engineer you're keen on tricks all your life, whatever the style." "And the story about the lawnmower? Was the master simply trying to say that a perfectly normal life was more important to him than being famous?" "Something like that, yes. Of course he was happy if people knew his music, but his privacy was more important. Once you lose that, there's no going back. By the way, I understand they actually had this lawn in Anaheim." "A lawn? In the '80s, he lived in that motor home." "Guess what? This isn't some little campsite in Anaheim. There's a lot of green that you have to take care of." Hartley smiles. "They obviously had a lawn mower you could sit on - they said he really enjoyed driving it around, hehe." "I can imagine; a toy for adults. So he and Christine Lakeland were living there in Anaheim like normal, settled people when they weren't out and about. And then in 1989, they moved into the house around here. Before we talk about the three Cale albums from that time, I ask myself what moved him personally at that time. What do you think, were there events in the 1980s that shaped his life?" Hartley takes a few breaths. "Today your hearing aid was running pretty good, but now it seems to be having trouble again." "Um, did I miss anything earlier?" "Looks like it, yeah. I told you about the lawnmower and Van Halen. They moved it." "I see. It's all part of the privacy thing." "I think John was pretty happy with his life. Whatever there was to tell, he put into his albums. They'd go on tour now and then, not too often, so it was fun. For example, there was that movie soundtrack we talked about, 'La femme de mon pote'. And Christine also recorded two records, 'Veranda' in 1984 and 'Fireworks' in 1989, which is quite a lot for a decade, don't you think? Especially if you count mowing the lawn, washing up, shopping, and doing nothing." "Oh, nobody's saying he was a slacker. We'll talk about the three albums in a moment, but wasn't there perhaps one happy event that influenced his life or career after all?"

After a strong sip, the old man confidently lifts his finger. "Mike Kappus!" "He met his manager in the 1980s?" "Kappus did not immediately become his manager. In the early '80s, Cale was looking for a new booking agent, book concerts and stuff. Mike Kappus was a household name, of course; he worked for people that John admired a lot - Moses Allison, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker and cracks like that. So he knocked on this man's door and Kappus became his agent in 1983. A stroke of luck, I tell you! Mike Kappus has got a nerve like no other. Of course, he would have liked to book more concerts for J.J. Cale, but he was always cool, never pushed and only booked things that the master liked. A few years later John got fed up with his manager and the whole music industry; they released his album '#8', but the record company didn't do anything about it - because there was no hit on the record, as they said. He split up with these people and now he had no deal anymore. Suddenly this telegram came from Kappus; a friend of his, Andrew Lauder, the president of Silvertone Records, would like to make records with J. J. Cale. Mike Kappus brought the two together and got a new record deal in 1989. John now knew that Mike was also his dream partner as a manager. And now the best part - do you know the story? John and Mike met in a restaurant to discuss the whole thing. John suggested a certain percentage if Mike would no longer be just his agent but also his manager. And you know what Mike answered? 'This is too much, I can't take that much', he said. John probably thought his hearing aid was broken, hehe - or have you ever heard of a manager who wants to earn less than you're offering him? But Mike was serious; John went down a bit and Mike said it was still too much. You know what I mean? There's no other Mike Kappus in the business. You're asking about an event that shaped John's life - that was it." "Wow, that sounds like a storybook! But there's another version of this story in circulation. Cale was really too generous and offered him an absolutely uncommon percentage. It seems to me that it was a meeting of two very humble people. A stroke of luck, indeed." Alvin looks intently at his notes. "Even as an agent, Mike Kappus obviously had some fine gigs lined up for him in the '80s." "Have you got them all listed again, sure - hopefully with a set list, keys, shirt colours and shoe sizes." "No, just a few select dates, but they're pretty good." "Go for it, man."

"On March 28th, 1981, in Kansas City, at the Uptown Theater. On November 18th, 1983, with John Hammond in Canada, at the Southern Alberta Jubilee Auditorium in Calgary." "Interesting. What else?" "A special gig, for example, August 31st to September 2nd, 1985, at the legendary Bumbershoot Festival in Seattle, Washington. When I look at the program, who else was on stage besides J.J. Cale - I feel like I'm in a candy store: Bonnie Raitt, Etta James, Bobby McFerrin, the Everly Brothers, Wilson Pickett and a certain Stevie Ray Vaughan." "Yeah, but you know, John probably didn't catch all the shows; there were tons of gigs on several stages in those three days. Stevie was supposed to be a knockout, just like Bonnie Raitt. Great festival, definitely!" "Yeah, and I think we even forgot another name. An idiosyncratic German singer was also there: Nina Hagen. I hope the Germans won't hold this against us." "Yeah, they'll forgive you. They'll forgive me even less - I don't even know who the lady is, hehe." "I'm sure they won't hold it against us. I have another concert in my list - on August 31, 1988, with Robert Cray, again at the Southern Alberta Jubilee Auditorium in Calgary. Canada seems to have been a good place for Cale." "Canada was and is a good place to be. Not just for Cale. Cool country, cool music culture."

"Before we talk about the albums, to the master of your knowledge, did anything important happen in the '80s?" "Yeah, I got a hunch. The digital revolution." "Digital revolution? You have to explain that to me. His music has more of a reputation for being warm and typically analogue. Was he really into digital technology?" "Yes and no. He kind of missed the sound of the good old tape machines, sure. But, you know, he's always been into technology, especially recording technology. His early records sounded that way because they didn't have expensive equipment to work with back then; a little dull or opaque - people felt it was warm. But when the digital thing started, he found it exciting, because you could suddenly work in a completely different way for quite little money. First came effects like reverb and delay, and then in the early eighties, there were these digital recording battleships in the studios." "The first multitrack digital tape recorders came out in 1981, as far as I know. Sony brought the PCM-3324, and Mitsubishi brought a machine called the X-800." "Yeah, on the Sony machine you could record twenty-four tracks in 16-bit format, and thirty-two on the Mitsubishi box; Sony soon countered with forty-eight. It was a whole new world - John was used to working with four, eight or at most sixteen tracks. But the new recording sleds were outrageously expensive, only the really big studios could afford them". "Do you happen to know when Cale first started using a digital tape machine?" Hartley retires into his thoughts for a moment. "Not sure, but I think it was early 1983; at Warner Bros Studio in North Hollywood - Snuff Garrett's former Amigo Studio. John recorded 'Money Talks' there for the '#8' disc, on a 3M machine with thirty-two digital tracks. Jim Keltner was on drums." "Wow! But it was only later, in his own studio, that he started using digital recording equipment?" "Yeah, as things got handier and cheaper. The development went pretty fast. 1987 the first DAT-recorder came out; the small mini cassettes, already ideal to bring a mix down to a stereo track. In the early nineties came the ADAT from Alesis and the DA-88 from Tascam; eight digital tracks on one cassette - now things became affordable and interesting because several of these boxes could be synchronized and you could easily drive with twenty-four tracks. A little later, digital mixing consoles came along, from Yamaha for example; pretty small devices, not those metre-long consoles that block off your whole living room". "So J.J. Cale was about to go digital in his home?" "For recording and mixing, yes. He got himself an Alesis HD24, I believe; twenty-four tracks in a hard disk-based unit, plus a Yamaha 0296 digital mixer. For all the rest, of course, he continued to use analog gear; microphones, amplifiers, compressors, and so on. So in the end it's a combination of analog and digital. Especially when mixing, the digital is really cool because you can save everything at any time and continue working on it later. Total control - that's probably what John appreciated. It usually took him a lot of time before he was finally satisfied with a mix." "Nowadays, when you're recording and mixing, all you do is use the computer, the screen." "Of course, with Protools and all those systems. Became cheaper and cheaper and is now as powerful as a million dollar luxury studio. That democratizes the whole story; whoever has talent and ideas today can put them into practice - anywhere and anytime. That's what John and his friends used to dream of." "The know-how in recording, arranging and mixing, but that's not in the computer - you have to work for it, right? Cale had learned it from scratch back then, as a sound engineer." "Yeah, certainly didn't hurt him. But that's something young people can learn nowadays. They're not stupid. I think that's cool, man."

"Oh, Brian, I'd love to talk to you about this kind of stuff for days, but we gotta go ahead and get those three albums. One last thing does come to my mind though: 1985 apparently saw the first and so far only personal meeting between J.J. Cale and Mark Knopfler. Do you know anything about it? What was it like for John to meet his younger music brother, so to speak?" The strange man smiles, cuddles his beloved dog's ears with feeling - and finally says with a wink: "Make yourself hot, this story, I can imagine, hehe. Mike Kappus had the idea and arranged the meeting." "Now you really make us hot; come on, tell us..." "John had a gig at the Sweetwater Music Hall in Mill Valley, near San Francisco; mid September 1985 if I'm not mistaken. Mark Knopfler was on tour and played to twelve thousand people at the Concord Pavilion that same night. After his concert, he came straight to the Sweetwater; it's not very far away, hardly 30 miles." "It was September 14th," Alvin says reverently. "What I don't quite understand is that Mark Knopfler's tour schedule was very tight; he played in Concord the night before and then again in Sacramento on September 16. Was there even enough time for such a meeting? The two were hardly on stage together - their concerts took place at the same time." "Of course they played together! The Dire Straits stuff was a big story; shows like that start pretty early and finish on time. The Sweetwater Music Hall is a small club; there the musicians hang out and play until late at night. Towards the end of the Cale concert, Knopfler arrived, came on stage as special guest and jammed with the guys. I think they were all a bit tired, you can kind of see on the photo. John had been on stage the night before, at the Palms Playhouse near Sacramento. And Mark, anyway, he was out all the time." "You mean this black and white photo that Mike Kappus took? Apparently the only picture of the two of them in circulation. As you know, there are no audio recordings of this jam session. Mark Knopfler was playing tired that night?" "I wasn't there. I don't think he played tired - he was tired. When you're tired, you often play best." Hartley lets himself fall a little more deeply into the chair, panting. "Hey, just imagine Knopfler's huge stress; the Brothers In Arms story was a big deal, they sold thirty million of them and sent the Dire Straits on a mega tour around the world. For a year, all that travelling around, the flying, and on the few days off, a pile of press appointments. You know what I mean? It's exactly what John never wanted." "Yes, and the Dire Straits disbanded a few years later for exactly this reason - because the whole circus became too big for Knopfler. So maybe J.J. Cale was his role model in that respect too - in not sacrificing your life to the limelight." "Yeah, Mark Knopfler pulled the emergency brake just in time. You can't go all the way back once you become a star, though. Even if Mark goes on tour today, it's not a casual senior trip, hehe." "Looks like it. But the Brit seems to be happy because he feels free today and can decide for himself. Forgive me if I'm nosy and try to imagine what they might have been talking about that night. Do you know anything about it? I hope John gave him a good going over and asked him why he conquered the world with his musical concept without being asked? Hartley's look indicates that he understands the question correctly. "You like puns and humour, don't you? Of course he snapped at him, and Mark took out his checkbook as an excuse. Ten million in pounds, though, hehe." "Mark Knopfler apologized?" "Bullshit! You like humour, but you don't seem to understand it. You still get the idea in your heads that Knopfler stole something and Cale's pissed at him because of it. You're gonna have to get over that once and for all. Both of you." "I know we've talked about this before, but it's a hot topic. Most of Cale's fans know and love Mark Knopfler's music, and some of the Knopfler crowd appreciates J.J. Cale and knows that Mark was influenced by him. That makes you want more. Maybe you have an anecdote or two for us about what happened at their meeting? Come on, Brian." "An anecdote, haha. I just delivered it. The cheque story." "Yeah, but you're pulling our leg with this one. I mean a true anecdote, of course." "If you can't get the attention of the press, you'll just have to make up the story. Isn't that what you want? And I wasn't going to, so I'll just have to make it up, man." "Well, any journalist is happy to sell a sensation. But I'm really serious here; for people it's very interesting to know how two musicians who are so close to each other met, the first and obviously only time. Or was there a second encounter? On the website of some Dire Straits fan club, the news is spread that Cale attended a concert by Mark Knopfler at the Hammersmith Odeon in London that same year, December 18, 1985." "News...?" Hartley waves off. "A classic fake. John never went to see Mark." "It's a rumor, I suspected. So this meeting at the Sweetwater Music Hall was his only experience with Mark Knopfler?" "In your opinion, should they have moved in together or what?" "No," cries Alvin with a laugh. "I see what you mean - two very busy and also very reserved musicians who each went their own way." "Something like that, yeah. And so that we can finally satisfy your readers' ravenous appetite, here are the facts once again: There was no competition between the two. Okay, John would've got more out of it if Mark had covered a Cale song, like Clapton did. Of course Mark used to listen to Cale records, but he wanted to go his own way. He was not only influenced by J.J. Cale but also by Dylan for example. It's the normal course of things, that's how all music develops. Anyway, Mark Knopfler took the concept to the next level. And later the two may have even influenced each other; Dire Straits was very melodic - John's guitar playing also became more melodic with time; but his singing never did. I see the two as related, but in the end they each had their own roots; with Cale it was this Tulsa groove, and with Knopfler it was the Celtic background." "Well put, Brian. Mark Knopfler didn't mention the influence very often, but at crucial moments he said that J.J. Cale's music was very special to him and had accompanied him constantly as he developed his style. And by the way, there is another thing they have in common - both were and are happy to be lord and master in the studio. Unlike Cale, Knopfler did not start out as a sound engineer, but as soon as he could afford it, he too created this environment which allowed him to produce his own music. The Brit is a tinkerer like our master was, and in the meantime he has long had his own and very comfortable studio in London, where he also produces all sorts of other music greats." "Yeah, British Grove Studios. It's a good place to work, man. Knopfler's place is full of expensive equipment, many from the analogue era. Two old mixers that George Martin fiddled with for the Beatles. Cool!" Hartley carefully stubs out his cigarette. "Are we going to take care of John's 80s records now? You know what, Alvin, I got an idea how we can do this." "Oh, I'm listening!" The old man gets up and Blue realizes in a split second "Sorry, I gotta do a lap first..."

With his eyes much brighter and his gait much lighter, Hartley comes back from his dog walk as usual - and gets going right away. "I've been thinking, Alvin. We'll shift up another gear, but not because of time pressure or laziness, but because it really makes sense. Let me explain: An album is an album and works as a whole. So we don't talk about individual songs anymore. You can mention songs by name, okay, but no more details. Who plucked which string at which number or hit which drum is not that interesting; people can read about it in the credits. I want us to talk only about albums, discuss them briefly and characterize them - and above all, to compare the different albums with each other. Okay, shall we start? Which of these three albums do you like best?" After a few seconds of freezing, Alvin quickly gets used to the idea and to the again changing pace. "Um, granted, there's something to the idea, and I can answer your question without hesitation. But first of all I'm wondering how J.J. Cale suddenly got caught up in the maelstrom of producing three albums in three years in the early eighties? I mean, before that it was five albums in just under ten years. So now it's a doubling of the cadence: 1981 the album 'Shades', 1982 then 'Grasshopper' and 1983 finally '#8'. It almost looks like a work mania." "Work mania, hehe. Cale was always writing songs and recording demos, so he had a lot of material in stock. And if you're ever in the flow of producing, it can happen pretty quickly. But if you like - he was motivated, I think he was." "You can hear that on these three albums! 'Shades' was released on Shelter Records, and then this label ended; Denny Cordell dropped the whole thing?" "Grasshopper" was also released on Shelter in the first English press, and then it went out, and Mercury got the rights. Cordell was obviously fed up with the music business. He launched this Flipper's Roller Boogie Palace in Los Angeles in 1979; a crazy disco in a purple and blue painted building where young people could skate half-naked and bounce around to rock'n'roll. In the eighties he tried his luck with horse racing. In the early nineties he returned to music and produced the cranberries from Ireland - his last hit. Denny Cordell died in 1995 at the age of fifty one. It's a shame, so early." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that; Cordell obviously did a lot for J.J. Cale." "If it weren't for him, the story of John's records would have been different, or maybe even a disaster." Hartley lowers his head for a moment before he gives a jerk and looks up again. "OK, so our master was now at Mercury; they owned PolyGram, and PolyGram is now part of Universal Music - complicated, isn't it? Anyway, he was now with a major label. So, now you tell me which one of those three albums you like." "It's obvious to me, but I won't tell you right away. Let's start with a short description of each of the three records, as you suggested." "I get it. You want to test my patience. Okay, bring the reviews, but remember, with a critical note." SHADES (1981)

"The opening song is deceptive; 'Carry On' is a wonderful number and has become a classic, but the piece is not characteristic of this record. In parts the album sounds quite conservative, you could easily sell it as a blues album. The list of top musicians involved is impressive; Hal Blaine and Carol Kaye from the Wrecking Crew, then of course Christine Lakeland, James Burton, Jim Keltner, Reggie Young, Glen D. Hardin, Ken Buttrey and even Leon Russell. By far not a bad album, only the cover in Gitanes-look already has style, which of course especially pleased the French. Legendary and funny J.J. Cales version of the Cow Cow Davenport song 'Mama Don't'. Also strong 'Love Has Been Gone'; typically laid-back, with delicate guitar sounds that would suit Mark Knopfler just as well. And one number really puts the facts on the table: Please don't ever again say that Cale was a bad singer - on 'Runaround' the master sings like a wonderfully authentic blues singer, in every sense! But considered as an album, this record didn't reach all his fans, because it might actually sound too bluesy. His blues is great, he had it down pat, but many others have it down as well. There is only one J.J. Cale - there are a thousand bluesmen. I love blues, I like the album, but it's not one of his strongest." Hartley doesn't look at what he's thinking and keeps Alvin waiting for seconds. Finally, he gives the all-clear with a smile. "Yeah, that's how you write a record review, man."

GRASSHOPPER (1982)

"I can't keep it a secret any longer - this album clearly emerges as the winner in the triathlon. It's one of the narrowest choices of all his productions, and if I had to recommend one single record to someone as a gateway drug, it would actually be 'Grasshopper'. Because it contains everything that makes J.J. Cale what he is, with a diversity for which the term Americana was invented a little later. In addition to the stylistic richness of colour, there is also a mature production technique and thus a listening pleasure that exceeds that of his early albums. Here the master is at the cutting edge of his time, sounds modern and yet completely J.J. Cale. A perfect balancing act. Once again, some of the best session musicians are on board; Reggie Young, Ken Buttrey, David Briggs, Tommy Cogbill and, for example, John Christopher on rhythm guitar - the man who won a Grammy in the same year as co-songwriter of the legendary song 'Always On My Mind'. But the heart of the 'Grasshopper' record are of course the songs, the stories. The opening number already sets the bar high; with the sunny 'City Girls' Cale was as close to a real pop hit as never before. The second song 'Devil In Disguise' is probably the fastest rock'n'roller he ever recorded. With 'Drifter's Wife' you can't believe your ears; all alone, with a proper Okie accent and highly virtuoso fingerpicking accompaniment, he tells the story of a wandering musician – Cale is playing in the top league of the genre, on a par with Woody Guthrie or Bob Dylan. In the love song 'You Keep Me Hangin' On' Cale touches on vulnerable lyrics and lets himself be accompanied on the piano in the very best Elton John manner. In the pulsating 'Downtown L.A.' he paints a depressing portrait of the big-city decadence, in 'A Thing Going On' he conjures up a frighteningly mystical mood, and in 'Don't Wait', written by Christine Lakeland and himself, this heaviness is countered by a dazzlingly charming optimism. None of the fourteen pieces is like any other, but each one embodies its specific role, even the two short instrumentals, which sound strange on their own. 'Grasshopper' has this inner balance that cannot be explained. So I would simply call it a stroke of genius." The old man's eyes sparkle; for once he doesn't seem to have the slightest desire for coolness. "Not bad, man, really, you got it! If John had had those kind of reviews back then, maybe the record would have gone better here in the States." "I know, a sleazy 149 on the billboard charts; it's puzzling to me. The record was very successful over there - #7 in France, #5 in Norway, #4 in Switzerland and #3 in Belgium." "Europeans have taste," says Hartley with a satisfied smile as he pours fruit juice and ice cubes. "The winner has been decided, so we don't need to discuss the third slice any more." "That would be unfair; every candidate deserves a mark."

#8 (1983)

"With many artists it would be a compliment to say that a record sounds stylistically consistent - with J.J. Cale it seems to be more of a criticism. Most of the songs have a rocking background and musically create a similar mood. It's difficult to name them; I would try to to explain it with 'pop garage rock, very laid-back'. It's one of his many trump cards that he wanted to play on this album, and this focus has been rated quite negatively by certain critics. There are indeed numbers that are similar, and '#8' is far from the 'Grasshopper' colourfulness. Still, there are some pearls on there that I wouldn't want to miss. The opening number 'Money Talks' of course, and right after it 'Losers'; both songs were written and sung by Christine Lakeland and him together. Both of them would have what it takes to be chart breakers - hell knows why it didn't work out. 'Money Talks' became a classic after all. The dark and socially critical themes are striking. Not only the cynical 'Money Talks', but also songs like 'Hard Times', 'Unemployment', 'Livin' Here Too', 'Losers' and 'Trouble In The City' are about hard times, economic problems, dissatisfaction and the decline of moral values. Also 'People Lie', a razor-sharp piece about the mendacity of the powerful, and 'Reality', a song about the false promise of drugs, are not made to spread good humour. The casual 'Takin' Care Of Business' and the song 'Teardrops In My Tequila', composed by Memphis songwriter Paul Craft, almost seem like foreign bodies. The rhythmic looseness is of course always there with Cale - the guitars in 'Trouble In The City' for example are played so crisp and laid-back that a Mark Knopfler in top form would barely manage it. Cale has delighted the hard core of his fans with '#8', but beyond that, this album missed the charts worldwide, except in Switzerland, the Netherlands and Sweden." "Probably because it was the first time he appeared on the album cover. A face like that won't make the charts, hehe." "I love your humour. But seriously - what do you think, from his point of view, was it a failure?" Hartley leans back clumsily. "Sure, John was disappointed. As I said, the record company didn't lift a finger, they didn't believe in the record, so you can't get into the charts. But I think he was in a bad mood in other ways, too, sort of burnt out." "I can understand that, that's why he took a break for a few years after the album." " 'Break' is the wrong word, he was on stage now and then. But the desire to make a new album was gone for him. He tried to get out of his contract with PolyGram." "I'm sorry the Master had to go through that experience. But at least afterwards he could put himself in the position of an indie musician." "What are you saying?", Hartley grumbles. "You've just clearly explained the logic of the music business: No chart success without the support of an influential record company, i.e. no way to reach a larger audience. Every indie musician in the world will now shout a slightly cynical 'welcome to the club'. Thousands upon thousands of small artists in the world share this fate - the frustration when good work doesn't get enough response. Most Indies even fight for their daily bread because they lack any financial reserves." Hartley looks serious; not angry, more compassionate. "Yeah, you mean to say it didn't hurt Cale, and the spoiled slacker didn't really have to worry about it anyway, because even when he was doing nothing, royalty checks kept bouncing in on him." "Um, sort of, yeah; without the two words 'spoiled' and 'slacker', of course. The indie musician life is a reality, and unlike many big stars, J.J. Cale has at least met them briefly, which ultimately only makes him even bigger." The strange man waves away embarrassed. "Bigger? Ha-ha, John knew he was lucky - BIG lucky, yes." "Well, before we get back into the vicious circle of humility, let's just call it the luck of the hardworking. Shall we continue, Brian? Two decades to go..."

∞

"Okay, man, it's gonna be night real soon. We'll stay here, I'll cook dinner, and that way we can buy some time. But we're running out of time either way - we gotta step on it. But the nineties are quickly told. Actually there is nothing to tell. You know he got married in 1995. Since Christine and him lived in this house in the area, they were more normal than any average American. You know, keeping house and property in order, taking care of the animals, giving a concert every now and then, writing and recording a song every now and then. And in between, they rested up pretty good, of course. I don't suppose you have any more questions; just list the three '90s albums, then we'll have this decade in the dry." "Oh, now you're running me down a bit. Are you sure nothing happened in those ten years? He's been on the road a few times, for example. And I've recorded four records, not three; not counting the best-of albums, of course." " 'Travel-Log' was released in late 1989, and the material is definitely from the '80s. But some of the pressings didn't come out until 1990, so the record is often counted in the nineties." "Oh, all right. If we count it as the '90s, then we've got four albums to talk about." "Three or four sentences on each disc should be enough; there's not much new stuff. J.J. Cale has sounded the same for thirty years, the critics said." "Forget those critics - he had his own style, that was a strength. Before we discuss the records, do you know anything about concerts from that time?" "John received concert requests from all corners of the world; he turned down most of them - you know, flying. But he and his mates toured the States and Canada a few times in the nineties. There were also big gigs; Carnegie Hall in New York, Great American Music Hall in San Francisco, Amphitheatre in Universal City, or the Olympia in Montreal. Yeah, and in Montreal, they even played a real jazz festival; Cale probably served a few semitones more than usual with his guitar there, hehe." "And after many years, he was finally back in Europe for the third and finally last time. In September and October 1994, for the album 'Closer To You'. Three concert recordings from that time made it onto the live album in 2001. "The European tour must have been cool, yeah. Bill Raffensperger on bass, Rocky Frisco on keyboard, James Cruce on drums, Jimmy Karstein on percussion - and Christine Lakeland, of course, with guitar and vocals." "The troupe seems to have been celebrated over there. Three sold-out evenings at Hammersmith Odeon in London, three shows in Germany, at Musikhalle Hamburg, Tempodrom in Berlin and Gasteig Munich. In Paris of course, at Le Grand Rex, and on this tour finally in Switzerland, at the Eulachhalle Winterthur - we talked about it. They also stopped in the Netherlands, in the congress building in The Hague; before this concert there was some kind of TV show, which has been on YouTube ever since. Like two people in love, he and Christine sing 'Devil In Disguise'." "Yeah, she tried to make him laugh - and Christine easily did, as you can see in the video." Hartley's gaze becomes gentle. "Tomorrow Mary comes back; it's high time, man," he sighs. "By the way, that was '2 Meter Sessions', the Dutch radio and television show; a music show with live acoustic sessions. It's been around since 1987, basically the forerunner of the later 'MTV Unplugged' hype." "Oh, I didn't know that exactly. Doesn't seem very competent, though, when you hear how Cale is introduced at the beginning of the show: Jean Jacques Cale - known as the gas station attendant in the movie 'Paris, Texas'. What the hell is this?" "Yeah, you'll have to ask your fellow journalists. Someone once spread the rumor that he played the gas station attendant in Wim Wenders' movie, haha. Checked out the actor, Sam Berry is the name. After a few beers and with a lot of imagination, you can actually mistake him for John." "Funny! It's still a mystery to me that a TV producer doesn't do more serious research." "Anyway... Speaking of research - you wouldn't happen to have a set list from that tour, would you?" Alvin is beaming triumphantly. "Of course I have! A Hammersmith concert was even broadcast on the radio and later traded as a bootleg. These are the songs they played..."

River Boat Song Ride Me High The Old Man And Me New Orleans Don't Cry Sister Call Me The Breeze Really Black Cat I Feel So Bad T-bone Shuffle Closer To You Nowhere To Run Everlovin' Woman After Midnight No Time

"Yeah, cool," says Hartley with a nostalgically transfigured look. "During his stay in Paris, by the way, a legendary TV show was recorded; 'Taratata', broadcast on December 16, 1994 on France 2, 'Hard Love' and 'Cocaine', the master played with his band, live of course; the audience went completely crazy. France has always been a good place for J.J. Cale." "I guess so. Fine people, real music lovers. I watched the show. I remember the host proudly mentioning that 'Closer To You' was even produced by a French label." "And is that true?" "Of course it is. Mike Kappus knew this Emmanuel de Buretel, the boss of Virgin France at the time. De Buretel produced Keziah Jones and things like that, and did business for French stars like Serge Gainsbourg, Julien Clerc or Jacques Brel. John immediately realised that this man was serious and knew something about music. So he invited De Buretel to join him on tour." "Emmanuel de Buretel accompanied J.J. Cale on a concert tour?" "Your hearing aid, man. He rode on the tour bus, that was in 1993. Fine guy, they both apparently talked for hours and listened to music together. "At the end of it, John said to him, 'Okay, let's make a record together. Finally there were four - 'Closer To You' 1994, 'Guitar Man' 1996, 'J.J. Cale Live' 2001 and finally 'Roll On'. By then Emmanuel had his own label, Because Music."

Author's note: The posthumous album 'Stay Around' from 2019 was also released on the label 'Because Music' Alvin digs through his papers, quietly talks to himself and finally reappears with his index finger raised. "The Master was on two very interesting foreign productions in the '90s." "Yeah, he only did it so that later no journalist could sell this lazy story." "He was not a slacker. One is Paul Simon's record, 'The Rhythm Of The Saints', which was recorded in early 1990 and Cale's guitar can be heard in two songs, 'Born At The Right Time' and 'Can't Run But'. An exciting project." "Hey, Paul Simon - name not enough for you? Simon only does great things." "And the other is a John Hammond record Cale produced in 1992; 'Got Love If You Want It'. You know how that came about?" "Hammond and Cale had known each other for a long time; Mike Kappus was Hammond's agent and he set the whole thing up. One of the songs, by the way, involved John Lee Hooker, yeah." "I know, 'Driftin' Blues'. It must have been a great feeling working with this blues icon." "Yeah, Cale probably never forgot that moment." Hartley's eyes light up - getting darker as he takes a quick glance at the clock. "Let's talk about the '90s records. But we're changing the rules of the game. You're a good critic, but your reviews will be long. So let me introduce the records, it'll be faster. Okay?" "Of course, Brian." "And at the end, you're gonna tell me which one of these four discs is your favorite. plus maybe a favorite song from each of them, but only one. Ready?" "Ready and waiting."

Hartley makes a generous finger movement, which should probably mean a circle. "What I have to say applies to all four albums, so let's check the whole nineties package..."

TRAVEL LOG (1990) NUMBER 10 (1992) CLOSER TO YOU (1994) GUITAR MAN (1996)

"Try to put yourself in the Master's place. Songwriting is a tough job, man. The longer you do it, the harder it gets; because you have to be careful all the time not to copy anyone - not even yourself. Hey, there are a few billion songs on the road on this planet now, and new ones are being added every day. The chance that you unintentionally write something that already exists is pretty damn high. And as you get older, you are of course imitating your own style all the time. I'm sure John was trying to find some fresh nuance, not to repeat himself all the time. Sometimes he actually did, and then people would come and say, 'hey, that's not J.J. Cale anymore'. Many times he might just think he'd succeeded, and in the end he realized he'd ended up with the same old stuff again. With these four albums here he wanted to work with new sounds, try things out, experiment with technology. Basically, he had done that before, with drum machines and stuff; now he added synthesizers, or on 'Travel-Log' for example, he had the great Al Capps arrange certain songs. John wanted to leave well- trodden paths and so from now on he didn't produce with Audie Ashworth anymore, but alone. I think you can hear that, even though every record has some of the old grooves and moods on it. I like the new sounds, but there are fans and critics who measure him on his first records all his life and say, 'there's not that warmth, that naturalness anymore'. What should he have answered? Maybe J.J. Cale always preferred to do what wasn't hip at the time. In the nineties, the unplugged hype came and he said to people, 'that's what I used to do, only back then it wasn't called unplugged'. Now it was a trend, and he wanted to do the opposite - work with synthesizers, effects and drum machines. He was probably something of an anachronistic pigheaded man. But beyond that there was one constant: his guitar and his singing. And of course the heart of it all, the stories. Sometimes he wrote simple lyrics, sometimes ambitious ones - as long as John had something to tell, he felt like a songwriter. On 'Travel-Log' there are a lot of melodies and stories about cities and places, because he travelled a lot. Most of the songs on 'Number 10' are about the joy of love, the loss of love or mortality. On 'Closer To You' there are funny songs about the dark realities of musician's life, love songs, erotically charged numbers and again a story about transience. On 'Guitar Man', in the opening song 'Death In The Wilderness', a rather angry lyric about the exploitation of our planet, we say an eco-song. Or for example the song 'Old Blue'; a traditional, an old story about the love for animals. That's the most important thing about this album package from my point of view; now I'm curious about your favourites."

"Wow, perfect, Brian; you'd make a great press texter." "And you should try your luck in the honey business." "About the album travel log, it just occurred to me that there's a remarkable cover version of Cale's song 'Tijuana' by one David Lindley." Alvin is beaming mischievously. "Yeah, from your namesake, hehe; I know the version Lindley did with Hani Naser on the 1995 album 'Playing Even Better - Official Bootleg #2'. Lindley is a huge Cale fan anyway, and he was on stage with him a couple of times, I think. I read that Mike Kappus would have liked to have a recording session with the two of them later on - unfortunately it didn't work out because John was already in bad health." "Oh wow, the Cale-Lindley duo would have been magical." Alvin turns over a stack of papers. "That guitar, by the way, on the cover of Guitar Man, it looks so classy! Is it a drawing, or is it real?" "Hey, that was his Martin." Hartley's eyes light up. "Oh, excuse me. His favorite guitar?" "A Martin 000-45 custom, built in 1991 to his own specifications. Engelmann spruce top, mahogany neck, ebony fretboard and bridge, Brazilian rosewood back and sides, plus all kinds of beautiful ornaments and inlays. He replaced the original pickup with one of LR Baggs. Fantastic acoustic guitar - not too big, surely very comfortable. I think he played it at home all the time." "Magic, these Martin guitars, and then a custom one - the master was a lucky man! Tell me, how many instruments did he actually own? Was he a collector?" Hartley thinks for a moment. "John rather collected guitars than cars; it will have been about fifty in the end, I suppose. Not all noble things. He'd often bought cheap guitars and tinkered with them endlessly - guitar necks, pickups and stuff like that probably lay around his house." "He had a couple of nice Gibson instruments in his collection, I heard." "Yeah, an L-4, an L-5, one or two Les Pauls of course, then a couple of ES models - the ES-175, ES-335, ES-330 and ES- 336. Or the CS-356. Gibson does fantastic acoustic things too, by the way; John had a J-165 EC, and also an L-00 Standard - he used to grab that when he was writing songs." "Oh, that sounds very noble. So J.J. Cale was more of a Gibson guy than a Fender guy?" "Not really, no. The Gibson necks were obviously not ideal for his short fingers; John loved to play Stratocaster as well - he had a few of them, and of course he modified the endless ones, haha." "And he even bought a Casio MIDI guitar. That's a bit of a surprise." "A Casio PG-380 from 1991. He thought this MIDI idea was brilliant at the time, because you can play a whole lot of different sounds on the same instrument. Live it's a wild card because you're less stressed. Hey, at Cale's concerts someone didn't jump on stage after every song and bring a new tuned guitar." "He didn't have a roadie?" "John never had roadies - or at most for a few big gigs." "So the MIDI guitar was a very practical help. A pocketknife with lots of blades." "Sort of, yeah. They were cool in the '90s; these Casio things aren't in demand any more." "Speaking of technical things - did J.J. Cale prefer any particular string gauge?" "It depended on the instrument, but his preference was for light strings and a low string action, as far as I know. Guitars with thick wires sound fuller, of course, but John had a very light touch, especially when fingerpicking, and he didn't turn up the volume. You know what? I think he was trying to change his sound all the time by fiddling around with his hair, and he ended up sounding the same as he did 40 years ago when he played that cheap Harmony."

"Because it was his very own sound; the way Cale touched the guitar, the way he phrased." Alvin looks restlessly at his Dictaphone. "Excuse me - something seems to be flashing. I think it means the memory space is about to run out." "This thing may be checking out more than we think, haha. Let's not waste time! Which album is going to the podium for you?" "Oh, yeah, here, very small, you can see the time left: ten minutes. Um, after that I'll probably have to take notes." "Don't worry, won't be necessary, man." "All right, very briefly, masterly description of the four records. I'd like to announce my verdict. Shall I give reasons for my choice?" "I'd rather not. I'll make us something to eat later." "My favorite '90s album is Guitar Man. Not necessarily because it's better than the others, but because it's the biggest contrast to his earlier records. The master has worked hard and really dared a bit, many songs were written as a one-man band. This courage is what makes an artist." The old man seems happy. "Now you've explained it, you're really smart. But a lot of people didn't agree with you at the time - the record was going badly, even though there was a lot of promotion." "It must have been humiliating for him, I can imagine. That's probably why he didn't release anything for eight years after 'Guitar Man'." "That wasn't the only reason, I think." Hartley's eyes darken. "But that's another story ..." "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ponder. Well, let's just be happy we have good news, because I still owe you my favorite songs, Brian. Can I mention two per album?" "You're changing the rules? Okay, just say which two you can't decide between. For no reason - you can see how nervous the dictation box is flickering."

"On 'Travel-Log', it's 'No Time' with Cale's trademark laid- back groove and Jim Keltner's fat snare, and 'New Orleans' with that dreamy orchestral arrangement by Al Capps. In the end I decide for the more special one - so for 'New Orleans'! There's no other piece like it by J.J. Cale." "Cool. What about 'Number 10'?" " 'Number 10' is a clear choice for me, because again I choose the most special song: 'Digital Blues'. Visionary, the way Cale predicted the digital age with all its excesses back then. Not just a blessing then, is it?" "Yeah, it's a contradiction in terms, I agree with you. It's very interesting from a recording point of view, but as a means of communication it's dangerous for our psyche. We shall see; I hope I'm wrong..." "I know what you mean. By the way, on this 'Digital Blues' song his guitar sounds pretty psychedelic, too. He's incorporating Eddie Van Halen's tapping technique into it - or am I wrong?" "You know the score," Hartley replies with a smile.

"For 'Closer To You', on the other hand, he relied on the traditional, on two country ballads full of tenderness and love. Was J.J. Cale a Waltztime fan?" The strange man nods. "You like waltzes, Alvin? Yeah, but it's also pretty anachronistic for your generation." "In every generation, there are stubborn people. 'Rose in the Garden' and 'Ain't Love Funny' are the two gems for me. 'Rose In The Garden', the choice is finally made; this text is simpler and therefore even more beautiful!" "Yeah."

"With 'Guitar Man' it's even three pieces for me: 'Death In The Wilderness' is an important message, but musically it's disturbing and confusing; of course it has to be so to emphasize the urgency. 'Old Blue' is an old folk song; he interprets it rather idiosyncratically and changes the lyrics, which makes it even more touching. 'Miss Ol' St Louie' finally sounds like an old folk song, but is a piece of Cale; painfully beautiful how an old bluesman remembers his life as a hobo to a lovely melody. I choose 'Miss Ol' St Louie'! Maybe it's because I heard this solo version of the documentary 'To Tulsa And Back' a few years ago - and it's taken my breath away. The master sits in a studio somewhere, plucks a little bit on his McPherson acoustic guitar and then sings this song. His gaze is modest, almost shy, his voice is gentle, and the intensity he creates is breathtaking. Alvin swallows empty and looks to the side. "I'm s-s-sorry, b- but when I th-think about it..."

Hartley seems irritated. "If you stutter any more, you'll put water in my eyes. By the way, this wasn't just any studio; they recorded this scene at Church Studio in Tulsa." "Leon Russell's studio in this old church?" "That's right. It used to be a Methodist church; it was built in 1915, at 304 South Trenton Avenue in Tulsa's Pearl District. In 1972, Leon Russell had the brilliant idea to build a recording studio within these old stone walls. He bought the building and the adjoining plots and set up the offices for Shelter Records there. Later Leon sold the place; when John visited the documentary, Steve Ripley was the studio owner, but in the meantime it has changed again. In any case, the shed is legendary. A good spirit dwells in these stone walls; first the priests, then the musicians - you know who recorded everything there. Willie Nelson, Eric Clapton, Bonnie Raitt, Dr John, Freddie King, Peter Tosh. Tom Petty. Not bad, is it?" "Yes, it is, and there's one you've forgotten, as usual." "Yes, I did - but we don't mean the same one. I forgot Rocky Frisco! An old Cale-buddy from Tulsa, just passed away a week or two back. Rocky used to play piano on John's records and sometimes in his live band. Now comes the story: Do you know where Rocky was baptized in the early 1940s? In this old church! And half a century later he sat at the piano within the same sacred walls and enchanted with his keyboard artistry. Isn't that magic, man? It's really stuck in my craw." Alvin's still rubbing his eyes. "It's kind of rubbing off on me, too, Brian, sorry."

The old man's got joy written all over his face. "Hey, aren't we having a good time here, Alvin? An old nostalgic sillyboy and a young sensitive writer talking about music and the good old days. It's been really cool with you this week! I wasn't always very nice, I know. Don't get me wrong; I didn't want to stress you out, I just wanted to provoke you and test your humour. You know what? I think John was a smart guy; he knew his reputation and he knew how to live up to it. J.J. Cale - the media-shy, laconic codger, haha. People exaggerate; I guess he wasn't really like that. Only his closest friends probably knew his true character. We can only speculate. Come on, I'll make us some food - and hey, we should say a few words about the new millennium..."

∞

"Spaghetti with a good sauce - quickly made. Okay for you?", Hartley asks as he carefully serves two full plates like a waiter. "Oh, thank you very much. Looks delicious! Would you mind talking quickly about the last albums while we eat?" "Sure, let's talk. I hope my smacking doesn't get to you - and the sauce doesn't get on your shirt." "Don't worry. What were the most important Cree events of the new millennium for you?" The old man lowers his eyes. "It all started with some bad news, you know. Audie Ashworth died August 24, 2000. It was a tough break for John. Suddenly all the joy of music was gone; he felt paralysed for a while and had no desire to write or record songs. Hey, part of his own story had gone with Audie." Hartley seems depressed. "I know it myself - you don't just digest things like that. You suddenly realize how much life is hanging by a thread. The good news is that every morning after that you're grateful to have just woken up - with a body that still functions to some degree. The operative word being 'some degree', hehe." "I'm very sorry, Brian, although you've obviously lost a dear friend. The Audie Ashworth thing must have been very sad for John. It's great that in his honour and with the help of Audie's widow Bonnie Ashworth he released 'Rewind' seven years later - this album with lots of unreleased recordings from Audie's archive." "Yeah, that's the good news that you can overcome that and turn it into creative work. All five albums that John finally released in this decade really gave him pleasure. And I think they were actually quite successful." "I'm sure they were. Some people had already written him off, because after 'Guitar Man' he was not heard from again for five years. And then in 2001 came the surprise of a live album, the first one in Cale's career." J.J. CALE LIVE (2001)

"Yeah, Mike Kappus and Emmanuel de Buretel made the whole thing possible; John himself probably would not have had enough energy at this stage. In the archive were some live recordings from 1990 to 1996, various concerts, enough material for a meaningful cross-section. Not everybody liked it." "Yes, I know, but I don't think the critics understood why J.J. Cale went onstage. At a concert, the master probably wanted to do anything but play the album version in a well- behaved way. It would be a hopeless undertaking anyway, because he was a tinkerer in the studio and not everything could be realized live. He knew that, that's why a song on stage always started all over again - he often played it completely different, sometimes only solo or in a duo, in any case always as if he was just reinventing it. Dylan also has this self-will. I respect that and even find it exciting! Spontaneity, joy of improvisation, courage to take risks. It can also go wrong or overtax the band - no matter! At the cost of perfection, Cale created the highest level of credibility and presence. After all, that's what a live concert should be about." "Yeah, in a nutshell. If I was younger and career-obsessed, you'd have a good chance of getting that publicist job. Fifty years late, man, sorry." "Oh, it's nice though; thanks a million. Um, tell me, dear Brian - it's none of my business, but I'll never understand why a guitarist with your talent lives so quietly and doesn't aspire to a career as a musician. Have you never at least tried?" Hartley looks away and looks embarrassed. "If you must know, I've played a lot on the street." "What...? On the street? I love street musicians. That's great, Brian. Have you ever played..." "No", Hartley interrupts. "I've only played in places where nobody knows me. When we traveled, Mary and I. Street musician is a destiny." "Oh, yes, I believe that. I hope you've made a good living at it, too." "Sometimes, yeah, but you don't do it for money - I told you it was destiny. I've always had enough, earned it with all kinds of jobs." "What were you playing at on the street? J.J. Cale songs? And a few of your own, I'm sure. I hope you wrote some of your own..." "It's all right, man," the strange man says, "that's enough, there's no mention of me here. We better get J.J. Cale's story straight. Now, where were we? Oh yes, John slowly began to get back on his feet and started to get his new record going in 2003. Just like Audie had agreed to do in 2003." "You're talking about 'To Tulsa and Back'? What does this album have to do with Audie Ashworth?"

TO TULSA AND BACK (2004)

"A lot! John had the idea for this record a few years before, and he wanted to go back to the old way of working with Audie together. In the meantime, this tinkering around in his own home studio was pretty much the order of the day, everyone was doing it - so his anachronistic nerve reacted and John wanted the opposite again. He called Audie and asked him to book a studio in Nashville and get all the people still alive who had played on his first albums at that time. Audie was on fire, but he died before they could realize the project. When John came out of mourning in 2003, he probably said to himself, 'now you're going to do this thing - instead of just in Nashville, just in Tulsa'. He called David Teegarden and he called up a couple of buddies that John had played with back in Tulsa as a greenhorn; Don White, Bill Raffensperger, Gary Gilmore, Walt Richmond, Rocky Frisco, Jim Karstein, Jimmy Markham. The session in David's studio went exactly as they had imagined: first a good chat, then set up, plug in, get going, listen to each other, let it run - and off to the next song. Old school, hehe." Alvin shouts euphorically, "Awesome! This album is awesome. J.J. Cale has really shown it to everyone again; in its old form, maybe even in the form of his life. The reviews were excellent, and in six European countries he even cracked the charts. What a comeback! Also as a storyteller, by the way - even with political commitment." Hartley's eyes blink. "Don't overdo it, man. Only one or two songs were political; 'The Problem', a side blow to our then President George W. Bush, and 'Stone River', a song about the water crisis in the West. And maybe 'One Step' about the struggles of the working class. The rest, as usual, were stories about travel, women and romance." "Well, 'Homeless' is much more than a simple love story - it's an incredibly sensitive, dignified concern for the fate of the homeless. And at the very end there are two songs that will finally tear your heart apart; 'Blues For Mama', the intimate farewell to your mother, and 'Another Song', a sad Appalachian ballad about the pain of transience. I simply cannot imagine that the most powerful colossus in the world is strong enough to bounce those two songs off." Alvin takes a breath and somehow tries to get close to a colossal strength; now is not the time to lose his cool. Maybe the thought of the banjo will help. "In 'Another Song', Cale even took out his banjo, which was a nice surprise. He didn't seem to be very happy about it, though, I heard." "You heard right. John was not proud of his banjo playing. Hey, you have to understand - there are a lot of musicians who are really good at it, and a few who play it even extraterrestrially well. One of the extraterrestrials is from Switzerland, by the way; Jens Krüger, he was a friend of Doc Watson. Knew?" "Oh yes, the Kruger Brothers. They live in North Carolina now and they're having a hell of a career here with us." "Exactly, and because John knew stuff like that, or Uncle Dave Macon, Earl Scruggs, Bela Fleck, for example - made him embarrassed by his own jingling." "He's a 'shadow tree banjo player', he's said in an interview." "That's right, and that's why he never played the instrument in front of an audience." "You see," Alvin says with his index finger raised, "that's it! An old man from the Appalachian Mountains would actually play this song under the shade tree - with all its rough edges. He wouldn't play the song like a virtuoso, he'd play it like a man marked by life." "That's probably what they said at the record company when they wanted this recording on the record. The number was real, they said. Yeah, John recorded it at the kitchen table with the DAT recorder when he wrote the song. About as real as the spaghetti we're eating right now, hehe. You want another sip of red?" "Wow, he recorded that at the kitchen table...? Uh, yeah, a little sip." Alvin is enjoying the sensation of drinking wine on equal terms with the strange man here. He hasn't felt strange to him in a long time; God knows why people say these things about Brian. "Cale hit the bull's eye with this album. A year later, the documentary we were talking about was released: 'To Tulsa And Back - On Tour With J.J. Cale'. An authentic behind-the-scenes look, a very good movie." The old man is nodding. "Great guys, this Jörg Bundschuh and his team. Mike Kappus had the idea; he knew Bundschuh and knew he knew his craft. For example, there's a cool movie about John Lee Hooker by him." Alvin thinks hard, his concentration breaks down. "Oh yeah, now I know what I wanted to say. There's a very notable guest appearance by Cale on Tony Joe White's 2006 album, 'Uncovered'. I read that they both admired each other." "True; I don't think they saw much of each other, but John was very fond of Tony Joe and his swamp groove." "I'm sure Cale gave him a lot of pleasure when he worked on the song 'Louvelda'. Obviously White hadn't expected it, and he was totally surprised." "Yeah, a humble guy, this Tony Joe White. Anyway, John really enjoyed this job; he started recording a guitar track at home, then White's song really got to him and so he recorded a few more guitars, an electric banjo and an electric violin. At the end he wrote two more verses and recorded a vocal track." "And then he sent Tony Joe White a CD with all these tracks on it, and with a shy covering note; 'Dear Tony Joe, I hope you don't mind...' There was indeed another encounter between two very humble people."

THE ROAD TO ESCONDIDO (2006)

"2006 saw the release of J.J. Cale's famous collaboration with Eric Clapton. A huge success! We've talked about it several times this week, but I'm sure you have some hot stories about this production." "It's pretty late for hot stories, man. It's been a long week." "You're right; the home stretch is demanding our last strengths. But the album with Clapton is fun, isn't it?" "It's a lot of fun. I think they had a very good time together, at John's place as well as in the studio in LA." "There were a lot of people in the studio during the recording sessions; names that melt in your mouth." "Yeah, I tell you, they had a good time; some of Eric's friends and some of John's friends were there. It's a good mix!" "Just looking at the guitar section: Albert Lee, Derek Trucks, Doyle Bramhall II, John Mayer. And you got Taj Mahal on the blues harp." "And Billy Preston. It was the last Hammond notes Billy used to gild a record; the boy died on June 6, 2006. That's a shame. They dedicated this album to him." "Very sad, at only fifty-nine years of age. This Preston was a veritable icon. In 1956, at the age of ten, he was already playing for gospel queen Mahalia Jackson. A little later he was promoted by Ray Charles and ennobled half of the music world. You have to imagine his historical value: If certain Beatles and Stones numbers exude a soul feeling, it's thanks to Billy Preston's keyboard artistry. His 'Get Back' solo alone! Aretha Franklin brought him into the studio, so did Bob Dylan, and Miles Davis even dedicated a song to him - you can't beat all that." "Yeah, you can't. Billy was a great guy; always kept things cool and peaceful, so they say." "Without him, the estranged Beatles might have broken up even sooner, rumour has it." "Rumour is your business," Hartley says with a wink. "I know, the bad journalists. Let's stick with 'The Road To Escondido'. What exactly was the role of Cale and Clapton?" "Eric had invited the Master to play at his 2004 Crossroads Guitar Festival and he asked John there if he would produce an album for him. A tempting idea, but John was worried it might be a flop if he produced it. Eric didn't let up and suggested a duet album instead. In the end, eleven numbers from Cale came on the album, one from Clapton, one from Clapton and John Mayer, and a blues standard from Brownie McGhee." "Why the imbalance?" "Eric didn't have time to write any new songs for this record, so John just delivered. But hey, this one song Eric did, 'Three Little Girls' - a diamond, all right?" "Absolutely. It's not the album type, but it's a real heartthrob. Is it your favourite?" "I don't know. It's a tough question." "What about J.J. Cale? Did he have a favourite song from each album?" "John? Ha. Once a record was made I don't think he ever listened to it any more." "Oh, yeah?" "Yeah, or probably only when he had to relearn old songs for gigs." "I understand, you hear many musicians say that. My favourite part of the album is the final number, 'Ride the River', which is incredibly optimistic and full of life." Hartley nods and at the same time can't suppress the yawn. "Sorry, Alvin, I'm very tired. But that shouldn't be your problem. Go on, please, I'm happy to listen to you ..."

REWIND (2007)

"2007 saw the release of that compilation album we were talking about earlier. A wonderful idea, this record! On the one hand, it takes you back to the good old days, to Cale's early phase - most of the recordings are from the seventies. Not in the form of a best-of-theatre, though, but with previously unreleased songs, which makes the whole thing really exciting. And on the other hand, 'Rewind' shows a side of him that has been rather unknown until now, namely that of the performer. Almost half of the songs are not written by J.J. Cale, but by Christine Lakeland, Waylon Jennings, Randy Newman, Eric Clapton, Leon Russell and Bill Boatman. But I have the impression that they also became J.J. Cale songs; don't you think so, Brian? Like all good blues musicians, he put his own stamp on every song. It doesn't seem as if he wanted to change them to hell; 'Rollin' for example doesn't sound spectacularly different from Randy Newman's original - it just sounds as if the song was written for J.J. Cale. It's very becoming to him, that's what I'm saying." "You want me to keep pouring you red wine, don't you? Clever, hehe; a few compliments on Cale's address, and old Hartley can't say no to that." "There's no more wine in it, I've got to drive. The compliment is serious." "That's all right, man. I'm still trying to get you excited about my sense of humor. But you can see the joy in my head - or do you need a magnifying glass as well as your hearing aid?" The sound of Hartley's laugh reveals how childlike and sincere he is in enjoying this moment of happiness.

ROLL ON (2009)

"We've done it, Brian - that just leaves 'Roll On'. Cale's last beauty; we talked about it briefly this week, if I'm not mistaken. Can you tell us a few things about the album anyway?" Hartley seems ponderous as he clears the table. "Need a coffee to drive?" "Um, yes, that wouldn't be a bad idea; we're both tired, I guess. You want to break up, right?" After a deep sigh, Hartley sets the espresso machine in motion. "Yeah, tired, you got that right. Sorry, nothing clever comes to my mind at the moment. Eric Clapton's on the title track. It's an older recording, you know. And some of the tracks are still from the Teegarden session in 2003. "And the record was successful, made it to the charts - finally here in the States again, not just in Europe. Number 113 on the billboards, chapeau!" The arabica scent is promising, and Alvin is looking forward to his first taste. "Can you tell us your favorite songs for a change, Brian? I want you to own the ending." " 'Bring Down The Curtain' - fits perfectly, even now," murmurs the old man as he wipes the last crumbs off the table. Alvin feels it's time to go. "Oh, a wonderful ending - let's bring it down, the curtain. I'm on my way, okay? Um, one question, Brian. The invitation f-for su-sunday, is it s-still va- valid?" "Hey, of course." "And then you'll play us one of your own songs, promise? I'm incredibly excited!" Brian Hartley looks his interviewer in the eye with a tired but sincere look - and says goodbye with a chummy hug. "Come around noon, Mary and I look forward to seeing you."

∞

Just before Alvin closes the car door, the old man seems to want to shout something to him. "No wires and all! Tell Tim not to bring any wires, nothing, not even a guitar. I want to hear what he's getting out of my stuff..." Epilogue

I would like to thank John Weldon Cale for his great life's work – and all journalists, media and other people who made it possible for me to learn about J.J. Cale and his music:

(each in alphabetical order)

Websites: discogs.com facebook.com/JJCaleOfficial facebook.com/JJ-Cale-Deep-Dive jjcale.com jjcale.org musiciansolympus.blogspot.com pickingjjcale.blogspot.com secondhandsongs.com setlist.fm songkick.com Websites of all artists that appear in the book wikipedia.org

Labels (album credits): A&M/Shelter Because Music Blue Note Delabel/Virgin Island/MCA Mercury Rounder Silverstone/BMG Universal Music Journalists, media and various people: Barney Hoskyns (INDEPENDENT) Barry Barnes (Promo-Video ’Anyway the Wind Blows Anthology’) Bayon (Libération) Blues Music Magazine Brian Wise (addicted to noise) Chris J. Walker (MIX) Christiane Rebmann (WELT) Christine Lakeland Cale Christoph Dallach (Spiegel Online) Christoph Dieckmann (DIE ZEIT) Colin Escott Damian Fanelli (Guitar World) Dan Forte (Vintage Guitar Magazine) Dave DiMartino (Musician, MOJO) Derek Halsey (Swampland) Emmanuel de Buretel (france info culture) Eric Clapton (’Mein Leben’, Autobiografie) Frank Goodman (Puremusic) Fred Spade (Guitare et Clavier) Geoff Hanson (KOTO FM Radio) George Starostin (Only Solitaire) Guitar World Magazine Henry Yates (Guitarist) Henry Yates (musicradar) JD Nash (American Blues Scene) Jim Downing and David Arnett (Tulsa Today) Johannes Waechter (Süddeutsche Zeitung) Jörg Bundschuh (DVD ’To Tulsa And Back’) Larry Jaffee Luc Baranger Mark Cooper Martin Hayman (Street Life) Maureen Cavanaugh (KPBS Radio) Max Bell (Classic Rock) Mike Kappus Morice (Agora Vox) Paul Trynka (Guitar) Philippe Garnier (Rock & Folk) Randy Poe (Skydog: The Duane Allman Story) Rapido (BBC2 television show, Antoine de Caunes) Richard Cromelin (Los Angeles Times) Rock Steady (TV-Show, Holmes Associates, HTH International) Russell Hall (Performing Songwriter) Songbook ’The very best of J.J. Cale’ (Warner/Chappell Music, IMP) Songbook ’J.J. Cale Guitar Styles and how to play them’ (Columbia Pictures Publications) Steve Newton (Georgia Straight) Sylvie Simmons (MOJO) Talkin‘ Blues TV-Show