Johnny Greer’s Blues - Part 6

Generated Image

The following Wednesday, Johnny pulled into the small parking lot of Delta Sounds thirty minutes before his appointed time. The studio shared a parking lot with an electronics store with bright signage announcing a going out of business sale. The glass door to Delta Sounds had simple black lettering stenciled on them with the business name. Johnny opened the door and saw a concrete stairway leading down. Johnny walked down the stairs, his guitar case in hand. His footsteps echoed in the wide open stairway. When he got to the bottom, he approached a wooden doorway on his left. There was no sign or even numbering on the door, but it was the only door to choose from. Johnny hesitated, unsure if he should knock or just walk in before deciding there was no harm in going the polite route.

He heard a female voice from behind the door say, “It’s open!’ Johnny opened the door and walked in. In front of him, he saw a control room with a large mixing board facing a window that looked into a recording studio. A couple of office chairs were positioned behind the board, and an oversized black enamel standing ashtray was positioned between them.

A white woman in her late 20’s, dressed in jeans and long off-white peasant blouse emerged from the office to the right of the entrance. “You must be Johnny. Welcome to Delta Sounds,” she said, extending her hand. “Bones is setting up the studio for you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Johnny said.

“Don’t ma’am me. Call me Theresa. Or Terri. Whichever is cool.”

The door to the live room opened and a tall, thin man with long hair and a beard walked in. He was had on jeans and a faded blue shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. He held a lit cigar in his right hand. He looked a few years older than Theresa.

“Johnny Greer! I’m Bones Baer. Looking forward to working with you today,” he said approaching the musician. He moved the cigar to his left hand and extended his right.

“Nice to meet you too,” Johnny said, shaking Bones’ hand.

“Terri and I own the place. I run the board. She runs the business. Works out better for everyone that way, and cuts back on arguments at home,” Bones said in a booming Southern fried voice.

“You two together?” Johnny asked.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Johnny. We are,” Theresa said.

“Oh, I didn’t mean nothing by it. I was just….”

Bones laughed. “She’s just messing with you. Don’t worry.”

Theresa smiled, “I’ll leave you two to do your thing. Nice meeting you, Johnny.” She turned and went back into the office.

“Let me show you around.”

Bones walked down the short hall leading to the studio past a few gold records on the cheap wood-paneled walls.

“And that’s the tour,” Bones said, before Johnny could study the hangings. They were in the recording studio Johnny first noticed. He could now see some green filing cabinets to his right and opposite the control panel was a black leather couch with a coffee table in front. Next to the couch was a reel-to-reel deck and other recording gear.

Bones sat in one of the office chairs and puffed on his cigar. He seemed satisfied that it had not gone out.

“Have a seat, my man,” Bones said. “Need anything to drink?”

“No, sir, I’m good,” Johnny said as he sat on the couch.

“Look, I know you’ve got that good Southern upbringing and all, but let’s drop the sir thing with me. I ain’t your boss, okay?”

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Johnny said with a hint of apprehension creeping into his voice.

“So, Gold’s people tell me you’re going to do a demo. What you going to lay down?”

“Mr. Gold saw me play some old blues songs. I figure I’ll do some of those since he liked it.”

“Blues, huh,” Bones said. “Well, okay.”

“Something wrong with the blues?”

“No. Not at all and not around this town. But, you know, if you’re looking to sell, rock is where the market’s at.”

Johnny breathed out. “Look, I don’t mean any disrespect, but maybe I should go to a studio that has more of a soul and R&B vibe.”

“A black studio? Look, I’m sure Al Bell at Stax or Willie Mitchell at Hi would do good by you. They’d do great, as a matter of fact. But, here’s the truth. I’m good at what I do. And music doesn’t discriminate. The muses don’t give a damn if you’re white, black or purple. If you’ve got it, they’ll bless you. And trust me, I’ve worked with artists of all colors and all genres. And I’m doing well. Right now we only have this one studio, but I have a deal with the property owner next door that I can expand into the space below that electronics store once it closes. I figure we can add one studio suite by the end of the year. Maybe a third one if things keep popping. So, I know what I am doing.”

Johnny looked down at his guitar case, not sure how to respond.

“Besides, your manager cut a check to me, not some other studio, so let’s just see what we can do, okay?” Bones said.

Johnny looked up and nodded. “It wasn’t about you being white.”

“It was. And that’s okay. I don’t blame you. A lot of people who look like me have done a lot to screw over people that look like you. I won’t do that. Let’s get this kicked off with a better start, Johnny. Go ahead and take your guitar in there and let’s see what we can do, okay?”

Johnny sat on a wooden stool in the live room, facing the studio window. He could barely make out Bones behind the control panel, but could easily see the glowing orange end of his cigar. Johnny adjusted the two stands so that the microphones were in the right position for his singing and for his guitar. Bones spoke to him over the studio intercom to ask Johnny to check the levels. The disembodied voice sounded odd in the sound-dampened room.

“You sound weird, man,” Johnny said. “Kind of like talking to an angel or something.”

“No one’s called me that, but, hey, I try. Levels look good. We are ready to roll when you are.”

Johnny strummed on his guitar to make sure it was in tune. He took a deep breath and began to sing and play Muddy Waters’ “Hoochie Coochie Man”. He played it simple and true to the original. The vocal and guitar work was dead-bang on. Johnny smiled and looked up. “How was that Bones?”

“It was good,” Bones said over the intercom. “I mean real good. But, it’s missing something.”

“Yeah, I don’t do harmonica, I know.”

“It’s not that,” Bones said. “I mean, yeah, the song is missing the harp, but you can make up for it if you do something special with the guitar. You know? Gold’s people said you spice up the old blues songs you sing. Let’s try again, okay?”

Johnny knew what he meant, and he knew he had held back. He supposed he was trying to show his respect for the material. But he knew that’s not what he wanted to do. And it’s not what Gold was wanting from him.”

“I gotcha Bones. I’m ready when you are.”

The second take was different. Johnny played the guitar a little faster, and added some feeling that wasn’t there in the original. His voice had a sharper edge. There was a little more menace to the song, and his vocal made him sound just a bit dangerous. He finished the final notes and looked up.

“That better?”

“No. That wasn’t better. That was fantastic, man. Let’s get another song down.”

In all, they recorded six songs over the course of three hours. All were older blues songs that Johnny added his harder edge to.

Johnny, Bones and Terri listened to the tape in the control room, and Johnny was excited by the result. The mix Bones had put on him was close to magical.

“I never hear myself sound so good,” he said.

“You are good. I just know how to show that off for you,” Bones said. “You happy?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Johnny, I want to try something. You ever play an electric?”

“No, man. All I ever played was my uncle’s guitars.”

“Here’s what I want to do. I want to book you another session. A full day. And I want you to do the same songs with an electric guitar and a backing band.”

“Are you crazy,” Johnny said. “I don’t have a band. I never even played with one. And electric? That’s rock, man. I don’t do rock. And, I don’t know if Mr. Gold will give you the bread for another session. I sure ain’t got it.”

“Let me worry about getting paid for the session. A guitar is a guitar. You’ll be fine trying electric. I’ll loan you one til next week. I bet you learn some good tricks in that time. And, as for the band, I’ve got session musicians I can bring in. I’m thinking a drummer and a bass player for now. I don’t want to do vocal backups for this.”

“But, rock and roll, Bones…” Johnny said, trailing off.

“Blues birthed rock, Johnny. It’s not a stretch to say a lot of rock is just stolen blues. Maybe you can steal a little of that back and plug it into what you’re singing. I think we can get something special. And, hey, if it doesn’t work, you’ve already got a killer demo once we edit down today’s session.”

“Well, I guess it can’t hurt.”

“Worst that happens is you waste a day playing music. I can think of much more terrible ways to spend a day,” Theresa said.

Johnny laughed. “Okay.”

“Let me go get that electric from the office,” Terri said. “You have headphones, or you need to borrow those. We don’t want your neighbors kicking your butt for blasting music through an amp all week.”

“I could use the headphones, thank you.”

Terri got up and walked towards the office.

“Get a time we can do this, darling,” Bones said.

“You really think the demo is good? Well, good enough to get somewhere.”

“Maybe. Gold is a good manager,” Bones said, leading Johnny towards the door. “He’s handled a couple of artists that have come through here. I got the gold records to prove it.”

Johnny looked at the wall and recognized a couple of the names, but one caught his eye.

Theresa emerged from the office and handed Johnny a blue guitar case and a pair of headphones in his free hand.

“Can you handle all that?”

“Yes,” Johnny said, taking the blue case and headphones.

“We got you booked for next Friday, all day starting at 10. That work?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Thank you both.”

“Looking forward to it, Johnny, Bones said, opening the door to let Johnny out.

“By the way, I met one of your musicians. Charlie Miller,” Johnny said, nodding his head towards the gold record with Miller’s name on it.

“Oh. Poor Charlie. That’s so sad,” Theresa said.

“What?” Johnny asked.

“You didn’t see the news? They found him in house about a week ago,” Theresa said.

“What happened?” Johnny said, a twinge of panic grabbing at his heart.

“He shot himself in the head with a .38.” Bones said. “He didn’t make it.”

“What? Why?”

“That’s the damndest thing. No one has any idea.”

But Johnny knew that wasn’t true. Because he had a pretty good idea what had happened, and it made him feel sick.

Part Seven will follow in the next installment.

If you want to support my writing, one of the best ways to do it now is to subscribe to my Substack or buy one of my books. For now, I will keep putting stuff here for free, but will pull the pieces down after a month or so. I’ll keep the full archive of ongoing work available on Substack for paid subscribers. So, if you think this is worth a few bucks and you like receiving the content as a newsletter, give it a shot. You can get a seven-day free trial to see if it’s worth it to you.