Joy Whitlock was initially discovered by Todd Agnew, when he stumbled upon her cover band at a local Memphis venue. Surprisingly impressed with her captivating vocals and even more inspired by her testimony, Todd pitched Joy to the label and in 2005 Ardent released an EP titled ‘The Fake EP.’ In 2008 she released her first nationally distributed LP, ‘God and a Girl.’ Reminiscent of singer songwriters Jennifer Knapp, KT Tunstall, Lucinda Williams, both albums weave candid lyrics and compelling vocals showcasing her authentic spiritual journey and communicating hope within struggle and faith despite fear.
Always a fan of music, Joy professes that her first Sarah McLachlan concert as a teen is what truly ignited her passion for music and songwriting. Here she shares five albums that were influential in shaping her musical career.
1. Sarah McLachlan – ‘Possession’ As an adolescent and pre-teen, I was into R&B and rap music. Looking back now, it surprises even me. Around the age of 17, I was taken to a Lilith Fair concert and was introduced to the music of Sarah McLachlan. My life now is a direct result of that night; the very next day I owned my first guitar. Her album “Possession” ripped my heart out. I had never heard lyrics so real and articulate. It changed the course of my life.
2. Garrison Starr – ‘Eighteen Over Me’ This was my first introduction to “acoustic driven” music. Again, it blew my mind. It was raw and full of emotion that was completely identifiable to me. This album helped shape the way I began to write.
3. Foo Fighters – ‘The Colour and the Shape’ This album was amazing then and is amazing now. It is in my opinion, their best album after all these years. My writing style, in no way, resembles theirs, but if I could write a rock album, I would reference the Foo Fighters and only the Foo Fighters. This album is pure rock ‘n’ roll.
4. Jennifer Knapp – ‘The Collection’ I became a Christian in 2004 and was no fool to the stigma placed on Christian music. I was already confused about what form my songs would take. I knew that my passion was completely God and completely music, but I was disheartened by the “manufactured” sound that often came across on Christian radio. So I was not prepared for what I found when I walked into a Christian bookstore looking for CDs to buy. I simply began walking through the aisles picking up CDs that looked interesting. I stumbled upon one with an album cover of a girl and a guitar. Sold! And when I heard her music…. I was home. Nobody was writing like this girl. And still, nobody is.
5. Brandi Carlile – ‘Give Up the Ghost’ This chick is a class act. Sometimes you don’t have the complete picture with musicians until you see them live. There have been a couple of artists that I have enjoyed until I went to their show. They were either too withdrawn and wanted nothing to do with the audience or they were completely obnoxious. This young lady is the real deal. She is intelligent, humorous, has a great personality, and is truly engaging. All of her albums are winners, but this one is my favorite.
When I hung the phone up, I had just finished going through my iPhoto pictures, trying vainly to categorize them for the thirty seventh time. I kept coming across one in particular that fit into 9 of my categories and I had to get it down to 1. It could be “Ardent Folk”, “Music Folk”, “Family”, “Bizarre”, “Bigger that Life”, “Clients”… it was a picture of Alex with my first wife, before I had met either. Hmmmmm. When my phone rang, I answered it with my “EEEYELLOW.” Adam, my assistant, was telling me that Alex Chilton had just died. That was followed by that eerie silence. First I thought “he can’t be dead. I just saw him.” I guess it’s a weird form of shock. Adam was saying something about Fry – John Fry, our founder. Since I was going right by his house on my way home, I thought I would just drop by and check on him. His wife was at home, but then again, she wasn’t around in the day.
I first met Alex at Shoe Studios in Memphis when he was producing another friend, Tommy Hoehn. And Jon Tiven was there as pseudo executive producer. Tommy and Alex had written a song called “She Might Look My Way” which someone said had missed the cut for Big Star’s Radio City record.
The drums weren’t quite the “vibe” and they needed a drummer. I got the gig. At Shoe, you couldn’t see into the control room. The usual glass ONLY through the headphones. Being the first time for me to ever play in ANY studio, it was … disconcerting at best. So I played as directed and the record was eventually released on Henry Loeb’s “Power Play” records which had also released the Scruffs first single. WOW! I had just played on my first record ever and Alex, the Big Star, had produced it. I was hot stuff, right? Well,considering I was just out of high school and already headed toward my goal-working in a recording studio. I was a happy dude. It was 1974.
March 17, 2010. As I headed down John’s street, I first looked the 1/4 mile to the garage to see if he had company. He did, but I drove up anyway. I called him from his driveway and when he answered, I asked him if everything was cool in there. He replied he was in the “shock bubble”, but assured me he was fine (for now). John had worked extensively on both of the Big Star records and had become very close with Alex, Chris Bell, Andy Hummell and Jody Stephens. They were his friends as well as his label’s pride.
#1 record and Radio City were two of the most influential records ever made. But with distribution problems surrounding Stax… well, Big Star’s sales just never happened. I had heard rumors of Big Star’s records ending up in the soul music section of record stores, which I guess made sense in a weird sort of way. If the rumor is true, it would explain why such an influential band had such dismal sales. When you want to buy a rock record, you go to the rock section and if the record isn’t there, you usually buy something else instead of asking “Where are your Big Star records?” I tend to believe the story given the track record Stax had at the time.
Cut to 1977. A guy named Miles Copeland (as in IRS Records, as in Stewart as in The Police) had called to book time for a band he wanted Alex to produce called “The Cramps.” Alex asked if I could engineer the record. Since all I knew at the time was how to align a tape machine and repair faders, I was the perfect choice! Right?
We had a ball doing that record. Lux Interior was always in character, Brian threw a cinder block at a pile of stuff we had built from folding chairs, flourescent tube lights, a couple of cymbals … and we recorded the subsequent chaos. Lux sang “Human Fly” and “Sunglasses After Dark”. It was NYU performance art becoming a validated rock music scene. Alex basically taught me how to make a rock-a-billy record, and we superimposed that methodology on the Cramps. NOW Alex had been there when I engineered my first record.
As luck would have it, I had inadvertently caused some distortion on the Cramps record. And Alex wanted remuneration for it. So Ardent gave him a week to fix the problem, which he used to record his record “Feudalist Tarts” (a cute little trick he had learned from his producer, Jim Dickinson) But wait! That’s cheating! No, I guess in Alex’s eyes, it was legit. I mean, Dickinson did it, so why can’t Alex? Jim always avowed that ‘you can’t have music without some element of crime.’
After that, I hadn’t seen Alex until it was time for him to produce a record on Tav Falco, who had just returned from Belgium where he was learning to Tango. That record, “Behind the Magnolia Curtain” was yet another cult fave, and Alex was now an underground super-star.
1968. Alex Chilton came out of the chute at 16 and within a couple of years had made a plane-load of money having his voice heard around the world. When the “Tops” were opening for the Beach Boys on tour, he stayed in drummer Dennis Wilson’s guest house with none other than Chuckie Manson! (Dennis had thought Charles was harmless enough, so Alex figures what the heck?)
After his ginormous success as the vocalist for the Box-Tops, as in The Letter, Soul Deep, Neon Rainbow, Cry Like a Baby, … a rock-pile of smash hits … he met Icewater’s Jody Stephens and Chris Bell (more on Chris soon) and rocket scientist Andy Hummell. Alex and Chris were fairly confident they could make a PowerPop band ala Raspberries, Byrds, Badfinger; PowerPop was music largely influenced by ’60s British Music: Todd Rundgren’s “Runt” LP, Raspberries single “Go All the Way”, Badfinger’s “Baby Blue” and “No Matter What” (a song Paul wrote for the Beatles), Dwight Twilley, Matthew Sweet … that was PowerPop. It’s a long list. And Alex was standing right in the middle of it’s birth. Had it not been for the demise of their distributor, Stax, I’m convinced they would have been the hottest thing since sunburn. “Back of a Car”, “September Gurls”, “Thirteen” … come on. Tell me that isn’t some of the best music you’ve ever heard.
Though Alex could be cantankerous, i.e. kicking his Fender Twin at the famed and packed Antenna Club or slapping my hand away from the e.q. on a mix, I’m convinced that was the inveterate showman he was. Because he really was a great dude. I told him my birthday once around 1976. One day in 1997 at Ardent, he walked up to join me and a friend at 7 card stud, and out of nowhere, he looked up at me , kind of gazing through me, and said “November …(pause) … seventeenth.” Uncanny.
1986. When we started the Replacements “Pleased to Meet Me”, I was listening to their demos-soon-to-be-masters they had recorded the week before, and I thought to myself, “Paul sure sounds like Alex.” Again in 1988, as we heard Tommy Keene’s demos for “Based on Happy Times,” I thought to myself, “Tommy sure sounds like Alex.” Influenced.
Alex made an indelible mark on music. A big one. Anyone who is highly influenced by this art form, call me. I love recording PowerPop. Just ask Gin Blossoms.
R I P Alex. We love you. God loves you. We’ll miss you.
I recently sat down with the legendary and always entertaining producer extraordinaire John Hampton. Hamp is best know for his work with artists like Gin Blossoms, The White Stripes and The Raconteurs; but he’s also been a long time producer and engineer for many Christian label projects as a producer in residence for Ardent Records/Studios. Join us in our conversation as we run the gambit of our A.D.D. minds and talk a little about all things Ardent Records past, present, and future.
He grew up in Memphis—“Home of the Blues” and the “Birthplace of Rock-n-Roll”—but his music sounds more like the Beatles than B.B. King or Elvis.
He writes songs for the church and songs for the radio—yet his songs are often deeper and more complex than either has traditionally allowed.
He lives in a city that is known as much for its racial unrest and inner-city violence as it is the place Elvis called home—yet leads worship at one of the largest multicultural churches in the South, where half the congregation is African-American.
Jeremy Horn is an enigma. But when you meet him, he looks and sounds just like the guy next door—if the guy next door has a traditional southern drawl.
“The best way for me to describe Memphis,” laughs Horn, “is that it’s a small town with one million people. I can’t go anywhere without seeing someone I know. It’s not the cleanest city and it’s seen some tough times. But at the same time, there are real people here. There’s a lot of musicians here who are just interested in making music, not being famous.”
Making music is what has preoccupied Horn ever since he was given his first guitar at the age of fifteen. Growing up on the sounds of Tom Petty and The Beatles, Horn spent most of his early years emulating the sounds and songwriting styles of the popular culture. It took him a few years and one wise, older friend to realize there was more to being a songwriter than just sounding like one.
“I thought he was taking me to lunch to talk about getting a record deal,” laughed Horn. “Instead, he wanted to help me meet Jesus.”
“I used to write songs about social injustices in the world. My friend said, ‘Hey man, why don’t you try to give people some hope? You have this talent and this skill, but what are you going to do with it? Are you going to try to find something to say, or just write what everybody else is writing?’”
Jeremy Horn is a new artist on Ardent Records. His new album “We Welcome You In” comes out this week. Check out a song from it here, then download the entire album for FREE here.
Let us raise our glasses to a fallen comrade. And ask ourselves did we celebrate this man in life as we do now in death? Ah yes, we embraced our comrade and drew him close to our hearts and minds… as close as he would allow. Sure he touched us literally and he touched us profoundly: as an artist with lyrical intensity, as a person with camaraderie granted and camaraderie rebuffed. Such are the complexities of the artist and of the person. We realize it’s not so easy to be friends with an artist, especially a gifted one. His smile often twisted into a leer, even when he was amused by your bonhomie and by your adulation. Be careful of tendencies: OK we’ve created it; now let’s deconstruct it. Godhead on the one hand, destroying angel on the other… Lord help you if you were caught in between. His tones were golden, and he knew that… better than anyone. Was he resentful because he had given so much, and had received less than the key to the temple of abiding good fortune and fame immemorial? Was he content in his rickety 18th cottage on the edge of the French Quarter surrounded by his guitars and aquatints and a cognoscenti of musicians who celebrated him as we do now? Did he draw all that he could take from his talents? Did he quaff draughts of indolence? The answers mean little, and the questions even less. What matters is that those whom he touched, were touched immutably. His legacy is of the mind, of the soul, of earthly pleasure, and of just and lost causes. He left us that redeeming spark of wit and flame to keep us going when were hovering down in the foxhole of doubt and uncertainty and dodging the adverse missives of Lady Luck… comforted in thinking that Alex would have liked that, or he would have appreciated this, or he would have been elated by this or that, or let’s do it the way Alex does it. His opinion, his taste, his love is what matters in the end. The last time I saw Alex was in Paris visiting in his posh suite at Hotel George le Cinq. He was pleased with his rooms, and we stayed up late while he merrily tutored me with the unending music lesson that had been on-going since I met him some twenty-five years before… the lesson that never seemed to quite ‘take’, and which I understood little better than the first time he drilled me. He would say /Tav, somebody’s got to keep the rhythm/. And now I wonder, as the last grain of sand has sped through the hourglass, /who… /will keep the rhythm? Raise our glasses to console the living for the loss of a comrade fallen in the snow, which in its chill and whiteness is purifying, rather than fallen in the desert, which is barren.
TONS OF REVERB: Alex Chilton’s Years with the Panther Burns by Ross Johnson
I played drums with Alex in Tav Falco’s Panther Burns off and on from 1979 until 1998 (I played my last gig with Alex in ’98 in such an intoxicated state that I was too ashamed to contact him again afterward and he was clearly through with me as a drummer after I let him down for the last time at that show in New Orleans).
The Panther Burns were a noisy, irritating insult in early days and Alex delighted in punishing audiences with our blend of demented, tuneless rockabilly, blues and tango. I’ve said it before in print, but Alex was the only musician in the group who could actually play his instrument for the first year or two of his tenure with the “band.” I had never played with a musician of his caliber before and, frankly, I know that I never will again.
Since his death a few days ago I’ve been reflecting on Alex both musically and personally, and I can’t easily separate the two realms. His singular guitar playing style (you heard traces of Lowman Pauling, Reggie Young, Pop Staples, Steve Cropper, Teenie Hodges, and many other masters whenever he strapped on a six string) seemed such a function of his own unique personality and approach to life. As with most great artists, it was impossible to separate the person from the art; they often seemed one and the same with him. Alex always did things his own way whether that approach seemed commercially profitable or personally advisable for him or not. He knew his own mind, you might say. He was many things, Alex was, but a sellout, never.
As to the issue of his personality, well, let’s just say that if you displeased him he was very clear and direct in letting you know the full and exact nature of his dissatisfaction with you. I still wince at the memory of the well deserved verbal “corrections” he handed out to me for musical and other shortcomings. Alex could be brutally honest in certain situations and dealing with that direct communication style of his was often difficult.
It was for me, I know that much. He could also be the dearest and most sympathetic of friends too, offering thoughtful and heartfelt advice if it was solicited. His occasional verbal toughness masked a rather fragile, vulnerable core, I thought. I will remember him not as a rock star or as a mythic cult figure or even as one of the world’s greatest musicians (although he was most certainly the latter) but rather as a man who was always deeply interested in other people and whose own pain and suffering were transformed by his transcendent musical gift into some of the most universally affecting and haunting music ever made.
There is a lot of nostalgia for the way in which consumers interacted with music in the past. Music writers like Greg Kot and Jim Derogatis are constantly lamenting the death of record store culture on their excellent Sound Opinions radio program. They often discuss the fact that there are fewer and fewer places where kids can walk in and chat with an older more knowledgeable clerk and leave with records they never would have found on their own and go home and be blown away.
This used to fuel the music industry, which is now defined by instant access to nearly everything you’d ever want to listen to without ever leaving your house. As a musician, there is no doubt that this is an invaluable resource that has allowed me to discover hundreds more records that I might not have found just hanging out in stores like Other Music (for the record I do still hang out there and buy things based on the recommendations of their very knowledgeable staff.) But even still, the record companies large and small cannot move as fast as the music bloggers who link us up with lost records by people like Jesse Ed Davis who played guitar with Gene Clark and Taj Mahal, in a matter of minutes at no cost. This is undeniably amazing and I am grateful for it.
For me, what is lost in this process of discovery is the period between when you read about something and when you actually hear it. When someone writes about a piece of music on a prominent music blog like Pitchfork, there is either an audio player or a link that can deliver the music in question immediately, and for me, as much as I enjoy this, it might prevent me from liking things as much as I could were there space for me to process what I’ve read before approaching the record.
When I was a teenager I remember the process going something like this: 1.) Someone older and trustworthy tells you about a band in one form or another; this was often a record store clerk. 2.) Through books, magazines and friends you begin collecting information about the band over a period of time to the point that absolutely have to hear what it sounds like. 3.) You end up in a cool record store and see the album on the shelf you’ve been thinking about and buy it.
This could all take anywhere from a week to a year, depending on the artist. Between when my Mother’s high school friend’s 30-year-old musician son told me at 17 to listen to Big Star’s ‘Third’, and when I actually found a copy of it was a year and a half. At 16, I read an article about the Faces and the next day while searching for them in my local record store, a Warner exec happened to be there and had extra promos of the new compilation they had put out in his car. He gave me one for free.
Something happens between the moment when you hear about something and when you actually hear it and in my case, I would develop a fantasy about what the music sounded like based on what I had read. When I heard the actual music, my fantasy of what it sounded like and the music itself would engage in a dialog that heightened the music listening experience. More importantly, this allowed me to write my own music based not only on the records themselves, but what I believed they might sound like. This dialog between my own vision of the music that inspires me, and the vision of the artist who created it is perhaps the most integral force in my aesthetic decisions as a songwriter and musician.
Just as there is a difference between the music composed by hearing something in your head and writing it down and music composed with a synthesizer with which you can hear the arrangement right away, modern technology has changed the way we interact with music and as a result, the way we create it. I don’t know if we can put this paradigm shift in a dichotomy of “good or bad” but I do think that some imagination has been lost with the absence of a period of gestation between hearing the rumble of the train, and then watching it go by. Even if we are disappointed by the drab freight cars that all look the same, without the announcement of its existence, we never would have imagined the magnificent silver stream-line in our minds.
That said, although there maybe fewer kids hanging around record stores hoping to discover “Smile” bootlegs or hearing the Gun Club for the first time, I can say with confidence that record store culture is not dead. Yesterday I spent my afternoon at the listening station of 3 different stores. I listened to some new music that had just come out as well as to some old records I had been searching out for a while. And on a Wednesday afternoon, I was not alone.
Perhaps there will be a difference between musicians who experience the journey from word of mouth to listening station – if for no other reason than the music they are looking for is even too obscure for the internet and perhaps this will have an influence on the future sounds of tomorrow. I’m sure it will fit nicely along side the aesthetic choices of those who are listening to anything and everything all at once on shuffle on their ipods.
Enter to win Jump Back Jake’s ‘Brooklyn Hustle / Memphis Muscle’ on vinyl by telling us your favorite ‘process of musical discovery’ story in the comments to this post. Please remember to leave a contact email address. The winner will be notified next Monday, 4/5/2010.
When I was 19 and a freshman at Wesleyan University in Middletown, CT, I heard a record by Big Star known as “3rd” or “Sister Lovers.” Memphis may as well have been in another country, and Memphis in the 70s seemed to only exist as a mythic place in my mind.
At first, the music sounded like secret messages coming from a distant radio frequency in the middle of the night, and then it got closer and closer until it began to do what any great record can do and define my day to day reality. Back then, I could not have known that 8 years later I’d be recording in the same rooms where Big Star recorded and signing a contract with John Fry, engineer on all three Big Star albums, to release a full length lp on Big Star’s label, Ardent.
I met John Fry in the summer of 2004 when I was conducting archival interviews for the Stax Museum of American Soul music in Memphis. I went and sat in the studio A lounge while he recounted stories of early home studios, Dewey Phillips groundbreaking radio show “Red, Hot and Blue,” the heyday of Stax Records, and the birth of one of my all time my favorite bands, Big Star.
He described the way Steve Cropper mixed Sam and Dave’s ‘Soul Man’ and how he had to signal to Isaac Hayes when the tape was running out on some of the long takes that eventually made up the “Hot Buttered Soul’ Sessions. That day I got to listen to stories from a man that has not only run an amazing recording facility for 40 years, but someone who had a hand in some of the most important cultural contributions of the 20th century. But I also felt I was talking to a man who had very forward thinking about the future of an industry in trouble. It was for this reason that I felt confident about working with him as a label president.
So when I was asked recently to sit down and conduct another interview with John Fry, I didn’t hesitate. I am thrilled to share this interview that covers everything from the drum sounds on an obscure early Ardent records single to the tumultuous and ling standing relationship between Rock and Roll and Christianity.
Alex Chilton became a public figure at the age of 16 when, not long after he’d first seen the inside of a recording studio, a song from that session became a #1 worldwide hit, “The Letter” by the Box Tops. At that impressionable age he became a product packaged and sold, considerable talent yielding considerable profits—for the manager and not the artist. Soon, the monkey walked away from the organ grinder to do his own thing.
His thing: He channeled the future by capturing the underground zeitgeist, three times in the 1970s alone—an audience for the clean pop of the first two Big Star Records caught up to the music a decade after it was made; the third Big Star album was nihilistic and beautiful (hello Elliot Smith and the ‘90s); the shambolic ‘Like Flies on Sherbert’ deemed hip the wealth and diversity of Americana roots while becoming a punk rock classic. The art of these efforts has become canonized, but the financial return was—again—basically nil. Big pop hit or great art, same result: no money.
Instead of profit, his fans assigned him prophecy. But the Replacements only got it half right in their tribute song. Children by the million might have screamed for Alex Chilton, but he’d never have come running. Waves of admiration and love were an assault, and he was scornful of those who needed to make more of his songs than he did. His lifelong interest in astrology makes sense: What is colder, more beautiful, more distant than the stars? Astrology is the province of the seeker, not the sought.
Alex Chilton’s career in song is a testament to his seeking, to his eye for precise detail, his adventuresome ear, his empathetic heart. In a few lines he could chillingly evoke the angst and maelstrom of young adulthood, touching strangers in a personal way (their responses leading to his notorious friction with some fans). His mind remained curious all his life, exploring politics, the humanities, and sciences with the same avidity he mined R&B, country, classical music and everything in between. He refused to be predictable, and preferred his audience be kept on its guard. In the same late-night radio appearance when he sang Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You”—years, of course, before Whitney Houston made a career out of it, he also broke into a filthy racist ballad. His songs were not unlike William Eggleston’s photographs—crisp, saturated, and composed, with an underlying menace, with a throat-aching wistfulness.
Alex was as complicated as Memphis itself. XL Chitterlings, my favorite of his stage names, stole Wilhelm Reich books from the Memphis Public Library because he said no one checked them out, and he gave them to people whom he thought would appreciate them. When a friend heard him explain his world view, he chided him, “You’re right Alex, the world is wrong.” Telling me about this later, Alex added “And, hell. I believe that. The world is wrong, I am right.”
To the end, he did it his way. Apparently he’d been feeling bad for several days, but not so bad he couldn’t refuse advice to visit the doctor. Dead at 59, the loss magnified by its abruptness, the musician is stilled but his great recordings live on. The eulogies will too, much to his likely irritation.
Robert Gordon is the author of the quintessential book on Memphis music history – ‘It Came from Memphis.’
One day in 1968, I walked into my office to find a young man still in his teens, seated in my chair, with his boots propped up on my desktop, smoking a cigarette. Once I relocated him, I learned that he was Chris Bell. I would soon meet Andy Hummel, as the two, along with Steve Rhea, were starting to join the after-hours recording crew at Ardent. I already knew Alex Chilton from his visits to Ardent for Box Tops overdub and mixing sessions. A bit later I would meet Jody Stephens as he joined Chris and Andy on drums when Steve left for college.
Of course, there would be no Big Star band until a few years later, but this day is as good as any to mark the start of a journey that Alex, Andy, Chris, Jody, and I would wind up taking together. That journey has been well described in several different formats. The life stories of the individuals involved would progress in ways that none of us could have envisioned.
For me, the experiences included getting to participate in the recording and release of music I loved then and still love now, the bitter feeling of total commercial failure in the Memphis ashes of 1975, an early morning phone call in 1978 with bad news, and the ultimate acceptance of the music by generations of fans and musicians, many unborn at the time it was recorded.
Recounting some recent events may express my feelings better than talking about the distant past. Fast forward to 2008. Jody Stephens shouts from his office across the hall from mine “Hey, we’ve got a show in London on August 28.” My response is, “I’m going.”
The Vinyl District’s Ardent Records, Ardent Music, and Ardent Studios Week has been in the planning stages since last January, and in fact was the project that ignited the idea of a month of label spotlights as we count down to Record Store Day 2010.
We’ve been plotting and mapping out this week that would highlight not just the studio’s storied history, but the history of the people and records that Ardent has fostered.
What we certainly didn’t foresee was that the history we were chronicling would be irrevocably altered with the passing of Alex Chilton—and it was during one of those planning back and forth email volleys less than two weeks ago that we were informed of his passing soon after it occurred.
So, we’ve scrambled a bit and reconfigured that map of the week to allow for not just an Ardent spotlight but a series of reflections on Alex Chilton, the man and the musician and the deep well of affection that he leaves behind—which will run in tandem with what we had set out to do initially.
And there will be a lot to read and take in. If you ever thought TVD might be a little light in the content arena (as I might have in the past) this week will undo that notion. We’ll have a few surprises along the way, and of course, we’ll be giving away some vinyl – not one big contest per weeks past – we’re piggybacking the giveaways with pertinent posts.
And the most pertinent now as we kick things off with Ardent Week is a brief historical overview:
Something Good Happens Here by Robert Gordon
“I had an interest both in music and in electronics,” says John Fry, founder of all things Ardent – studios, labels, video production, and various other ventures over the years. “We started getting our hands on the equipment, then asking, ‘What can we do with this?’ Well, we can record music. ‘What are we going to do with the music?’ Well, we could try to sell it.”
These are simple beginnings for a passion that has lasted forty years, has become an industry-leading enterprise, and has produced some of the best music in modern history. And even as Ardent has grown and changed, the founding characteristic has remained true. “Back then, our studios were unusual around this part of the country,” Fry continues, “because we had a higher technical standard than was common, allowing for a controlled recording situation.” Ardent’s high technical standards, well-maintained equipment, and an appreciation for both the vintage and the cutting edge have always been its essential elements.
John began tinkering with electronics in the late 1950s, his particular interest being radio. “As kids, we couldn’t get a radio station, so we started recording, which was the next best thing.” The afore-mentioned “we” refers to John Fry’s first two partners: John King and Fred Smith. King stayed in the music and radio business, publishing a radio magazine, working in promotion for Ardent Records in the 1970s and more recently, programming internet radio; Smith went away to college and turned his passion for aviation into a fly-by-night operation named Federal Express. In 1958, they were just sophomores in high school stumbling into a hired studio with a band they’d found. “This studio we rented was a thing from the era of live radio broadcasting,” Fry recalls. “All technology was pretty primitive then, but this place had things like Presto disc recording lathes that even then were approaching obsolescence.”
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. That first studio experience was exactly what John Fry did not want, and he set about building his own studio in a converted garage off his parents’ house in what had been his grandmother’s sewing room. “I’d pore over the catalogs and brands and all that. We built a lot of our equipment, and what we didn’t build we inter-connected. Things just didn’t exist in an off-the-shelf form. Until well into the 1960s you put the thing together and made it yourself.”
The desire for a label had spawned the studio. The first incarnation of Ardent Records released four singles. Notoriety came with singles by local favorites, especially the Shades. (Collectors take note: Ardent 101 is by The Ole Miss Downbeats; “The Hucklebuck” b/w “Slewfoot.”)
Then John Fry spent some time in the radio business. “A little bit after I graduated high school in 1962, a friend got a grant to build a radio station in Pine Bluff, Arkansas. We thought, ‘Well it’s not exactly a major market but this guy’ll let us mess with it some.’”
A couple years later, in 1964, recording artist James Luther Dickinson talked Fry into reviving the label. Dickinson had production ideas and Fry’s ears were open; their working relationship continues today. Terry Manning played organ in Lawson and Four More, the revived Ardent label’s first release. By 1966, when Fry’s family was moving, the studio was also ready for a new location, and Ardent had its official opening on National Street, where it stayed for five years.
“Our facility coincided with the rapid upswing of the technology,” Fry reflects. “If you had four-track equipment, you had as many tracks as anybody and more than most. Between 1966 and about 1970, we went from four to sixteen tracks and to much larger consoles; outboard equipment began to appear, and so did Dolby noise reduction. The equipment required a fair amount of alignment and attention in order to work right. We were good at that. Ardent wound up mixing a lot of stuff that other people would record because we could apply some technological efforts that seemed to enhance it. Also, our console was the same make as Stax’s, so anyone from there could feel at home with what we had. We stayed busy.”
Clients came from far and near. Led Zeppelin, Leon Russell, and James Taylor sought out the place, and Ardent became a second home for Stax artists, including Isaac Hayes, Sam and Dave, the Staple Singers, Don Nix, the Bar-Kays and Booker T. and the MGs. The Stax relationship blossomed, and in the early 1970s, Ardent Records became a Stax distributed label. Unfortunately, Stax got caught up in its CBS Records quagmire, and some of Ardent’s greatest albums, including Big Star’s ‘#1 Record’ and ‘Radio City,’ did not reach a wide audience until years later.
Big Star ultimately seeped into pop culture, their reissued albums influencing generations of talent. A range of artists cite those Ardent albums as formative inspirations, including R.E.M., The Bangles, Primal Scream, Matthew Sweet, The Posies, Elliot Smith, Sister Hazel, Ryan Adams, Golden Smog and Wilco. A treatment of Big Star’s “In The Street” by Cheap Trick became the theme song for Fox-TV’s long running ‘That 70s Show.’
In November of 1971, while in the midst of recording the first Big Star album, Ardent moved to its current home on Madison Avenue. The new facility was outfitted with two studios, adding a third in 1980. Its reputation growing, Ardent Studios continued to attract national recording acts. And they came: ZZ Top, Freddie King, John Prine, Cheap Trick, Joe Cocker. The 1980s kicked off with Ardent alumnus Alex Chilton bringing in the Cramps, thereby introducing the studio to a new generation. And they came: Green On Red, the Replacements, R.E.M., the Georgia Satellites, the Gin Blossoms, the Tragically Hip, the Afghan Whigs.
In the mid-1980s, Ardent began to develop a relationship with the burgeoning Contemporary Christian Music market. DeGarmo and Key became Ardent regulars, recording ‘Heat It Up’, ‘To Extremes’, and many others. Ardent Records launched a Christian rock label in 1995; so far it has released 36 albums and garnered 7 Grammy nominations from an artist roster including Big Tent Revival, Skillet, Smalltown Poets, Jonah33, Todd Agnew and developing artists Joy Whitlock and NonFiction.
Blues artists have always come through Memphis, and in the late 1980s, Austin’s Fabulous Thunderbirds began recording at Ardent. After their guitarist Jimmie Vaughan brought his brother, Stevie Ray, there for ‘Family Style’, Jimmie returned to complete Stevie Ray’s posthumous release ‘The Sky Is Crying’. Ardent then became a mecca for modern blues artists. And they came: Robert Cray, Luther Allison, Jeff Healy, Albert Collins, Bernard Allison, B. B. King.
When Nashville wouldn’t let Steve Earle get the sound he wanted, he hit the hillbilly highway and showed up at Ardent. Word spread that there was a place down the road where the sounds were professional and the possibilities were great. And they came: Travis Tritt, Tanya Tucker, Little Texas, Mark Chesnutt.
As the post-punk world settled down and major labels became comfortable with alternative rock, Ardent Productions served as liaison between Memphis talent and the corporations. Under the direction of Big Star drummer (and Ardent Studios manager) Jody Stephens, Ardent Productions developed several artists in the 1980s and 1990s, landing deals at Geffen for John Kilzer, A&M for Tora Tora, and Elektra for The Eric Gales Band. In the 1990s wave of indie rock, Ardent Records got into the game with Neighborhood Texture Jam, Spot, Jolene, and the return of Big Star front man Alex Chilton.
Since its earliest days, Ardent has fostered producers. Jim Dickinson, Terry Manning, Jim Gaines, Joe Hardy, John Hampton, Paul Ebersold, Jeff Powell, Skidd Mills, Jason Latshaw, Matt Martone, and Pete Matthews are among the many producers who have had long relationships with Ardent. In a business known for big egos, flaring tempers, and hardened grudges, these enduring associations speak volumes about the Ardent environment.
Times have changed, but Ardent has remained true to its character, embracing the technological advents, collecting world-class vintage gear, and offering hospitality that is among the South’s finest. As Memphis’ connection to Hollywood grows stronger, the filmmakers behind ‘Hustle and Flow’, ‘Black Snake Moan’ and ’40 Shades of Blue’ have turned to Ardent for recording their soundtracks. Hip hop artists and twenty-first century stars continue to walk through the doors: Three 6 Mafia, Juvenile, Al Kapone, Cat Power, the North Mississippi Allstars, Three Doors Down, the White Stripes, Bob Dylan, John Hiatt, the Raconteurs, and a reunited Big Star. Ardent’s passion for the music has translated into more than 70 gold and platinum albums and singles. You can walk the halls and feel that same passion.
“Anybody that’s traveled knows there is an emotional influence that you experience from being in different places,” says John Fry. “Your moods are affected by your surroundings. I think there is something that operates in Memphis, and at Ardent—I can’t explain what it is or how it operates on an analytical basis, but having been an observer for forty years, I know there’s something that animates all this activity that causes it to go on here and not other places. You come record here, something good happens to you!”
Robert Gordon is the author of the quintessential book on Memphis music history – ‘It Came from Memphis’
The legendary Big Star was to be celebrated at SXSW this year. A panel was planned on the band and its influence, as well as a closing set at Antone’s on Saturday. So it was a mighty big blow felt by everyone attending when news started circulating Wednesday of Alex Chilton’s death. What was to be a performance by Big Star became a tribute to Chilton, with various singers slated to “borrow” Chilton’s mic.
I’ve got photos forthcoming of it all, but it was widely agreed upon by those who attended that Sondre Lerche‘s performance of “The Ballad of El Goodo” was definitely one of the evening’s highlights. Lerche’s serene and moving voice was the right fit and brought the song, and everyone listening, to a whole new level.
The video below is of Big Star/Poisies guitarist Jon Auer rehearsing beforehand…
and of the performance at the tribute. I really wish you all could have been there, video doesn’t come close to capturing the beauty of Lerche’s sound. It was truly something special.
Indeed, it’s been a hallmark of our Record Store Day 2010 Label Spotlights that each label puts together a grab bag o’ swag, and our friends at Daptone Records are no exception.
Here’s what we got for ya:
…the brand new Sharon Jones & the Dap-kings LP, “I Learned The Hard Way”…
…the above, large 22″ x 28″ poster on a thicker (12pt paper stock) featuring a collage of DaptoneLP’s and 45’s.
…two super-sweet DJ turntable slip mats…
…and a collection of five Daptone 7″‘s:
3 Titans “College” b/w “The Life of a Scholar” Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings “Ain’t No Chimneys in the Projects” (X-mas 45) Menahan Street Band “The Wolf” b/w “Bushwick Lullaby” Darrell Banks “I Don’t Know What To Do” b/w “My Love is Reserved” Naomi Shelton & the Gospel Queens “Wind Your Clock”
That’s right—Daptone loves ya’ back.
By now you know the drill, in the comments to this post let us know why you deserve to win this killer Daptone Prize Package—with a contact email address!—and the one person that hits our collective sweet spots will be awarded all of the above. You have until Wednesday, March 31 to suitably impress us.
We await your love letters.
…And we thank Daptone Records for hanging out with TVD all this week with a special shout out to The Honeydripper…
French Letter’s music is the result of long periods of random experimentation and the use of loop pedals for composition and performance – especially in “Chester”, which begins in a loop-filled swell of instrumentation.
Behind everything is an appreciation for oddities in music, whether in little nods to math-rock but set in a pop context, or unusual covers. But the core group of French Letter, the bass, drums, and guitar, have been playing together for five years, through four band-iterations, and have found a certain understanding on understanding.
In college, they bonded over Pavement and Andrew Bird and being transplanted New Jerseyans, hence two songs on the EP named after small towns in northern New Jersey. And it has taken time – starting with six people, slimming down to three, expanding to four, to get to where they are.
And where they are? Openers for Sweet Tea Pumpkin Pie and Olivia Mancini this Saturday night (3/27) at Comet Ping Pong. We’ll see you there, right?
I arrived on Tuesday, March 16th – a day early in an effort to learn my way around before the Music portion of the festival started. This seemed like a great idea in October when I booked my flight, but it turned out to be a terrible idea.
Free Margaritas + Music Badge = Disaster
Long story short, I lost my music badge the first night I was there. Note to self for next year: Do not wear your badge at any unofficial event prior to the beginning of the festival.
I lucked out the next day. First, a friend of mine hooked me up with a day pass. Second, I went by the help desk three times. The first two times I went by, there was a very bored looking girl who was keeping tally of the losers, like myself, and their emotional responses. Four had cried. I was not one of them (but I probably would have had she not told me about the tally).
The third time I went by, it was almost closing time, and there was a big, burly guy who after making fun of me and my obvious stupidity, gave me an “artist’s” wristband, which is basically the same as having a badge. And he did it for free. FREE. Whew!
Anyway, I am going to give you a brief synopsis each day this week of one of the days last week. The highlights, the lowlights, the absurdity of it all.
Keep in mind, I am only 20, so I wasn’t supposed to be in most of these venues anyway, so I’m not going to name them here. Also, I don’t have a fake ID, I used my military ID, and most places didn’t seem to notice that my birthday isn’t until November. And it is because of their carelessness that I am able to bring you this report. Day 1: Wednesday, March 17 – St. Patrick’s Day
I didn’t leave the hotel until the afternoon as a result of the previous evening. Please forgive me.
Sets:
1. The Middle East – Brooklyn Vegan Showcase
This Australian band, is more than a band, they’re a miniature orchestra. Seven people, and at least fourteen instruments. Each member maintained a certain ambiguity, no one seemed more prominent than the person behind them, everyone contributed both vocally and instrumentally.
Looking around the room, everyone seemed very focused on what was happening on stage, not just the music, but the feeling. Each person was taking part in the song being sung. This was especially apparent during “Hunger Song” early in their set – as I looked around the majority of the crowd were moving their lips. With each song a new singer sang, or would change from verse to verse.
They maintained a humility that was scarce at the festival. “Thank you all for coming to this crazy, hectic, madhouse, and thanks to our friends at Brooklyn Vegan,” the tall, lanky one standing in the middle said while raising his hands as to “raise the roof.” As they started the introduction to “Blood” an audience member broke the calm silence and shouted “Best song ever!” This could have been distracting, but instead an applause ripped in agreement. Despite being possibly the saddest song I heard last week, “Blood” was also perhaps the most beautiful.
2. Frightened Rabbit – Scottish Arts Council
One of the problems at SXSW is the lines. I mean, it’s to be expected, but is frustrating when you dash across town to see another band. I didn’t see as many bands as I could have because of this.
I stood in line for at least half an hour to get into the Frightened Rabbit show. Scott Hutchinson, the lead singer of this Scottish band, has managed to turn out hit after hit of melancholy pop anthems. They played songs from both Midnight Organ Fight and The Winter of Mixed Drinks – mostly the singles. It was a fast paced set, and the audience was alive during their latest hit “Nothing Like You,” a quintessential “F**K You!” to whomever you previously loved. They closed with the bitter “Keep Yourself Warm” while leaving the stage, and trashing it, one by one until only the drummer, Grant, was left.
3. Serena-Maneesh – Brooklyn Vegan Showcase I had heard a lot about that “psychedelic rock band from Norway” and wanted to hear it myself. I am not a huge fan of “psychedelic” anything (I never claimed to be cool) and was hoping that I could be enlightened. I was wrong. While they look really cool, like, all the cool kids will be wearing glittery ponchos and mismatched headbands next year after seeing this band a la Emil Nikolaisen. Unless they decide to bleach their hair and take quaaludes, because that is exactly what the bassist looked like. They have a sound that would have worked well in the seventies, but they missed by thirty years and even now seem more glam than rock.
On my way back to my hotel I found a lost Irishman sitting on a wall. He was in a band (duh) and had been walking in the wrong direction for an hour. I walked him to my hotel’s lobby where the clerk called him a cab. And off he went, and I to bed, thankful to not be inebriated.
Hey, wasn’t it just a few weeks back that Drink Up Buttercup was in town at DC9?
Well, yes – yes it was. But the band’s back in DC at the very same venue after a string of dates across the country which included appearances in Austin at SXSW.
And hey, recall the raves and the ‘must see’ accolades the blogs tripped over themselves to post?
Well, yes – yes you do.
See where this is going?
We’ve got another opportunity—a pair of tickets—to see the band this Saturday night along with Haper Blynn at the aforementioned DC9.
And just to sweeten the deal, we’ve got a copy of the new ‘Even Think’ 7″ b/w ‘Heavy Hand’ — the band’s first single for Yep Roc.
So, hey – recall how to win these tickets? Of course you do.
Scream at the top of your tired lungs in the comments to this post—with email contact info!—as to why youuu deserve to attend Saturday night’s irony free scream-a-long and bout of irresponsible drinking and we’ll hook you up.
The Velvet Lounge and Bored of Trade present Tooth and Nail—a craft fair for noble savages young and old, Saturday, March 27, 11:00am – 7:00pm at the Velvet Lounge.
Vendors: Bored of Trade | Daisy Lacy | Bkao | Treasury Vintage and new designs! | Murai Vintage | Manatea Party (and Project Dispatch) | DC Conspiracy Comics | Chris Zwart Designs | Laruen Pezzullo Repurposed Vintage | Off The Record bowls by Sheri Mattes | Kari Nye Baked Goods and Jewelry | Phil Barbato Plushes | Crooked Beat Records | Smash! Records | Windian Records | Alison Stout Electronics
DJs: Adrian Parsons | Andrew Buckette | DJ Naraku | Lucas Smudge | DJ Mayo Burn
FREE ADMISSION, bring CASH for shopping. DRINK SPECIALS: $5 mimosas until 4 | $3 PBR tallboys until 7
