Podcast appearances and mentions of Robert Hilburn

May/June 2025 | Hosts Holly Browning and Dylan Posa talk about our author visit (Victoria Ellen), and recommend: 'Zatanna: Bring Down The House' by Mariko Tamaki and Javier Rodriguez 'Lost Lake' by Sarah Addison Allen 'A Few Words In Defense Of Our Country' by Robert Hilburn and 'Grunge Is Dead' by Greg Prato

Host Christian Swain relaunches the interview show "Deeper Digs in Rock" on the Rock N Roll Archaeology feed!  Initially focused on academics and journalists, the show plans to evolve into a LIVE, interactive panel discussion format using the Gigaverse app.  This episode revives a highlight from 2018: an insightful interview with renowned former LA Times music critic Robert Hilburn.  This archival conversation delves into Hilburn's Paul Simon biography and offers much more from his storied career covering pop and rock music. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

For nearly 30 years, Randy Newman has been the musical voice behind Pixar's most beloved films—Toy Story, Monsters Inc., Cars, and more—earning multiple awards and generations of fans. But beyond these nostalgic soundtracks lies a body of work that's often overlooked. Newman's solo career is a masterclass in sharp, literate satire, tackling America's deepest flaws with a deceptively laid-back style. From Sail Away to I Love L.A., his songs blend humor with biting social commentary. In this Rock N Roll Archaeology Short, we explore Newman's 1970s-era music and the new biography A Few Words in Defense of Our Country by legendary rock critic Robert Hilburn. Join us for a deep dive into the genius of Randy Newman! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Randy Newman is one of the most misunderstood and under-celebrated musicians of the modern era. Reknowned Music Journalist/Author Robert Hilburn's new book, A Few Words in Defense of Our Country is the definitive Randy Newman biography and Bob joins us to spotlight the genius and the legend of a great American musician and storyteller.Robert Hilburn was the music critic for the Los Angeles Times for 35 years and he's written books about John Lennon, Paul Simon, Bruce Springsteen and Johnny Cash. Bob tells us that Newman (much like Simon) had to be convinced to have his legacy chronicled. Randy grew up in a legendary musical family in which tooting your horn (metaphorically) was frowned upon. His uncles composed movie scores and they taught Randy to let the work be your voice.We hear about Randy's challenging childhood, the pressure he felt to succeed in music and how success, once achieved, incurred his father's envy. Throughout his career, Randy's best childhood friend, Lenny Waronker (who became a record exec) believed in him, opened doors and cheered his efforts.Diving further into Randy's work flow, creative struggles and anxiety-taming efforts, Bob illuminates Randy's genre-bending and cultural interrogating musical achievements.We also delve, with Bob, into the influence once held by music critics in the golden ages of both print media and the music industry. We discuss the futures of recorded music and journalism and Bob tells us about his favorite interview ever… with Bob Dylan… and that one time he went to Folsom Prison with Johnny Cash.Plus, Weezy recommends the original Apple TV+ movie, Blitz and Fritz is currently into the new series Rivals, streaming on Hulu and other platforms.Path Points of Interest:Robert HilburnRobert Hilburn on WikipediaA Few Words In Defense of Our Country: The Biography of Randy Newman by Robert HilburnRobert Hilburn Amazon Author PageRobert Hilburn on XAmanda PetrusichBlitz on Apple TVRivals - On Several Platforms

It's ImmaLetYouFinish... #208! Court & Amy try to figure out money grabs, break down some of our favorite undersung singer/songwriters, and welcome critic/author Robert Hilburn to talk about new book "A Few Words In Defense Of Our Country : The Biography Of Randy Newman". ImmaLetYouFinish... Podcast is a proud member of Pantheon Podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's ImmaLetYouFinish... #208! Court & Amy try to figure out money grabs, break down some of our favorite undersung singer/songwriters, and welcome critic/author Robert Hilburn to talk about new book "A Few Words In Defense Of Our Country : The Biography Of Randy Newman". ImmaLetYouFinish... Podcast is a proud member of Pantheon Podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

He's written some of the darkest entries in the American songbook but became world famous with a sunny celebration of friendship on the soundtrack of “Toy Story”. Inbetween can be found a staggering range of songs dealing with everything from short people to Vladimir Putin, from performing bears to the Louisiana Flood., from ELO to the Great Nations Of Europe, all of which show up in this authoritative new biography from Robert Hilburn, for years the rock writer of the Los Angeles Times. Topics touched on in his chat with David Hepworth:  … when you called your book “A Few Words In Defense Of Our Country”, did you know it was coming out in Election week? … why Robert's review of Elton John at the Troubadour in 1970 transformed the life of one piano player from Pinner while his review of Randy in the same same venue in the same year didn't have the same effect on this local hero. … how Randy finds his inspiration by sitting in front of the TV with a big stack of hardback books. … what his famous uncles taught him and how he has spent a lifetime trying to follow their lead. … how he got his first break from Cilla Black, Alan Price and the British chart, … what he said when he finally got as Oscar after years of nominations. … why he can write quickly when commissioned but moves agonisingly slowly when relying on inspiration. … why he's the only biographical subject to insist his children are interviewed. … what he thinks of Donald Trump.Order Robert's book here:https://www.amazon.co.uk/Few-Words-Defense-Our-Country/dp/1408720361Find out more about how to help us to keep the conversation going: https://www.patreon.com/wordinyourear  Get bonus content on Patreon Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

He's written some of the darkest entries in the American songbook but became world famous with a sunny celebration of friendship on the soundtrack of “Toy Story”. Inbetween can be found a staggering range of songs dealing with everything from short people to Vladimir Putin, from performing bears to the Louisiana Flood., from ELO to the Great Nations Of Europe, all of which show up in this authoritative new biography from Robert Hilburn, for years the rock writer of the Los Angeles Times. Topics touched on in his chat with David Hepworth:  … when you called your book “A Few Words In Defense Of Our Country”, did you know it was coming out in Election week? … why Robert's review of Elton John at the Troubadour in 1970 transformed the life of one piano player from Pinner while his review of Randy in the same same venue in the same year didn't have the same effect on this local hero. … how Randy finds his inspiration by sitting in front of the TV with a big stack of hardback books. … what his famous uncles taught him and how he has spent a lifetime trying to follow their lead. … how he got his first break from Cilla Black, Alan Price and the British chart, … what he said when he finally got as Oscar after years of nominations. … why he can write quickly when commissioned but moves agonisingly slowly when relying on inspiration. … why he's the only biographical subject to insist his children are interviewed. … what he thinks of Donald Trump.Order Robert's book here:https://www.amazon.co.uk/Few-Words-Defense-Our-Country/dp/1408720361Find out more about how to help us to keep the conversation going: https://www.patreon.com/wordinyourear  Get bonus content on Patreon Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

He's written some of the darkest entries in the American songbook but became world famous with a sunny celebration of friendship on the soundtrack of “Toy Story”. Inbetween can be found a staggering range of songs dealing with everything from short people to Vladimir Putin, from performing bears to the Louisiana Flood., from ELO to the Great Nations Of Europe, all of which show up in this authoritative new biography from Robert Hilburn, for years the rock writer of the Los Angeles Times. Topics touched on in his chat with David Hepworth:  … when you called your book “A Few Words In Defense Of Our Country”, did you know it was coming out in Election week? … why Robert's review of Elton John at the Troubadour in 1970 transformed the life of one piano player from Pinner while his review of Randy in the same same venue in the same year didn't have the same effect on this local hero. … how Randy finds his inspiration by sitting in front of the TV with a big stack of hardback books. … what his famous uncles taught him and how he has spent a lifetime trying to follow their lead. … how he got his first break from Cilla Black, Alan Price and the British chart, … what he said when he finally got as Oscar after years of nominations. … why he can write quickly when commissioned but moves agonisingly slowly when relying on inspiration. … why he's the only biographical subject to insist his children are interviewed. … what he thinks of Donald Trump.Order Robert's book here:https://www.amazon.co.uk/Few-Words-Defense-Our-Country/dp/1408720361Find out more about how to help us to keep the conversation going: https://www.patreon.com/wordinyourear  Get bonus content on Patreon Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Ian speaks with the great Robert Hilburn about his excellent new biography of Randall Stuart Newman, A Few Words In Defense of Our Country, Randy's status amongst the great songwriters, and Hilburn's legendary interviews with Bob Dylan. BUY "A FEW WORDS IN DEFENSE OF OUR COUNTRY" NOW READ ROBERT'S 2004 INTERVIEW WITH BOB

On this episode of the Planet LP podcast, host Ted Asregadoo meets up with novelist, pop culture writer, and podcast host Jeff Giles to recommend some essential reads for music lovers. Ted and Jeff dive into a curated selection of rock biographies, behind-the-scenes histories, and critical perspectives on some of music's biggest names. Get ready for some deep talk about My Effin' Life by Geddy Lee, Nothing But A Good Time: The Uncensored History of the '80s Hard Rock Explosion by Tom Beaujour and Richard Bienstock, Surrender by Bono, All Over The Place: The Rise of The BANGLES From The L.A. Underground by Eric M. Shade, A Few Words in Defense of Our Country: The Biography of Randy Newman by Robert Hilburn, Rememberings by Sinéad O'Connor, and more. Whether you're a die-hard fan or just discovering these artists, Ted and Jeff's recommendations are sure to add some rock & roll to your reading list!

Robert Hilburn, former LA Times Music Editor/Critic, has become one of the preeminent music biographers for the singer-songwriter. Known for his deep dives into the lives of legendary artists, Robert has penned insightful biographies on Johnny Cash and Paul Simon. Now, he joins us to discuss his latest work, A Few Words In Defense Of Our Country: The Biography Of Randy Newman. We'll explore Newman's unique songwriting craft, as Robert shares some of his own unique stories along the way. Robert has been a favorite of ours since we first became music fans, so it's a true honor to have him on the show. Let's dive in! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Robert Hilburn, former LA Times Music Editor/Critic, has become one of the preeminent music biographers for the singer-songwriter. Known for his deep dives into the lives of legendary artists, Robert has penned insightful biographies on Johnny Cash and Paul Simon. Now, he joins us to discuss his latest work, A Few Words In Defense Of Our Country: The Biography Of Randy Newman. We'll explore Newman's unique songwriting craft, as Robert shares some of his own unique stories along the way. Robert has been a favorite of ours since we first became music fans, so it's a true honor to have him on the show. Let's dive in! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Guests: Robert Hilburn, Howard Jones Music journalist and author Robert Hilburn discusses his new book on Randy Newman, A FEW WORDS IN DEFENSE OF OUR COUNTRY. Singer-songwriter-musician Howard Jones looks back on his career and talks about his upcoming tour with Daryl Hall.                              

For this episode we're joined – all the way from sunny Southern California – by L.A. Times legend Robert Hilburn. Bob beams in to discuss his new biography of the peerless Randy Newman, but we start by asking him about the early childhood memories (of his native Louisiana) that he shares with Randy himself. From there he takes us from the Eureka moment of hearing a then-unknown Elvis Presley on the radio for the first time – through his teen years in suburban SoCal – to his early freelance pieces for the Times. Which include his account of accompanying Johnny Cash to Folsom Prison in January 1968... Bob's famously influential 1970 review of Elton John at West Hollywood's beloved Troubadour club gives us a chance to discuss the halcyon days of singer-songwriters and leads directly on to Randy Newman, whose "Troub" debut in the same year Bob also reviewed. We talk at length about the satirical genius behind 'Sail Away', 'Short People' and 'I Love L.A.', revisiting the 50-year-old Good Old Boys in depth and listening to clips from John Hutchinson's 1983 audio interview with Randy. Pieces discussed: Doug Weston: A Man Who Had a Passion for Art of the Troubadour, Elton John @ the Troubadour, Randy Newman @ the Troubadour, Randy Newman audio interview, Thelonious Monk, The Problems of Being Roger McGuinn, Felton Jarvis: Nashville Producer and Cornershop.

Progressive Rock reached its zenith during the early 1970s, a period often celebrated as the genre's golden age. This era of Prog Rock has inspired intense opinions—both positive and negative—that rival those of any other rock movement or genre throughout music history. Fans of Progressive Rock are known for their passionate dedication. On the flip side, critics, including renowned voices like Lester Bangs, Robert Christgau, and Robert Hilburn, were notoriously dismissive of Progressive Rock. Despite their often harsh criticisms, we believe that time has proven them wrong. Our perspective has evolved, and we now view the best of 70s Progressive Rock as a genre with substantial depth and intellectual substance. The music from this era isn't just enjoyable; it's some of the most significant work of the 20th century. Not all Prog Rock from this period hit the mark—there were certainly moments of excessive self-indulgence. However, the Prog bands and songs that have stood the test of time are truly exceptional and worth celebrating. Producer and Host: Christian Swain Head Writer: Richard Evans Sound Designer: Jerry Danielsen RockNRollArchaeology.com RNRA on Patreon RNRA on TeePublic Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Under 1930-talet gick USA in i svår ekonomisk kris, där miljontals personer blev urfattiga, eller i värsta fall hemlösa. En av dessa familjer som drabbades hårt av depressionen var familjen Cash. Som 1935 fick möjligheten att flytta till Dyess, Arkansas som en del av Franklin D. Roosevelts investering i bönder i delstaten. Där började Johnny Cash sitt liv och formades till den mystiske, starka och inte minst talangfulla person han är i allmänhetens ögon idag. När jag började med detta arbetet var jag inte säker vart det skulle leda. Men det tog inte lång tid förrän jag förstod att berättelsen om Johnny Cash faktiskt är en berättelse om något mycket större. Om Amerika, om mänskligt lidande, familjetrauman, rättsystemet, countrymusiken och inte minst åldrande. Detta är del tre av tre i berättelsen om Johnny Cash.Källor och filmer som varit till stor hjälp i arbetet med dagens avsnitt:Johnny Cash: The life. (Robert Hilburn, 2013)Johnny Cash: The life of an American Icon (Stephen Miller, 2006)The Gift: The Journey of Johnny Cash - Official Documentary (Youtube, 2019)Johnny Cash - Folsom Prison Blues (Genius, 04.2024)Johnny Cash På Österåker Ep1-2 (Jag var där, 2016) Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Under 1930-talet gick USA in i svår ekonomisk kris, där miljontals personer blev urfattiga, eller i värsta fall hemlösa. En av dessa familjer som drabbades hårt av depressionen var familjen Cash. Som 1935 fick möjligheten att flytta till Dyess, Arkansas som en del av Franklin D. Roosevelts investering i bönder i delstaten. Där började Johnny Cash sitt liv och formades till den mystiske, starka och inte minst talangfulla person han är i allmänhetens ögon idag. När jag började med detta arbetet var jag inte säker vart det skulle leda. Men det tog inte lång tid förrän jag förstod att berättelsen om Johnny Cash faktiskt är en berättelse om något mycket större. Om Amerika, om mänskligt lidande, familjetrauman, rättsystemet, countrymusiken och inte minst åldrande. Detta är del två av tre i berättelsen om Johnny Cash.Källor och filmer som varit till stor hjälp i arbetet med dagens avsnitt:Johnny Cash: The life. (Robert Hilburn, 2013)Johnny Cash: The life of an American Icon (Stephen Miller, 2006)The Gift: The Journey of Johnny Cash - Official Documentary (Youtube, 2019)Johnny Cash - Folsom Prison Blues (Genius, 04.2024) Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Under 1930-talet gick USA in i svår ekonomisk kris, där miljontals personer blev urfattiga, eller i värsta fall hemlösa. En av dessa familjer som drabbades hårt av depressionen var familjen Cash. Som 1935 fick möjligheten att flytta till Dyess, Arkansas som en del av Franklin D. Roosevelts investering i bönder i delstaten. Där började Johnny Cash sitt liv och formades till den mystiske, starka och inte minst talangfulla person han är i allmänhetens ögon idag. När jag började med detta arbetet var jag inte säker vart det skulle leda. Men det tog inte lång tid förrän jag förstod att berättelsen om Johnny Cash faktiskt är en berättelse om något mycket större. Om Amerika, om mänskligt lidande, familjetrauman, rättsystemet, countrymusiken och inte minst åldrande. Detta är del ett av tre i berättelsen om Johnny Cash.Källor och filmer som varit till stor hjälp i arbetet med dagens avsnitt:Johnny Cash: The life. (Robert Hilburn, 2013)Johnny Cash: The life of an American Icon (Stephen Miller, 2006)The Gift: The Journey of Johnny Cash - Official Documentary (Youtube, 2019)Johnny Cash - Folsom Prison Blues (Genius, 04.2024) Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

When people think of Joe South, they generally think first of Games People Play, one of the most successful protest-related songs of the late 1960s, with its distinctive electric sitar accompaniment, played by the singer and composer himself, and a bitingly prescient lyric directed at pseudo-hippy types who "while away the hours / In their ivory towers / Till they're covered up with flowers / In the back of a black limousine."South, who has died aged 72 of heart failure, won a Grammy for that million-seller and went on to write many other fine songs, including Walk a Mile in My Shoes, Down in the Boondocks, Hush and (I Never Promised You a) Rose Garden.A member, like Eddie Hinton, Dan Penn and Troy Seals, of a generation of US southern white boys who grew up listening to rhythm and blues, South was a fine guitarist who became a popular session man, performing on a series of important records, starting with Sheila, a hit in 1962 for Tommy Roe, a fellow native of Atlanta, Georgia. In 1966 he played bass guitar on much of Bob Dylan's album Blonde on Blonde, and the following year he created the shivering, menacing bottom-string guitar licks that opened and underpinned Aretha Franklin's classic Chain of Fools.It is South's playing that gives a clue to the spontaneity of the Blonde on Blonde sessions, which often lasted late into the night. The musicians were obliged to follow Dylan wherever his songs led, resulting in the occasional mistakes and missed changes – as when South fails to spot Dylan's chord shift in the second verse of Visions of Johanna, taking half a bar to adjust under the line about the nightwatchman clicking his flashlight.South was born Joseph Souter and was given a guitar by his father at the age of 11. He built a small radio station on which he played his own songs and had modified his name when, still in his teens, he had his first minor hit in 1958 with The Purple People Eater Meets the Witch Doctor, co-written with the Big Bopper (JP Richardson) to capitalise on current novelty hits. The following year Gene Vincent recorded two of his songs, I Might Have Known and Gone Gone Gone.He had made a successful career as a session musician in Muscle Shoals and Nashville when Games People Play brought him to international attention. Its title borrowed from a successful book on transactional analysis by the psychiatrist Eric Berne, the song took an unusual approach to the social tensions of the day, more oblique and unpredictable than other Dylan-influenced protest songs which topped the charts. But when it won a Grammy for best song of 1969, his problems began."The Grammy is a little like a crown," he told Robert Hilburn of the Los Angeles Times. "After you win it, you feel like you have to defend it. In a sense, I froze. I found it hard to go back into the recording studio because I was afraid the next song wouldn't be perfect."None of South's subsequent records made the top 20, but Walk a Mile in My Shoes was recorded by Elvis Presley (and later by Bryan Ferry and Coldcut), Hush took the British progressive rock band Deep Purple into the top 5 in the US and Canada in 1968, and the lilting Rose Garden gave the country singer Lynn Anderson a worldwide hit in 1971. He also produced records by the singer Sandy Posey and the folk-rock duo Friend and Lover.

So here it is, my #techno bootleg of Bruce Springsteen's 'Candy's Room'. It's 45 years since the original track was released on the album 'Darkness on the Edge of Town'. This was Bruce's fourth album, released three years after his breakthrough LP "Born to Run'. The release of ;'Darkness...' was delayed by a legal dispute with his ex-manager over ownership of his tracks. 'Candy's Room' was described by 'The Quietus' Michael Hann as the album's "most musically violent moment" Lyrically, it's a fantasy song in which the singer imagines being with the Candy of the title. Unfortunately for him, Candy is popular with many suitors who trade fancy garnishments for her affection. Springsteen thought it fit the theme of the album, which he described as "people tryin' to hold on for the things they believe in, in the face of battering from the outside." (Quote from 'Springsteen' by Robert Hilburn.) Driven by a furious and un-relenting rhythm and introduced by a driving ride pattern on the hats, I thought it was perfect for a techno remix. So here it is. Let me know what you think in the comments!!

Robert Hilburn was music editor for the Los Angeles Times from 1970 to 2005; his thought provoking reviews, essays and profiles appeared in the Times as well as other publications around the world. His work helped shine a light on the nascent careers of a diverse range of artists from Elton John, Tom Petty, Patti Smith and Elvis Costello to Prince, Guns and Roses, Public Enemy, Eminem and The White Stripes. Robert has also written a memoir Corn Flakes with John Lennon: And Other Tales from a Rock 'n' Roll Life, and best-selling biographies of Johnny Cash and Paul Simon.

Part 2 When Thriller was released in November 1982, it didn't seem to have a single direction. Instead, it arguably sounded like many singles. But it became apparent that this was precisely what Michael intended Thriller to be: a brilliant collection of songs meant as hits, each designed for a particular audience in mind. Michael put out "Billie Jean" for the dancers and "Beat It" for the rockers and then followed each jam with amazing videos to enhance his allure and his inaccessibility. These songs had a life of their own. Thriller was almost called “Star Light”. The lyric "thriller" in the track of the same name was originally "star light". The decision to change it was down to marketing appeal.    This wonderful article from Rolling Stone says: "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" had the sense of a vitalizing nightmare in its best lines ("You're stuck in the middle/And the pain is thunder. … Still they hate you, you're a vegetable. … They eat off you, you're a vegetable"). "Billie Jean," in the meantime, exposed how the interaction between the artist's fame and the outside world might invoke soul-killing dishonor ("People always told me, be careful of what you do. … 'Cause the lie becomes the truth," Jackson sings, possibly thinking of a paternity charge from a while back). And "Beat It" was pure anger – a rousing depiction of violence as a male stance, a social inheritance that might be overcome. It also almost caught the studio on fire. When Eddie Van Halen recorded his solo, the sound of his guitar caused one of the studio speakers to catch fire. The video for “Beat It” was set in Los Angeles' Skid Row and featured up to 80 real-life gang members from the notorious street gangs the Crips and the Bloods. It cost $100,000 to make.   Thriller's parts added up to the most improbable kind of art – a work of personal revelation that was also a mass-market masterpiece. It's an achievement that will likely never be topped. It was the best-selling album worldwide in 1983 and became the best-selling album of all time in the U.S. and the best-selling album of all time worldwide, selling an estimated 70 million copies. It topped the Billboard 200 chart for 37 weeks and was in the top 10 of the 200 for 80 consecutive weeks. It was the first album to produce seven Billboard Hot 100 top-10 singles. Thriller is still the highest-selling album of all time. Want to know what the top 25 are? Subscribe to our Patreon for our video bonus on the top-selling albums ever! Billie Jean was the first video by an African-American artist to air on MTV. The video revealed Jackson's new look of a leather suit, pink shirt, red bow tie and his signature single white glove. It was a style copied by kids throughout the United States. It caused one school, New Jersey's Bound Brook High, to ban students from coming to class wearing white gloves.   Toto members Keyboardist Steve Porcaro co-wrote Human Nature, and Steve Lukather contributed rhythm guitar on Beat It.   On March 25, 1983, Jackson reunited with his brothers for Motown 25: Yesterday, Today, Forever, an NBC television special. The show aired on May 16 to an estimated audience of 47 million and featured the Jacksons and other Motown stars. Jackson had just performed a medley of greatest hits with his brothers. It was exciting stuff, but for Michael, it wasn't enough. As his brothers said their goodbyes and left the stage, Michael remained. He seemed shy for a moment, trying to find words to say. "Yeah," he almost whispered, "those were good old days. … I like those songs a lot. But especially—" and then he placed the microphone into the stand with a commanding look and said, "I like the new songs."  Then, wearing a white glove decorated with rhinestones, he swooped down, picked up a fedora, put it on his head with confidence, and vaulted into "Billie Jean." He also debuted his moonwalk dance (which became his signature dance). This was one of Michael's first public acts as a star outside and beyond the Jacksons, and it was startlingly clear that he was not only one of the most breathtaking live performers in pop music but that he could mesmerize the audience, something not seen since the likes of Elvis Presley. Michael had initially turned down the invitation to the show, believing he had been doing too much television. But at the request of Motown founder and Icon Berry Gordy, he performed in exchange for an opportunity to do a solo performance. And he killed it.    "Almost 50 million people saw that show," Michael wrote in his book Moonwalk. "After that, many things changed." At this time, Michael Jackson was obviously an immensely talented young man – he seemed shy but ambitious and undoubtedly enigmatic. Nobody knew much about his beliefs or sex life; he rarely gave interviews, but he also didn't land himself in scandals. He did, however, describe himself as a lonely person – especially around the time he made Off the Wall. Former Los Angeles Times music critic Robert Hilburn recently wrote of meeting Jackson in 1981, when the singer was 23, that Jackson struck him as "one of the most fragile and lonely people I've ever met … almost abandoned. When I asked why he didn't live on his own like his brothers, instead of remaining at his parents' house, he said, 'Oh, no, I think I'd die on my own. I'd be so lonely. Even at home, I'm lonely. I sit in my room and sometimes cry. It is so hard to make friends, and there are some things you can't talk to your parents or family about. I sometimes walk around the neighborhood at night, just hoping to find someone to talk to. But I just end up coming home.'"   Jackson's social uneasiness was probably formed by the wounds in his history; the children were insulated from others their age, and Jackson's status as a lifelong star may have left him feeling not just cut off from most people but also alienated from them – as if his experience or his vocation made him extraordinary. "I hate to admit it," he once said, "but I feel strange around everyday people." Not exactly an unusual sentiment for some highly celebrated celebrities, especially former child stars. At the same time, it's a statement full of signals: Michael didn't enjoy the sort of company that might guide him in positive ways. He probably never did throughout his life. Maybe the most troubling passage in his autobiography Moonwalk is when he talks about children in the entertainment world who eventually fell prey to drugs: "I can understand … considering the enormous stresses put upon them at a young age. It's a difficult life."   Thriller placed seven singles in Billboard's Top 10 (presently around 50 million copies). At the 1984 Grammy Awards, Michael finally claimed his due, capturing eight awards, a record he holds with the band Santana, including Album of the Year, Record of the Year, Best Male Pop Vocal Performance, Best Rock Vocal Performance for "Beat It," Best R&B Song, and Best R&B Vocal Performance for "Billie Jean," and he won an award for the E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial storybook. In addition, the album won Producer of the year (Quincy Jones).    At the 11th Annual American Music Awards, Michael won another eight awards and became the youngest artist to win the Award of Merit. He also won Favorite Male Artist, Favorite Soul/R&B Artist, and Favorite Pop/Rock Artist. "Beat It" won Favorite Soul/R&B Video, Favorite Pop/Rock Video, and Favorite Pop/Rock Single. In addition, the album won Favorite Soul/R&B Album and Favorite Pop/Rock Album. Thriller's sales doubled after releasing an extended music video, Michael Jackson's Thriller, seeing Michael dancing with a group of incredibly designed zombies and was directed by John Landis.   Michael had the highest royalty rate in the music industry at that point, with about $2 for every album sold (equivalent to $5 in 2021). The same year, The Making of Michael Jackson's Thriller, a documentary about the music video, won a Grammy for Best Music Video (Longform). At this time, The New York Times wrote, "in the world of pop music, there is Michael Jackson, and there is everybody else."   Oddly enough, On May 14, 1984, then-President Ronald Reagan gave Michael an award recognizing his support of alcohol and drug abuse charities.   In November 1983, Michael and his brothers partnered with PepsiCo in a $5 million promotional deal that broke records for a celebrity endorsement (equivalent to $13,603,408 in 2021).  On January 27, 1984, Michael and other members of the Jacksons filmed a Pepsi commercial. Pyrotechnics accidentally set Jackson's hair on fire during a simulated concert before a whole house of fans, causing second-degree burns to his scalp. Michael underwent treatment to hide the scars and had his third rhinoplasty shortly after. Pepsi settled out of court, and Jackson donated the $1.5 million settlement to the Brotman Medical Center in Culver City, California; its now-closed Michael Jackson Burn Center was named in his honor. Michael signed a second agreement with Pepsi in the late 1980s for $10 million. The second campaign covered 20 countries and provided financial support for Jackson's Bad album and the 1987–88 world tour.  He was making SO much money and was the most significant music star globally.   Then, months later, it was announced that Michael would be setting out on a nationwide tour with the Jacksons. He didn't want to do it but felt obligated. Clearly, Michael was bigger, better, and "badder" than his family's limitations on him. He should have been taking the stage alone at this point in his career.   Jackson's aversion to the Victory Tour was apparent when he sat looking miserable at press conferences.   The Victory Tour of 1984 headlined the Jacksons and showcased Michael's new solo material to more than two million Americans. Following the controversy over the concert's ticket sales, Jackson donated his share of the proceeds, an estimated $3 to 5 million, to charity. What controversy, you ask?    Don King (yeah, boxing promoter Don King), Chuck Sullivan, and Papa Joe Jackson came up with a way to generate extra money from ticket sales. Those wanting to attend would have to send a postal money order for $120 ($310 in current dollars) along with a particular form to a lottery to buy blocks of four tickets at $30 apiece (US$78 in 2021 dollars), allegedly to stop scalpers. Upon receipt, the money was to be deposited into a standard money market account earning 7% annual interest; it would take six to eight weeks for the lottery to be held and money to be refunded to those that didn't win. Since only one in ten purchasers would win the lottery and receive tickets, there would be more money in the bank for that period than there were tickets to sell, and they expected to earn $10–12 million in interest. Obviously, the Jacksons were all for the idea, but Michael wasn't, and he warned them that it would be a public relations disaster. The $30 ticket price was already higher than most touring acts (like Prince and Bruce Springsteen) were charging at the time and was even worse by the requirement to buy four. This put tickets out of reach of many of Michael's African-American fans who were not financially secure. At this time, Michael was already being blasted about his physical look and music separating him from his race.  That community was joined by many commentators in the media in criticizing the Jackson's over the plan. Nevertheless, it worked, and people were lining up to get their newspapers to sign up for the lottery. On July 5, 1984, after receiving a letter from eleven-year-old fan Ladonna Jones, who accused the Jacksons and their promoters of being "selfish and just out for money," Michael held a press conference to announce changes in the tour's organization and also to announce that his share of the proceeds from the tour would be donated to charity. Jones later received VIP treatment at the Dallas concert. The following is Michael's speech at the press conference: "A lot of people are having trouble getting tickets. The other day I got a letter from a fan in Texas named Ladonna Jones. She'd been saving her money from odd jobs to buy a ticket, but with the turned tour system, she'd have to buy four tickets and she couldn't afford that. So, we asked our promoter to work out a new way of distributing tickets, a way that no longer requires a money order. There has also been a lot of talk about the promoter holding money for tickets that didn't sell. I've asked our promoter to end the mail order ticket system as soon as possible so that no one will pay money unless they get a ticket. Finally, and most importantly, there's something else I am going to announce today. I want you to know that I decided to donate all my money I make from our performance to charity. There will be further press statements released in the next two weeks."   Some procedures were modified; however, the ticket price remained unchanged, and at a press conference, Don King justified the $30 fee as appropriate and that he did not blame the promoters for charging that price, adding that "you must understand, you get what you pay for." During the last concert of the Victory Tour at the Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles, Jackson announced his split from The Jacksons during "Shake Your Body".   His charitable work continued with the release of "We Are the World" (1985), co-written with future Icon Lionel Richie, which raised money for the poor in the U.S. and Africa. It earned $63 million (equivalent to $158,728,032 in 2021) and became one of the best-selling singles, with 20 million copies sold. It won four Grammy Awards in 1985, including Song of the Year for Michael and Lionel as its writers.    Michael collaborated with Sir Paul McCartney in the early 1980s and learned that Paul was making $40 million a year from owning the rights to other artists' songs. By 1983, Michael had begun buying publishing rights to others' songs, but he was careful with his purchases, only bidding on a few of the dozens offered to him. Michael's early buys included Sly and the Family Stone's "Everyday People" (1968), Len Barry's "1–2–3" (1965), Dion DiMucci's "The Wanderer" (1961), and "Runaround Sue" (1961).   In 1984, it was announced that the publishing rights to nearly 4000 songs from ATV Music, including most of the Beatles' material, were coming up for sale. In 1981, Paul McCartney was offered the catalog for £20 million ($40 million). Michael submitted a bid of $46 million on November 20, 1984. When Michael and Paul were unable to make a joint purchase, McCartney did not want to be the sole owner of the Beatles' songs, and did not pursue an offer on his own. At first, Michael's team couldn't figure it out and walked away, but then they heard someone else was looking to buy them. Michael's increased bid of $47.5 million (equivalent to $119,675,897 in 2021) was accepted because he could close the deal faster. His purchase of ATV Music was finalized on August 10, 1985.   So, at this time, why was Michael being questioned about his look and his music? As a child, Michael had a sweet, dark-skinned appearance; many early Jackson 5 fans regarded him as the cutest of the brothers. J. Randy Taraborrelli, author of Michael Jackson: The Magic and the Madness, has written, "[Michael] believed his skin… 'messed up my whole personality.' He no longer looked at people as he talked to them. His playful personality changed, and he became quieter and more serious. He thought he was ugly – his skin was too dark, he decided, and his nose too wide. It was no help that his insensitive father and brothers called him 'Big Nose.'" Also, as Jackson became an adolescent, he was horribly self-conscious about acne. Hilburn recalled going through a stack of photos with Jackson one night and coming across a picture of him as a teenager: "'Ohh, that's horrible,' [Jackson] said, recoiling from the picture."   The face Jackson displayed on the cover of Thriller had changed; the skin tone seemed lighter and his nose thinner and straighter. In his book, Moonwalk, Michael claimed that much of the physical overhaul was due to a change in his diet; he admitted to altering his nose and chin, but he denied he'd done anything to his skin. Still, the changes didn't end there. Over the years, Michael's skin grew lighter and lighter, his nose tapered more and more, and his cheekbones became more defined. This all became fair game for mockery to some; to others, it seemed like mutilation – not just because it might have been an act of conceit, aimed to keep him looking child-like, but worse because some believed Michael wanted to transform himself into a white person. Or an androgyne – somebody with both male and female traits.  Michael's art was still his best way of making a case for himself at that time. Then, in 1987, he released Bad, his highly-anticipated successor to Thriller. It may not have been as eventful and ingenious as Off the Wall and Thriller, but Bad was awesome.    It became the first album to produce five U.S. number-one singles: "I Just Can't Stop Loving You," "Bad," "The Way You Make Me Feel," "Man in the Mirror," and "Dirty Diana.", which you can hear our version at the end of this episode. Another song, "Smooth Criminal," peaked at number seven. Bad won the 1988 Grammy for Best Engineered Recording – Non-Classical and the 1990 Grammy Award for Best Music Video, Short Form for "Leave Me Alone". Michael won an Award of Achievement at the American Music Awards in 1989 after Bad generated five number-one singles, became the first album to top the charts in 25 countries, and the best-selling album worldwide in 1987 and 1988. By 2012, it had sold between 30 and 45 million copies worldwide. Oh, and it was considered a "flop." Oh, and The title track for the Bad album was supposed to be a duet with Prince. But the latter walked away from it due to the opening line "Your butt is mine". "Now, who is going to sing that to whom? Cause [he] sure ain't singing that to me, and I sure ain't singing it to [him]," Prince said in a TV interview with American comedian Chris Rock.   Later that year, Michael staged his first solo tour, The Bad World Tour. It ran from September 12, 1987, to January 14, 1989. The tour had 14 sellouts in Japan and drew 570,000 people, nearly tripling the previous record for a single tour. In addition, the 504,000 people who attended seven sold-out shows at Wembley Stadium set a new Guinness World Record.   In 1988, Michael released the autobiography, as mentioned earlier, Moonwalk. It sold 200,000 copies and reached the top of the New York Times bestsellers list. In October, Michael released a film, Moonwalker, which featured live footage and short films starring himself and Goodfella star Joe Pesci. In the U.S., it was released direct-to-video and became the best-selling videocassette. The RIAA certified it as eight-time platinum. In March 1988, Jackson purchased 2,700 acres (11 km2) of land near Santa Ynez, California, to build a new home, Neverland Ranch, at $17 million (equivalent to $38,950,760 in 2021).   In 1991, Michael renewed his contract with Sony for $65 million (equivalent to $129,317,127 in 2021), a record-breaking deal. Also, in 1991, he released his eighth album, Dangerous, co-produced with Mr. Rumpshaker himself, Teddy Riley. It was certified eight times platinum in the U.S., and by 2018 had sold 32 million copies worldwide. In the U.S., the first single, "Black or White," was the album's highest-charting song; it was number one on the Billboard Hot 100 for seven weeks and achieved similar chart performances worldwide, and the video featured a very young Macauley Culkin.  The second single, "Remember the Time," peaked at number three on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart, and that video featured Eddie Murphy. At the end of 1992, Dangerous was the best-selling album worldwide and "Black or White" the best-selling single of the year worldwide at the BillboardMusic Awards.   Obviously, Michael wanted to tour in promotion of his latest album, and The Dangerous World Tour ran between June 1992 and November 1993 and grossed $100 million (equivalent to $187,583,506 in 2021); Jackson performed for 3.5 million people in 70 concerts, all of which were outside the U.S. A part of the proceeds went to the Heal the World Foundation. In addition, Michael sold the broadcast rights of the tour to HBO for $20 million, a record-breaking deal that still hasn't been broken.   Also, in 1993, Michael performed at the Super Bowl 27 halftime show in Pasadena, California. The NFL wanted a prominent musical artist to keep ratings high during halftime. It was the first Super Bowl where the halftime performance drew higher audience figures than the game. Jackson played "Jam," "Billie Jean," "Black or White," and "Heal the World." Dangerous rose 90 places in the album chart after the performance   In January 1993, Michael won three American Music Awards for Favorite Pop/Rock Album (Dangerous), Favorite Soul/R&B Single ("Remember the Time"), and he was the first to win the International Artist Award of Excellence. In addition, he won the "Living Legend Award" at the 35th Annual Grammy Awards in Los Angeles in February. He attended the award ceremony with Brooke Shields. In addition, "Dangerous" was nominated for Best Vocal Performance (for "Black or White"), Best R&B Vocal Performance for "Jam," and Best R&B Song for "Jam."   In June 1995, Michael released the double album HIStory: Past, Present, and Future, Book I. The album debuted at number one on the charts and certified for eight million sold in the U.S. It is the best-selling multi-disc album of all time, with 20 million copies (40 million units) sold worldwide. In addition, HIStory received a Grammy nomination for Album of the Year. The first single from HIStory was "Scream/Childhood." "Scream" was a duet with Michael's youngest sister Janet, or "Miss Jackson if you're nasty." The single reached number five on the Billboard Hot 100 and received a Grammy nomination for "Best Pop Collaboration with Vocals." Also, at the time, in 1995, it was the most expensive music video ever produced. It had a budget of 7 million dollars. FOR ONE VIDEO!!  His second single, "You Are Not Alone," holds the Guinness world record for the first song to debut at number one on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. In addition, it received a Grammy nomination for "Best Pop Vocal Performance" in 1995.   In November of the same year, Michael merged his ATV Music catalog with Sony's music publishing division, creating Sony/ATV Music Publishing. He kept ownership of half the company, earning $95 million upfront (equivalent to $168,941,909 in 2021) and the rights to a ton more songs.   Michael promoted HIStory with the obviously named HIStory World Tour, from September 7, 1996, to October 15, 1997. He performed 82 concerts in five continents, 35 countries, and 58 cities to over 4.5 million fans, making it his most attended tour. It grossed $165 million, or $302,346,462 today.   In 1997, Michael released Blood on the Dance Floor: HIStory in the Mix, which contained remixes of singles from HIStory and five new songs. Worldwide sales stand at 6 million copies, making it the best-selling remix album ever. It reached number one in the U.K., as did the title track. In the U.S., the album reached number 24 and was certified platinum. Yeah, a remix album going platinum.   From October 1997 to September 2001, Michael worked on his tenth solo album, Invincible, which cost $30 million to record! Invincible was released on October 30, 2001. It was his first full-length album in six years and the last album of original material he would release in his lifetime. It debuted at number one in 13 countries, sold eight million copies worldwide, and went double platinum.   In September 2001, Michael performed in two "30th Anniversary concerts" with his brothers for the first time since 1984. The show also featured Mýa, Usher, Whitney Houston, Destiny's Child, Monica, Liza Minnelli, and Slash.    On January 9, 2002, Michael won his 22nd American Music Award for Artist of the Century.   On November 18, 2003, Sony released Number Ones, a greatest hits compilation. It was certified five-times platinum by the RIAA, and nine times platinum in the UK, for shipments of at least 2.7 million units.   During this time, allegations of child sexual abuse, and the trials that followed, were all over the news. If you're unfamiliar, you can research it for yourself.  Unfortunately, Michael's finances were also coming undone; he had been spending ludicrous sums, and he'd mismanaged his money – which took some doing since he had made such a vast fortune. As a result, the biggest star in the world had fallen from the tallest height. He left the country and moved to Bahrain, where it was announced that Jackson had signed a contract with a Bahrain-based startup, Two Seas Records; nothing came of the deal, and Two Seas CEO Guy Holmes, later said it was never finalized. That October, Fox News reported that Michael had been recording at a studio in County Westmeath, Ireland. It was unknown what he was working on or who had paid for the sessions; his publicist stated that he had left Two Seas by then. After that, Michael was only occasionally seen or heard from. Nobody knew whether he could recover his name or preserve his undeniable music legacy until he announced an incredibly ambitious series of 50 concerts – which he described as the "final curtain call."    The "This Is It" shows were his first significant concerts since the HIStory World Tour in 1997. Michael suggested he would retire after the shows. The initial plan was for 10 concerts in London, followed by shows in Paris, New York City, and Mumbai. Randy Phillips, president, and chief executive of AEG Live, predicted the first 10 dates would earn Jackson £50 million, or close to 63 Million US dollars. After record-breaking ticket sales, the London shows were increased to 50 dates; over one million tickets were sold in less than two hours. The concerts were to run from July 13, 2009, to March 6, 2010. Michael moved back to Los Angeles, where he rehearsed in the weeks leading up to the tour under the direction of choreographer Kenny Ortega, whom he had worked with during his previous tours. Most rehearsals took place at the Staples Center, which was owned by AEG.   It's hard to believe that Jackson, who was so proud of his public performances and so peerless at delivering them, would have committed himself to a project he might fail so tremendously. At the same time, it is not inconceivable that Michael Jackson could have been a man half-hungry and broken in the past few years. All that is certain is that on June 25, in Los Angeles, Michael Jackson met the only sure redemption he might know in the most famous unexpected, and mysterious death in current history. That redemption didn't come because he died, but because his death forced us to reconsider what his life added up to. Less than three weeks before the first This Is It show was due to kick off in London, with all concerts sold out, I repeat; sold out, Michael Jackson died from cardiac arrest caused by a propofol and benzodiazepine overdose. Conrad Murray, his personal physician, had given Michael different medications to help him sleep at his rented mansion in Holmby Hills, Los Angeles. Paramedics received a 911 call at 12:22 pm Pacific time and arrived three minutes later. He wasn't breathing, and the medics performed CPR. Resuscitation efforts continued en route to Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center and for more than an hour after Michael's arrival, but were unsuccessful, and Michael Jackson, the king of pop, was pronounced dead at 2:26 pm.   News of his death spread quickly online, causing websites to slow down, crash from user overload, and put unprecedented strain on services and websites, including Google, AOL Instant Messenger, Twitter, and Wikipedia. Overall, web traffic rose by between 11% and 20%. MTV and BET aired marathons of Michael's music videos, and specials aired on television stations worldwide. MTV briefly returned to its original music video format, which is messed up that it took an Icon to die for MTV to actually be MUSIC TELEVISION, and they aired hours of Michael's music videos, with live news specials featuring reactions and interviews from MTV personalities and other celebrities.   His memorial was held on July 7, 2009, at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, preceded by a private family service at Forest Lawn Memorial Park's Hall of Liberty. Over 1.6 million fans applied for tickets to the memorial; the 8,750 recipients were drawn at random, and each received two tickets. The memorial service was one of the most-watched events in streaming history, with an estimated US audience of 31.1 million and an estimated 2.5 to 3 billion worldwide. Mariah Carey, Stevie Wonder, Lionel Richie, Jennifer Hudson, and others performed at the memorial, and Smokey Robinson and Queen Latifah gave eulogies. Reverend Al Sharpton received a standing ovation with cheers when he told Michael's children: "Wasn't nothing strange about your daddy. It was strange what your daddy had to deal with. But he dealt with it anyway." Michael's 11-year-old daughter Paris Katherine, wept as she addressed the crowd. Michael's body was entombed on September 3, 2009, at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale, California.   Oh, but wait. There's more. But of course there is. It's Michael Jackson!   His doctor was initially charged with involuntary manslaughter and was found guilty. So he was sentenced to four years. Yep... four friggin years.    After his death, Michael was still winning awards. He won 4 awards at 2009's AMA's, bringing his total AMA wins to 26, something no one else has touched.    The documentary "Michael Jackson's This Is It" came out shortly after, and I have seen it and loved it, as sad as it was knowing that he'd never get to perform those concerts. Despite a limited two-week engagement, the film became the highest-grossing documentary or concert film ever, with more than $260 million worldwide earnings.

It's New Year's Eve, 1986. Deirdre is talking with the LA Times' music critic, Robert Hilburn, about the musical trends of 1985. Deirdre O'Donoghue: I don't think that the big, quote-unquote, "rock" stations can very much longer ignore the growing numbers of people who are listening to alternative radio stations all around the country ... with which you're seeing album sales, at least on a smaller level, but it's making a bump.  Among the acts Deirdre discovered that year was a crew of self-described “pot-smoking hippies from Santa Cruz.” Camper Van Beethoven lit up the college circuit in 1985 with their breakout single, “Take the Skinheads Bowling.” And they quickly became one of Deirdre's firm favorites. David Lowery is Camper Van Beethoven's guitarist and de facto frontman. He explains that Deirdre's show was just one taproot for a larger movement which was spreading across the country in the mid-'80s. In this episode of “Bent By Nature,” he shares how the band navigated their own transition from indie darlings to major-label recording artists.

Episode one hundred and thirty-five of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at “The Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel, and the many records they made, together and apart, before their success. Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a ten-minute bonus episode available, on "Blues Run the Game" by Jackson C. Frank. Tilt Araiza has assisted invaluably by doing a first-pass edit, and will hopefully be doing so from now on. Check out Tilt's irregular podcasts at http://www.podnose.com/jaffa-cakes-for-proust and http://sitcomclub.com/ Errata I talk about a tour of Lancashire towns, but some of the towns I mention were in Cheshire at the time, and some are in Greater Manchester or Merseyside now. They're all very close together though. I say Mose Rager was Black. I was misremembering, confusing Mose Rager, a white player in the Muhlenberg style, with Arnold Schultz, a Black player who invented it. I got this right in the episode on "Bye Bye Love". Also, I couldn't track down a copy of the Paul Kane single version of “He Was My Brother” in decent quality, so I used the version on The Paul Simon Songbook instead, as they're basically identical performances. Resources As usual, I've created a Mixcloud playlist of the music excerpted here. This compilation collects all Simon and Garfunkel's studio albums, with bonus tracks, plus a DVD of their reunion concert. There are many collections of the pre-S&G recordings by the two, as these are now largely in the public domain. This one contains a good selection. I've referred to several books for this episode: Simon and Garfunkel: Together Alone by Spencer Leigh is a breezy, well-researched, biography of the duo. Paul Simon: The Life by Robert Hilburn is the closest thing there is to an authorised biography of Simon. And What is it All But Luminous? is Art Garfunkel's memoir. It's not particularly detailed, being more a collection of thoughts and poetry than a structured narrative, but gives a good idea of Garfunkel's attitude to people and events in his life. Roots, Radicals, and Rockers: How Skiffle Changed the World by Billy Bragg has some great information on the British folk scene of the fifties and sixties. And Singing From the Floor is an oral history of British folk clubs, including a chapter on Dylan's 1962 visit to London. Patreon This podcast is brought to you by the generosity of my backers on Patreon. Why not join them? Transcript Today, we're going to take a look at a hit record that almost never happened -- a record by a duo who had already split up, twice, by the time it became a hit, and who didn't know it was going to come out. We're going to look at how a duo who started off as an Everly Brothers knockoff, before becoming unsuccessful Greenwich Village folkies, were turned into one of the biggest acts of the sixties by their producer. We're going to look at Simon and Garfunkel, and at "The Sound of Silence": [Excerpt: Simon and Garfunkel, "The Sound of Silence"] The story of Simon and Garfunkel starts with two children in a school play.  Neither Paul Simon or Art Garfunkel had many friends when they met in a school performance of Alice in Wonderland, where Simon was playing the White Rabbit and Garfunkel the Cheshire Cat. Simon was well-enough liked, by all accounts, but he'd been put on an accelerated programme for gifted students which meant he was progressing through school faster than his peers. He had a small social group, mostly based around playing baseball, but wasn't one of the popular kids. Art Garfunkel, another gifted student, had no friends at all until he got to know Simon, who he described later as his "one and only friend" in this time period. One passage in Garfunkel's autobiography seems to me to sum up everything about Garfunkel's personality as a child -- and indeed a large part of his personality as it comes across in interviews to this day. He talks about the pleasure he got from listening to the chart rundown on the radio -- "It was the numbers that got me. I kept meticulous lists—when a new singer like Tony Bennett came onto the charts with “Rags to Riches,” I watched the record jump from, say, #23 to #14 in a week. The mathematics of the jumps went to my sense of fun." Garfunkel is, to this day, a meticulous person -- on his website he has a list of every book he's read since June 1968, which is currently up to one thousand three hundred and ten books, and he has always had a habit of starting elaborate projects and ticking off every aspect of them as he goes. Both Simon and Garfunkel were outsiders at this point, other than their interests in sport, but Garfunkel was by far the more introverted of the two, and as a result he seems to have needed their friendship more than Simon did. But the two boys developed an intense, close, friendship, initially based around their shared sense of humour. Both of them were avid readers of Mad magazine, which had just started publishing when the two of them had met up, and both could make each other laugh easily. But they soon developed a new interest, when Martin Block on the middle-of-the-road radio show Make Believe Ballroom announced that he was going to play the worst record he'd ever heard. That record was "Gee" by the Crows: [Excerpt: The Crows, "Gee"] Paul Simon later said that that record was the first thing he'd ever heard on that programme that he liked, and soon he and Garfunkel had become regular listeners to Alan Freed's show on WINS, loving the new rock and roll music they were discovering. Art had already been singing in public from an early age -- his first public performance had been singing Nat "King" Cole's hit "Too Young" in a school talent contest when he was nine -- but the two started singing together. The first performance by Simon and Garfunkel was at a high school dance and, depending on which source you read, was a performance either of "Sh'Boom" or of Big Joe Turner's "Flip, Flop, and Fly": [Excerpt: Big Joe Turner, "Flip, Flop, and Fly"] The duo also wrote at least one song together as early as 1955 -- or at least Garfunkel says they wrote it together. Paul Simon describes it as one he wrote. They tried to get a record deal with the song, but it was never recorded at the time -- but Simon has later performed it: [Excerpt: Paul Simon, "The Girl For Me"] Even at this point, though, while Art Garfunkel was putting all his emotional energy into the partnership with Simon, Simon was interested in performing with other people. Al Kooper was another friend of Simon's at the time, and apparently Simon and Kooper would also perform together. Once Elvis came on to Paul's radar, he also bought a guitar, but it was when the two of them first heard the Everly Brothers that they realised what it was that they could do together. Simon fell in love with the Everly Brothers as soon as he heard "Bye Bye Love": [Excerpt: The Everly Brothers, "Bye Bye Love"] Up to this point, Paul hadn't bought many records -- he spent his money on baseball cards and comic books, and records just weren't good value. A pack of baseball cards was five cents, a comic book was ten cents, but a record was a dollar. Why buy records when you could hear music on the radio for free? But he needed that record, he couldn't just wait around to hear it on the radio. He made an hour-long two-bus journey to a record shop in Queens, bought the record, took it home, played it... and almost immediately scratched it. So he got back on the bus, travelled for another hour, bought another copy, took it home, and made sure he didn't scratch that one. Simon and Garfunkel started copying the Everlys' harmonies, and would spend hours together, singing close together watching each other's mouths and copying the way they formed words, eventually managing to achieve a vocal blend through sheer effort which would normally only come from familial closeness. Paul became so obsessed with music that he sold his baseball card collection and bought a tape recorder for two hundred dollars. They would record themselves singing, and then sing back along with it, multitracking themselves, but also critiquing the tape, refining their performances. Paul's father was a bass player -- "the family bassman", as he would later sing -- and encouraged his son in his music, even as he couldn't see the appeal in this new rock and roll music. He would critique Paul's songs, saying things like "you went from four-four to a bar of nine-eight, you can't do that" -- to which his son would say "I just did" -- but this wasn't hostile criticism, rather it was giving his son a basic grounding in song construction which would prove invaluable. But the duo's first notable original song -- and first hit -- came about more or less by accident. In early 1956, the doo-wop group the Clovers had released the hit single "Devil or Angel". Its B-side had a version of "Hey Doll Baby", a song written by the blues singer Titus Turner, and which sounds to me very inspired by Hank Williams' "Hey, Good Lookin'": [Excerpt: The Clovers, "Hey, Doll Baby"] That song was picked up by the Everly Brothers, who recorded it for their first album: [Excerpt: The Everly Brothers, "Hey Doll Baby"] Here is where the timeline gets a little confused for me, because that album wasn't released until early 1958, although the recording session for that track was in August 1957. Yet that track definitely influenced Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel to record a song that they released in November 1957. All I can imagine is that they heard the brothers perform it live, or maybe a radio station had an acetate copy. Because the way everyone has consistently told the story is that at the end of summer 1957, Simon and Garfunkel had both heard the Everly Brothers perform "Hey Doll Baby", but couldn't remember how it went. The two of them tried to remember it, and to work a version of it out together, and their hazy memories combined to reconstruct something that was completely different, and which owed at least as much to "Wake Up Little Suzie" as to "Hey Doll Baby". Their new song, "Hey Schoolgirl", was catchy enough that they thought if they recorded a demo of it, maybe the Everly Brothers themselves would record the song. At the demo studio they happened to encounter Sid Prosen, who owned a small record label named Big Records. He heard the duo perform and realised he might have his own Everly Brothers here. He signed the duo to a contract, and they went into a professional studio to rerecord "Hey Schoolgirl", this time with Paul's father on bass, and a couple of other musicians to fill out the sound: [Excerpt: Tom and Jerry, "Hey Schoolgirl"] Of course, the record couldn't be released under their real names -- there was no way anyone was going to buy a record by Simon and Garfunkel. So instead they became Tom and Jerry. Paul Simon was Jerry Landis -- a surname he chose because he had a crush on a girl named Sue Landis. Art became Tom Graff, because he liked drawing graphs. "Hey Schoolgirl" became a local hit. The two were thrilled to hear it played on Alan Freed's show (after Sid Prosen gave Freed two hundred dollars), and were even more thrilled when they got to perform on American Bandstand, on the same show as Jerry Lee Lewis. When Dick Clark asked them where they were from, Simon decided to claim he was from Macon, Georgia, where Little Richard came from, because all his favourite rock and roll singers were from the South. "Hey Schoolgirl" only made number forty-nine nationally, because the label didn't have good national distribution, but it sold over a hundred thousand copies, mostly in the New York area. And Sid Prosen seems to have been one of a very small number of independent label owners who wasn't a crook -- the two boys got about two thousand dollars each from their hit record. But while Tom and Jerry seemed like they might have a successful career, Simon and Garfunkel were soon to split up, and the reason for their split was named True Taylor. Paul had been playing some of his songs for Sid Prosen, to see what the duo's next single should be, and Prosen had noticed that while some of them were Everly Brothers soundalikes, others were Elvis soundalikes. Would Paul be interested in recording some of those, too? Obviously Art couldn't sing on those, so they'd use a different name, True Taylor. The single was released around the same time as the second Tom and Jerry record, and featured an Elvis-style ballad by Paul on one side, and a rockabilly song written by his father on the other: [Excerpt: True Taylor, "True or False"] But Paul hadn't discussed that record with Art before doing it, and the two had vastly different ideas about their relationship. Paul was Art's only friend, and Art thought they had an indissoluble bond and that they would always work together. Paul, on the other hand, thought of Art as one of his friends and someone he made music with, but he could play at being Elvis if he wanted, as well as playing at being an Everly brother. Garfunkel, in his memoir published in 2017, says "the friendship was shattered for life" -- he decided then and there that Paul Simon was a "base" person, a betrayer. But on the other hand, he still refers to Simon, over and over again, in that book as still being his friend, even as Simon has largely been disdainful of him since their last performance together in 2010. Friendships are complicated. Tom and Jerry struggled on for a couple more singles, which weren't as successful as "Hey Schoolgirl" had been, with material like "Two Teenagers", written by Rose Marie McCoy: [Excerpt: Tom and Jerry, "Two Teenagers"] But as they'd stopped being friends, and they weren't selling records, they drifted apart and didn't really speak for five years, though they would occasionally run into one another. They both went off to university, and Garfunkel basically gave up on the idea of having a career in music, though he did record a couple of singles, under the name "Artie Garr": [Excerpt: Artie Garr, "Beat Love"] But for the most part, Garfunkel concentrated on his studies, planning to become either an architect or maybe an academic. Paul Simon, on the other hand, while he was technically studying at university too, was only paying minimal attention to his studies. Instead, he was learning the music business. Every afternoon, after university had finished, he'd go around the Brill Building and its neighbouring buildings, offering his services both as a songwriter and as a demo performer. As Simon was competent on guitar, bass, and drums, could sing harmonies, and could play a bit of piano if it was in the key of C, he could use primitive multitracking to play and sing all the parts on a demo, and do it well: [Excerpt: Paul Simon, "Boys Were Made For Girls"] That's an excerpt from a demo Simon recorded for Burt Bacharach, who has said that he tried to get Simon to record as many of his demos as possible, though only a couple of them have surfaced publicly. Simon would also sometimes record demos with his friend Carole Klein, sometimes under the name The Cosines: [Excerpt: The Cosines, "Just to Be With You"] As we heard back in the episode on "Will You Love Me Tomorrow?", Carole Klein went on to change her name to Carole King, and become one of the most successful songwriters of the era -- something which spurred Paul Simon on, as he wanted to emulate her success. Simon tried to get signed up by Don Kirshner, who was publishing Goffin and King, but Kirshner turned Simon down -- an expensive mistake for Kirshner, but one that would end up benefiting Simon, who eventually figured out that he should own his own publishing. Simon was also getting occasional work as a session player, and played lead guitar on "The Shape I'm In" by Johnny Restivo, which made the lower reaches of the Hot One Hundred: [Excerpt: Johnny Restivo, "The Shape I'm In"] Between 1959 and 1963 Simon recorded a whole string of unsuccessful pop singles. including as a member of the Mystics: [Excerpt: The Mystics, "All Through the Night"] He even had a couple of very minor chart hits -- he got to number 99 as Tico and the Triumphs: [Excerpt: Tico and the Triumphs, "Motorcycle"] and number ninety-seven as Jerry Landis: [Excerpt: Jerry Landis, "The Lone Teen Ranger"] But he was jumping around, hopping onto every fad as it passed, and not getting anywhere. And then he started to believe that he could do something more interesting in music. He first became aware that the boundaries of what could be done in music extended further than "ooh-bop-a-loochy-ba" when he took a class on modern music at university, which included a trip to Carnegie Hall to hear a performance of music by the avant-garde composer Edgard Varese: [Excerpt: Edgard Varese, "Ionisation"] Simon got to meet Varese after the performance, and while he would take his own music in a very different, and much more commercial, direction than Varese's, he was nonetheless influenced by what Varese's music showed about the possibilities that existed in music. The other big influence on Simon at this time was when he heard The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Girl From the North Country"] Simon immediately decided to reinvent himself as a folkie, despite at this point knowing very little about folk music other than the Everly Brothers' Songs Our Daddy Taught Us album. He tried playing around Greenwich Village, but found it an uncongenial atmosphere, and inspired by the liner notes to the Dylan album, which talked about Dylan's time in England, he made what would be the first of several trips to the UK, where he was given a rapturous reception simply on the grounds of being an American and owning a better acoustic guitar -- a Martin -- than most British people owned. He had the showmanship that he'd learned from watching his father on stage and sometimes playing with him, and from his time in Tom and Jerry and working round the studios, and so he was able to impress the British folk-club audiences, who were used to rather earnest, scholarly, people, not to someone like Simon who was clearly ambitious and very showbiz. His repertoire at this point consisted mostly of songs from the first two Dylan albums, a Joan Baez record, Little Willie John's "Fever", and one song he'd written himself, an attempt at a protest song called "He Was My Brother", which he would release on his return to the US under yet another stage name, Paul Kane: [Excerpt: Paul Kane, "He Was My Brother"] Simon has always stated that that song was written about a friend of his who was murdered when he went down to Mississippi with the Freedom Riders -- but while Simon's friend was indeed murdered, it wasn't until about a year after he wrote the song, and Simon has confused the timelines in his subsequent recollections. At the time he recorded that, when he had returned to New York at the end of the summer, Simon had a job as a song plugger for a publishing company, and he gave the publishing company the rights to that song and its B-side, which led to that B-side getting promoted by the publisher, and ending up covered on one of the biggest British albums of 1964, which went to number two in the UK charts: [Excerpt: Val Doonican, "Carlos Dominguez"] Oddly, that may not end up being the only time we feature a Val Doonican track on this podcast. Simon continued his attempts to be a folkie, even teaming up again with Art Garfunkel, with whom he'd re-established contact, to perform in Greenwich Village as Kane and Garr, but they went down no better as a duo than Simon had as a solo artist. Simon went back to the UK again over Christmas 1963, and while he was there he continued work on a song that would become such a touchstone for him that of the first six albums he would be involved in, four would feature the song while a fifth would include a snippet of it. "The Sound of Silence" was apparently started in November 1963, but not finished until February 1964, by which time he was once again back in the USA, and back working as a song plugger. It was while working as a song plugger that Simon first met Tom Wilson, Bob Dylan's producer at Columbia. Simon met up with Wilson trying to persuade him to use some of the songs that the publishing company were putting out. When Wilson wasn't interested, Simon played him a couple of his own songs. Wilson took one of them, "He Was My Brother", for the Pilgrims, a group he was producing who were supposed to be the Black answer to Peter, Paul, and Mary: [Excerpt: The Pilgrims, "He Was My Brother"] Wilson was also interested in "The Sound of Silence", but Simon was more interested in getting signed as a performer than in having other acts perform his songs. Wilson was cautious, though -- he was already producing one folkie singer-songwriter, and he didn't really need a second one. But he *could* probably do with a vocal group... Simon mentioned that he had actually made a couple of records before, as part of a duo. Would Wilson be at all interested in a vocal *duo*? Wilson would be interested. Simon and Garfunkel auditioned for him, and a few days later were in the Columbia Records studio on Seventh Avenue recording their first album as a duo, which was also the first time either of them would record under their own name. Wednesday Morning, 3AM, the duo's first album, was a simple acoustic album, and the only instrumentation was Simon and Barry Kornfeld, a Greenwich Village folkie, on guitars, and Bill Lee, the double bass player who'd played with Dylan and others, on bass. Tom Wilson guided the duo in their song selection, and the eventual album contained six cover versions and six originals written by Simon. The cover versions were a mixture of hootenanny staples like "Go Tell it on the Mountain", plus Dylan's "The Times They Are A-Changin'", included to cross-promote Dylan's new album and to try to link the duo with the more famous writer, and one unusual one, "The Sun is Burning", written by Ian Campbell, a Scottish folk singer who Simon had got to know on his trips to the UK: [Excerpt: Simon and Garfunkel, "The Sun is Burning"] But the song that everyone was keenest on was "The Sound of Silence", the first song that Simon had written that he thought would stand up in comparison with the sort of song that Dylan was writing: [Excerpt: Simon and Garfunkel, "The Sound of Silence (Wednesday Morning 3AM version)"] In between sessions for the album, Simon and Garfunkel also played a high-profile gig at Gerde's Folk City in the Village, and a couple of shows at the Gaslight Cafe. The audiences there, though, regarded them as a complete joke -- Dave Van Ronk would later relate that for weeks afterwards, all anyone had to do was sing "Hello darkness, my old friend", for everyone around to break into laughter. Bob Dylan was one of those who laughed at the performance -- though Robert Shelton later said that Dylan hadn't been laughing at them, specifically, he'd just had a fit of the giggles -- and this had led to a certain amount of anger from Simon towards Dylan. The album was recorded in March 1964, and was scheduled for release  in October. In the meantime, they both made plans to continue with their studies and their travels. Garfunkel was starting to do postgraduate work towards his doctorate in mathematics, while Simon was now enrolled in Brooklyn Law School, but was still spending most of his time travelling, and would drop out after one semester. He would spend much of the next eighteen months in the UK. While he was occasionally in the US between June 1964 and November 1965, Simon now considered himself based in England, where he made several acquaintances that would affect his life deeply. Among them were a young woman called Kathy Chitty, with whom he would fall in love and who would inspire many of his songs, and an older woman called Judith Piepe (and I apologise if I'm mispronouncing her name, which I've only ever seen written down, never heard) who many people believed had an unrequited crush on Simon. Piepe ran her London flat as something of a commune for folk musicians, and Simon lived there for months at a time while in the UK. Among the other musicians who stayed there for a time were Sandy Denny, Cat Stevens, and Al Stewart, whose bedroom was next door to Simon's. Piepe became Simon's de facto unpaid manager and publicist, and started promoting him around the British folk scene. Simon also at this point became particularly interested in improving his guitar playing. He was spending a lot of time at Les Cousins, the London club that had become the centre of British acoustic guitar. There are, roughly, three styles of acoustic folk guitar -- to be clear, I'm talking about very broad-brush categorisations here, and there are people who would disagree and say there are more, but these are the main ones. Two of these are American styles -- there's the simple style known as Carter scratching, popularised by Mother Maybelle Carter of the Carter family, and for this all you do is alternate bass notes with your thumb while scratching the chord on the treble strings with one finger, like this: [Excerpt: Carter picking] That's the style played by a lot of country and folk players who were primarily singers accompanying themselves. In the late forties and fifties, though, another style had become popularised -- Travis picking. This is named after Merle Travis, the most well-known player in the style, but he always called it Muhlenberg picking, after Muhlenberg County, where he'd learned the style from Ike Everly -- the Everly Brothers' father -- and Mose Rager, a Black guitarist. In Travis picking, the thumb alternates between two bass notes, but rather than strumming a chord, the index and middle fingers play simple patterns on the treble strings, like this: [Excerpt: Travis picking] That's, again, a style primarily used for accompaniment, but it can also be used to play instrumentals by oneself. As well as Travis and Ike Everly, it's also the style played by Donovan, Chet Atkins, James Taylor, and more. But there's a third style, British baroque folk guitar, which was largely the invention of Davey Graham. Graham, you might remember, was a folk guitarist who had lived in the same squat as Lionel Bart when Bart started working with Tommy Steele, and who had formed a blues duo with Alexis Korner. Graham is now best known for one of his simpler pieces, “Anji”, which became the song that every British guitarist tried to learn: [Excerpt: Davey Graham, "Anji"] Dozens of people, including Paul Simon, would record versions of that. Graham invented an entirely new style of guitar playing, influenced by ragtime players like Blind Blake, but also by Bach, by Moroccan oud music, and by Celtic bagpipe music. While it was fairly common for players to retune their guitar to an open major chord, allowing them to play slide guitar, Graham retuned his to a suspended fourth chord -- D-A-D-G-A-D -- which allowed him to keep a drone going on some strings while playing complex modal counterpoints on others. While I demonstrated the previous two styles myself, I'm nowhere near a good enough guitarist to demonstrate British folk baroque, so here's an excerpt of Davey Graham playing his own arrangement of the traditional ballad "She Moved Through the Fair", recast as a raga and retitled "She Moved Thru' the Bizarre": [Excerpt: Davey Graham, "She Moved Thru' the Bizarre"] Graham's style was hugely influential on an entire generation of British guitarists, people who incorporated world music and jazz influences into folk and blues styles, and that generation of guitarists was coming up at the time and playing at Les Cousins. People who started playing in this style included Jimmy Page, Bert Jansch, Roy Harper, John Renbourn, Richard Thompson, Nick Drake, and John Martyn, and it also had a substantial influence on North American players like Joni Mitchell, Tim Buckley, and of course Paul Simon. Simon was especially influenced at this time by Martin Carthy, the young British guitarist whose style was very influenced by Graham -- but while Graham applied his style to music ranging from Dave Brubeck to Lutheran hymns to Big Bill Broonzy songs, Carthy mostly concentrated on traditional English folk songs. Carthy had a habit of taking American folk singers under his wing, and he taught Simon several songs, including Carthy's own arrangement of the traditional "Scarborough Fair": [Excerpt: Martin Carthy, "Scarborough Fair"] Simon would later record that arrangement, without crediting Carthy, and this would lead to several decades of bad blood between them, though Carthy forgave him in the 1990s, and the two performed the song together at least once after that. Indeed, Simon seems to have made a distinctly negative impression on quite a few of the musicians he knew in Britain at this time, who seem to, at least in retrospect, regard him as having rather used and discarded them as soon as his career became successful. Roy Harper has talked in liner notes to CD reissues of his work from this period about how Simon used to regularly be a guest in his home, and how he has memories of Simon playing with Harper's baby son Nick (now himself one of the greats of British guitar) but how as soon as he became successful he never spoke to Harper again. Similarly, in 1965 Simon started a writing partnership with Bruce Woodley of the Seekers, an Australian folk-pop band based in the UK, best known for "Georgy Girl". The two wrote "Red Rubber Ball", which became a hit for the Cyrkle: [Excerpt: The Cyrke, "Red Rubber Ball"] and also "Cloudy", which the Seekers recorded as an album track: [Excerpt: The Seekers, "Cloudy"] When that was recorded by Simon and Garfunkel, Woodley's name was removed from the writing credits, though Woodley still apparently received royalties for it. But at this point there *was* no Simon and Garfunkel. Paul Simon was a solo artist working the folk clubs in Britain, and Simon and Garfunkel's one album had sold a minuscule number of copies. They did, when Simon briefly returned to the US in March, record two tracks for a prospective single, this time with an electric backing band. One was a rewrite of the title track of their first album, now titled "Somewhere They Can't Find Me" and with a new chorus and some guitar parts nicked from Davey Graham's "Anji"; the other a Twist-beat song that could almost be Manfred Mann or Georgie Fame -- "We Got a Groovy Thing Goin'". That was also influenced by “Anji”, though by Bert Jansch's version rather than Graham's original. Jansch rearranged the song and stuck in this phrase: [Excerpt: Bert Jansch, “Anji”] Which became the chorus to “We Got a Groovy Thing Goin'”: [Excerpt: Simon and Garfunkel, "We Got a Groovy Thing Goin'"] But that single was never released, and as far as Columbia were concerned, Simon and Garfunkel were a defunct act, especially as Tom Wilson, who had signed them, was looking to move away from Columbia. Art Garfunkel did come to visit Simon in the UK a couple of times, and they'd even sing together occasionally, but it was on the basis of Paul Simon the successful club act occasionally inviting his friend on stage during the encore, rather than as a duo, and Garfunkel was still seeing music only as a sideline while Simon was now utterly committed to it. He was encouraged in this commitment by Judith Piepe, who considered him to be the greatest songwriter of his generation, and who started a letter-writing campaign to that effect, telling the BBC they needed to put him on the radio. Eventually, after a lot of pressure, they agreed -- though they weren't exactly sure what to do with him, as he didn't fit into any of the pop formats they had. He was given his own radio show -- a five-minute show in a religious programming slot. Simon would perform a song, and there would be an introduction tying the song into some religious theme or other. Two series of four episodes of this were broadcast, in a plum slot right after Housewives' Choice, which got twenty million listeners, and the BBC were amazed to find that a lot of people phoned in asking where they could get hold of the records by this Paul Simon fellow. Obviously he didn't have any out yet, and even the Simon and Garfunkel album, which had been released in the US, hadn't come out in Britain. After a little bit of negotiation, CBS, the British arm of Columbia Records, had Simon come in and record an album of his songs, titled The Paul Simon Songbook. The album, unlike the Simon and Garfunkel album, was made up entirely of Paul Simon originals. Two of them were songs that had previously been recorded for Wednesday Morning 3AM -- "He Was My Brother" and a new version of "The Sound of Silence": [Excerpt: Paul Simon, "The Sound of Silence"] The other ten songs were newly-written pieces like "April Come She Will", "Kathy's Song", a parody of Bob Dylan entitled "A Simple Desultory Philippic", and the song that was chosen as the single, "I am a Rock": [Excerpt: Paul Simon, "I am a Rock"] That song was also the one that was chosen for Simon's first TV appearance since Tom and Jerry had appeared on Bandstand eight years earlier. The appearance on Ready, Steady, Go, though, was not one that anyone was happy with. Simon had been booked to appear on  a small folk music series, Heartsong, but that series was cancelled before he could appear. Rediffusion, the company that made the series, also made Ready, Steady, Go, and since they'd already paid Simon they decided they might as well stick him on that show and get something for their money. Unfortunately, the episode in question was already running long, and it wasn't really suited for introspective singer-songwriter performances -- the show was geared to guitar bands and American soul singers. Michael Lindsay-Hogg, the director, insisted that if Simon was going to do his song, he had to cut at least one verse, while Simon was insistent that he needed to perform the whole thing because "it's a story". Lindsay-Hogg got his way, but nobody was happy with the performance. Simon's album was surprisingly unsuccessful, given the number of people who'd called the BBC asking about it -- the joke went round that the calls had all been Judith Piepe doing different voices -- and Simon continued his round of folk clubs, pubs, and birthday parties, sometimes performing with Garfunkel, when he visited for the summer, but mostly performing on his own. One time he did perform with a full band, singing “Johnny B Goode” at a birthday party, backed by a band called Joker's Wild who a couple of weeks later went into the studio to record their only privately-pressed five-song record, of them performing recent hits: [Excerpt: Joker's Wild, "Walk Like a Man"] The guitarist from Joker's Wild would later join the other band who'd played at that party, but the story of David Gilmour joining Pink Floyd is for another episode. During this time, Simon also produced his first record for someone else, when he was responsible for producing the only album by his friend Jackson C Frank, though there wasn't much production involved as like Simon's own album it was just one man and his guitar. Al Stewart and Art Garfunkel were also in the control room for the recording, but the notoriously shy Frank insisted on hiding behind a screen so they couldn't see him while he recorded: [Excerpt: Jackson C Frank, "Blues Run the Game"] It seemed like Paul Simon was on his way to becoming a respected mid-level figure on the British folk scene, releasing occasional albums and maybe having one or two minor hits, but making a steady living. Someone who would be spoken of in the same breath as Ralph McTell perhaps. Meanwhile, Art Garfunkel would be going on to be a lecturer in mathematics whose students might be surprised to know he'd had a minor rock and roll hit as a kid. But then something happened that changed everything. Wednesday Morning 3AM hadn't sold at all, and Columbia hadn't promoted it in the slightest. It was too collegiate and polite for the Greenwich Village folkies, and too intellectual for the pop audience that had been buying Peter, Paul, and Mary, and it had come out just at the point that the folk boom had imploded. But one DJ in Boston, Dick Summer, had started playing one song from it, "The Sound of Silence", and it had caught on with the college students, who loved the song. And then came spring break 1965. All those students went on holiday, and suddenly DJs in places like Cocoa Beach, Florida, were getting phone calls requesting "The Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel. Some of them with contacts at Columbia got in touch with the label, and Tom Wilson had an idea. On the first day of what turned out to be his last session with Dylan, the session for "Like a Rolling Stone", Wilson asked the musicians to stay behind and work on something. He'd already experimented with overdubbing new instruments on an acoustic recording with his new version of Dylan's "House of the Rising Sun", now he was going to try it with "The Sound of Silence". He didn't bother asking the duo what they thought -- record labels messed with people's records all the time. So "The Sound of Silence" was released as an electric folk-rock single: [Excerpt: Simon and Garfunkel, "The Sound of Silence"] This is always presented as Wilson massively changing the sound of the duo without their permission or knowledge, but the fact is that they had *already* gone folk-rock, back in March, so they were already thinking that way. The track was released as a single with “We Got a Groovy Thing Going” on the B-side, and was promoted first in the Boston market, and it did very well. Roy Harper later talked about Simon's attitude at this time, saying "I can remember going into the gents in The Three Horseshoes in Hempstead during a gig, and we're having a pee together. He was very excited, and he turns round to me and and says, “Guess what, man? We're number sixteen in Boston with The Sound of Silence'”. A few days later I was doing another gig with him and he made a beeline for me. “Guess what?” I said “You're No. 15 in Boston”. He said, “No man, we're No. 1 in Boston”. I thought, “Wow. No. 1 in Boston, eh?” It was almost a joke, because I really had no idea what that sort of stuff meant at all." Simon was even more excited when the record started creeping up the national charts, though he was less enthused when his copy of the single arrived from America. He listened to it, and thought the arrangement was a Byrds rip-off, and cringed at the way the rhythm section had to slow down and speed up in order to stay in time with the acoustic recording: [Excerpt: Simon and Garfunkel, "The Sound of Silence"] I have to say that, while the tempo fluctuations are noticeable once you know to look for them, it's a remarkably tight performance given the circumstances. As the record went up the charts, Simon was called back to America, to record an album to go along with it. The Paul Simon Songbook hadn't been released in the US,  and they needed an album *now*, and Simon was a slow songwriter, so the duo took six songs from that album and rerecorded them in folk-rock versions with their new producer Bob Johnston, who was also working with Dylan now, since Tom Wilson had moved on to Verve records. They filled out the album with "The Sound of Silence", the two electric tracks from March, one new song, "Blessed", and a version of "Anji", which came straight after "Somewhere They Can't Find Me", presumably to acknowledge Simon lifting bits of it. That version of “Anji” also followed Jansch's arrangement, and so included the bit that Simon had taken for “We Got a Groovy Thing Going” as well. They also recorded their next single, which was released on the British version of the album but not the American one, a song that Simon had written during a thoroughly depressing tour of Lancashire towns (he wrote it in Widnes, but a friend of Simon's who lived in Widnes later said that while it was written in Widnes it was written *about* Birkenhead. Simon has also sometimes said it was about Warrington or Wigan, both of which are so close to Widnes and so similar in both name and atmosphere that it would be the easiest thing in the world to mix them up.) [Excerpt: Simon and Garfunkel, "Homeward Bound"] These tracks were all recorded in December 1965, and they featured the Wrecking Crew -- Bob Johnston wanted the best, and didn't rate the New York players that Wilson had used, and so they were recorded in LA with Glen Campbell, Joe South, Hal Blaine, Larry Knechtel, and Joe Osborne. I've also seen in some sources that there were sessions in Nashville with A-team players Fred Carter and Charlie McCoy. By January, "The Sound of Silence" had reached number one, knocking "We Can Work it Out" by the Beatles off the top spot for two weeks, before the Beatles record went back to the top. They'd achieved what they'd been trying for for nearly a decade, and I'll give the last word here to Paul Simon, who said of the achievement: "I had come back to New York, and I was staying in my old room at my parents' house. Artie was living at his parents' house, too. I remember Artie and I were sitting there in my car one night, parked on a street in Queens, and the announcer said, "Number one, Simon & Garfunkel." And Artie said to me, "That Simon & Garfunkel, they must be having a great time.""

The Los Angeles Times' music critic Robert Hilburn was the only journalist to interview Prince about the 1999. In fact, Prince would not grant interviews to journalists again for several years after that, making Hilburn one of the last to speak to Prince before a lengthy period of silence from the artist. In researching Prince: The Story of 1999, Andrea Swensson had a chance to talk to Robert Hilburn, who spoke about meeting Prince in October 1982 and about seeing Prince perform leading up to the album 1999 -- most notably, at a 1981 show at the Los Angeles Coliseum where Prince opened for the Rolling Stones and was met with boos and hostility from the audience. It was an experience, Hilburn surmises, that further motivated Prince to take the music world by storm.

The Los Angeles Times' music critic Robert Hilburn was the only journalist to interview Prince about the 1999. In fact, Prince would not grant interviews to journalists again for several years after that, making Hilburn one of the last to speak to Prince before a lengthy period of silence from the artist. In researching Prince: The Story of 1999, Andrea Swensson had a chance to talk to Robert Hilburn, who spoke about meeting Prince in October 1982 and about seeing Prince perform leading up to the album 1999 -- most notably, at a 1981 show at the Los Angeles Coliseum where Prince opened for the Rolling Stones and was met with boos and hostility from the audience. It was an experience, Hilburn surmises, that further motivated Prince to take the music world by storm.

The story of 1999 begins with one of the most legendary concert debacles in rock history. When an October 1981 crowd of Rolling Stones fans greeted opener Prince with scorn, it solidified his resolve to forge a new path. Hear the first tracks Prince recorded in that pivotal moment, which are included in the Super Deluxe Edition reissue of 1999, alongside stories from bandmates Dez Dickerson, Lisa Coleman, Dr. Fink and Bobby Z.; engineer Peggy McCreary; journalist Robert Hilburn; and vault archivist Michael Howe.

The story of 1999 begins with one of the most legendary concert debacles in rock history. When an October 1981 crowd of Rolling Stones fans greeted opener Prince with scorn, it solidified his resolve to forge a new path. Hear the first tracks Prince recorded in that pivotal moment, which are included in the Super Deluxe Edition reissue of 1999, alongside stories from bandmates Dez Dickerson, Lisa Coleman, Dr. Fink and Bobby Z.; engineer Peggy McCreary; journalist Robert Hilburn; and vault archivist Michael Howe.

Episode thirty-seven of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at "I Walk The Line" by Johnny Cash, and is part two of a trilogy on the aftermath of Elvis leaving Sun, and the birth of rockabilly. Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a thirteen-minute bonus episode available, on "Don't Be Angry" by Nappy Brown.  ----more---- Errata Two minor errors I noticed while editing but didn't think were worth going back and redoing -- I pronounce "Belshazzar" incorrectly (it's pronounced as Cash does in the song, as far as I can tell), and I said that the lyric to "Get Rhythm" contains the phrase "if you get the blues", when of course it's "when you get the blues". Resources As always, I've created a Mixcloud streaming playlist with full versions of all the songs in the episode. My main source for this episode is Johnny Cash: The Life by Robert Hilburn. I'm relying heavily on Sam Phillips: the Man Who Invented Rock and Roll by Peter Guralnick for all the episodes dealing with Phillips and Sun Records. This triple-CD set contains everything Johnny Cash recorded for Sun Records. His early Sun singles are also on this ten-disc set, which charts the history of Sun Records, with the A- and B-sides of ninety of the first Sun singles in chronological order for an absurdly low price. This will help give you the full context for Cash's work, in a way hearing it in isolation wouldn't.     Patreon This podcast is brought to you by the generosity of my backers on Patreon. Why not join them?  Transcript This podcast is called a history of rock music, but one of the things we're going to learn as the story goes on is that the history of any genre in popular music eventually encompasses them all. And at the end of 1955, in particular, there was no hard and fast distinction between the genres of rock and roll, rhythm and blues, and country music. So today we're going to talk about someone who, to many, epitomises country music more than any other artist, but who started out recording for Sam Phillips at Sun Studios, making music that was stylistically indistinguishable from any of the other rockabilly artists there, and whose career would intertwine with all of them for decades to come. Before you listen to this one, you might want to go back and listen to last week's episode, on "Blue Suede Shoes", because the stories of Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins tie together quite a lot, and this is effectively part two of a three-parter, about Sun Records and the birth of rockabilly. Johnny Cash's birth name was actually J.R. Cash -- initials rather than a full name -- and that was how he was known until he joined the Air Force. His parents apparently had a disagreement over what their son's name should be, and so rather than give him full names, they just gave him initials. The Air Force wouldn't allow him to just use initials as his name, so he changed his name to John R. Cash. It was only once he became a professional musician that he took on the name Johnny Cash. He still never had a middle name, just a middle initial. While he was in the military, he'd been the very first American to learn that Stalin had died, as he'd been the radio operator who'd intercepted and decoded the Russian transmissions about it. But the military had never been the career he wanted. He wanted to be a singer. He just didn't know how. After returning to the US from his stint in the Air Force in Germany, aged twenty-two, Cash got married and moved to Memphis, to be near his brother. Cash's brother introduced him to two of his colleagues, Luther Perkins and Marshall Grant. Both Perkins and Grant could play a little guitar, and they started getting together to play a little music, sometimes with a steel player called Red Kernodle. They were very, very, unskilled musicians, but that didn't matter. They had a couple of things that mattered far more than skill. They had a willingness to try anything if it might sound good, and they had Cash's voice, which even as a callow young man sounded like Cash had been carved out of rock and imbued with the spirit of an Old Testament prophet. Cash never had a huge range, but his voice had a sonority to it that was quite astonishing, a resonant bass-baritone that demanded you pay attention to what it had to say. And Cash had a determination that he was going to become a famous singer. He had no idea how one was to go about this, but he knew it was what he wanted to do. To start with, they mostly performed the gospel songs that Cash loved. This was the music that is euphemistically called Southern Gospel, but which is really white gospel. Cash had had a religious experience as a kid, when his elder brother, who had wanted to become a priest, had died and had had a deathbed vision of heaven and hell, and Cash wanted to become a gospel singer to pay tribute to his brother while also indulging his own love of music. But then at one of their jam sessions, Cash brought in a song he had written himself, called "Belshazzar", based on a story from the Bible: [Excerpt: Johnny Cash: "Belshazzar"] The other two were amazed. Not so much by the song itself, but by the fact that you could write a song at all. The idea that songs were something you write was not something that had really occurred to them. Cash, Perkins, and Grant all played acoustic guitar at first, and none of them were particularly good. They were mostly just hanging out together, having fun. They were just singing stuff they'd heard on the radio, and they particularly wanted to sound like the Louvin Brothers: [Excerpt: The Louvin Brothers, "This Little Light of Mine"] They were having fun together, but that was all. But Cash was ambitious to do something more. And that "something more" took shape when he heard a record, one that was recorded the day after the plane that took Cash back into the US touched down: [Excerpt: Elvis Presley, "That's All Right Mama"] He liked the sound of that record a lot. And what he liked even more was hearing the DJ, after the song was played, say that the record was out on Sun Records, a label based in Memphis itself. Johnny, Luther, and Marshall went to see Elvis, Scotty, and Bill perform, playing on the back of a flatbed truck and just playing the two songs on their single. Cash was immediately worried – Elvis was clearly a teenager, and Cash himself was a grown man of twenty-two. Had he missed his chance at stardom? Was he too old? Cash had a chat with Elvis, and went along again the next night to see the trio performing a proper set at a nightclub, and this time he talked with Scotty Moore and asked him how to get signed to Sun. Moore told him to speak to Sam Phillips, and so Cash got hold of Sun's phone number and started calling, asking to speak to Phillips, who was never in – he was out on the road a lot of the time, pushing the label's records to distributors and radio stations. But Cash also knew that he was going to have to do something more to get recorded. He was going to have to turn his little guitar jam sessions into a proper group like Elvis, Scotty, and Bill, not just three people bashing away together at acoustic guitars. They sometimes had Red on steel guitar, but they still needed some variety. Cash was obviously going to be the lead singer, so it made sense for him to stick with the acoustic rhythm guitar. Luther Perkins got himself an electric guitar and started playing lead lines which amounted to little more than boogie-woogie basslines transposed up an octave. Marshall Grant, meanwhile, got himself a double bass, and taped markers on it to show him where the notes were. He'd never played one before, so all he could do was play single notes every other beat, with big gaps between the notes -- "Boom [pause] boom [pause] boom [pause] boom" -- he couldn't get his fingers between the notes any faster. This group was clearly not anything like as professional as Presley and his group, but they had *something*. Their limitations as musicians meant that they had to find ways to make the songs work without relying on complicated parts or virtuoso playing. As Luther Perkins would later put it, "You know how all those hot-shot guitarists race their fingers all over the strings? Well, they’re looking for the right sound. I found it.” But Cash was still, frankly, a little worried that his group weren't all that great, and when he finally went to see Sam Phillips in person, having failed to get hold of him on the phone, he went alone. Phillips was immediately impressed by Cash's bearing and presence. He was taller, and more dignified, than most of the people who came in to audition for Phillips. He was someone with presence, and gravitas, and Phillips thought he had the makings of a star. The day after meeting Phillips for the first time, Cash brought his musician friends around as well, and Johnny, Luther, Marshall, and Red all had a chat with Phillips. Phillips explained to them that they didn't need to be technically great musicians, just have the right kind of sound. The four of them rehearsed, and then came back to Phillips with some of the material they'd been practising. But when it came time to audition, their steel player got so scared that he couldn't tune his guitar, his hands were shaking so much. Eventually he decided that he was holding the other three back, and left the studio, and the audition continued with just the group who had now become the Tennessee Three – a name they chose because while they all now lived in Tennessee, none of them had originally come from there. Phillips liked their sound, but explained that he wasn't particularly interested in putting out gospel music. There's an urban legend that Phillips said "go home and sin, then come back with a song I can sell", though this was denied by Cash. But it is true that he'd had no sales success with gospel music, and that he wanted something more commercial. Whatever Phillips said, though, Cash took the hint, and went home and started writing secular songs. The one he came back to Phillips with, "Hey Porter", was inspired by the sound of the railway, and had a boom-chick-a-boom rhythm that would soon become Cash's trademark: [Excerpt, "Hey Porter": Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two] Phillips liked it, and the Tennessee Three set to recording it. Or at least that was what they were called when they recorded it, but by the time it was released Sam Phillips had suggested a slight name change, and the single came out under the name Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two. As the Tennessee Two didn't have a drummer, Cash put paper between the strings and the fretboard of his acoustic guitar to deaden the sound and turn it into something that approximated the sound of a snare drum. The resulting boom-chick sound was one that would become a signature of Cash's recordings for the next few decades, a uniquely country music take on the two-beat rhythm. That sound was almost entirely forced on the group by their instrumental limitations, but it was a sound that worked. The song Cash brought in to Phillips as a possible B-side was called "Folsom Prison Blues", and it was only an original in the loosest possible sense. Before going off to Germany with the air force, Cash had seen a film called "Inside the Walls of Folsom Prison", and it had given Cash the idea that someone should write a song about that. But he'd put the idea to the back of his mind until two other inspirations arrived. The first was a song called "Crescent City Blues", which he heard on a Gordon Jenkins album that a fellow airman in Germany owned: [Excerpt: Gordon Jenkins (Beverly Maher vocals): "Crescent City Blues"] If you've not heard that song before, and are familiar with Cash's work, you're probably mildly in shock right now at just how much like “Folsom Prison Blues” that is. Jenkins' song in turn is also strongly inspired by another song, also titled "Crescent City Blues", by the boogie-woogie pianist Little Brother Montgomery: [Excerpt Little Brother Montgomery, "Crescent City Blues"] The second musical inspiration for Cash's prison song was a song by Cash's idol, Jimmie Rodgers, "Blue Yodel #1", also known as "T For Texas": [Excerpt: Jimmie Rodgers, "Blue Yodel #1"] The line "I'm gonna shoot poor Thelma, just to see her jump and fall" hit Cash hard, and he realised that the most morally bankrupt person he could imagine was someone who would kill someone else just to watch them die. He put this bleak amorality together with the idea of a song about Folsom, and changed just enough of the words to "Crescent City Blues" that it worked with this new concept of the character, and he titled the result "Folsom Prison Blues": [Excerpt: Johnny Cash, "Folsom Prison Blues"] 9) Sam Phillips didn't think that was suitable as the B-side to "Hey Porter", and they eventually went for a sad song that Cash had written titled "Cry Cry Cry," but "Folsom Prison Blues" was put aside as a future possibility. When the contract was drawn up, the only person who was actually signed to Sun was Cash – Phillips didn't want to be tied to the other two musicians. But while only Cash was signed to the label, they split the money more or less equitably, in a forty-thirty-thirty split (other sources say that the split was completely equal). “Hey Porter” and “Cry Cry Cry” both charted, and "Folsom Prison Blues" became Cash's second single, and one of the songs that would define him for the rest of his career. It went to number four on the country and western chart, and established him as a genuine star of country music. It's around this time that Sun signed Carl Perkins, which caused problems. Cash resented the way that he was being treated by Phillips as being less important than Perkins. He thought that Phillips was now only interested in his new star, and wasn't going to bother promoting Cash's records any more. This would be a recurring pattern with Phillips over the next few years -- he would discover some new star and whoever his previous favourite was would be convinced that Phillips no longer cared about them any more. This is ultimately what led to Sun's downfall, as one by one his discoveries moved on to other labels that they believed valued them more than Phillips did. Phillips, on the other hand, always argued that he had to put in more time when dealing with a new discovery, because he had to build their career up, and that established artists would always forget what he'd done for them when they saw him doing the same things for the next person. That's not to say, though, that Cash disliked Perkins. Quite the contrary. The two became close friends -- though Cash became even closer with Clayton Perkins, Carl's wayward brother, who had a juvenile sense of humour that appealed to Cash. Cash even co-wrote a song with Perkins, "All Mama's Children", which became the B-side to Perkins' "Boppin' the Blues": [Excerpt, Carl Perkins, "All Mama's Children"] It's not the greatest song either man ever wrote, by any means, but it was the start of a working relationship that would continue off and on for decades, and which both men would benefit from significantly. By this point, Cash had started to build a following, and as you might expect given his inspiration, he was following the exact same career path as Elvis Presley. He was managed by Elvis' first proper manager, Bob Neal, and he was given a regular slot on the Louisiana Hayride, the country music radio show that Elvis had built his reputation on. But this meant that Cash was being promoted alongside Carl Perkins, as a rock and roll star. This would actually do wonders for Cash's career in the long term. A lot of people who wouldn't listen to anything labeled country were fans of Cash in the mid fifties, and remained with him, and this meant that his image was always a little more appealing to rock audiences than many other similar singers. You can trace a direct line between Cash being promoted as a rock and roller in 1955 and 56, and his comeback with the American Recordings series more than forty years later. But when Cash brought in a new song he'd written, about his struggle while on the road to be true to his wife (and, implicitly, also to his God), it caused a clash between him and Sam Phillips. That song was quite possibly inspired by a line in "Sixteen Tons", the big hit from Tennessee Ernie Ford that year, which Cash fell in love with when it came out, and which made Cash a lifelong fan of its writer Merle Travis: [Excerpt: "Sixteen Tons", Tennessee Ernie Ford] He never made the connection publicly himself, but that image of walking the line almost definitely stuck in Cash's mind, and it became the central image of a song he wrote while on the road, thinking about fidelity in every sense. "I Walk the Line" was the subject of a lot of debate between Cash and Phillips, neither of whom were entirely convinced by the other's argument. Cash was sure that the song was a good one, maybe the best song he ever wrote, but he wanted to play it as a slow, plaintive, lovelorn ballad. Phillips, on the other hand, wasn't so impressed by the song itself, but he thought that it had some potential if it was sped up to the kind of tempo that "Hey Porter", "Cry Cry Cry" and "Folsom Prison Blues" had all been performed in -- a rock and roll tempo, for Cash's rock and roll audience. Give it some rhythm, and some of the boom-chika-boom, and there might be something there. Cash argued that he didn't need to. After all, the other song he had brought in, one that he cared about much less and had originally written to give to Elvis, was a rock and roll song. The lyrics even went "Get rhythm if you get the blues": [Excerpt: Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two: "Get Rhythm"] That song itself would go on to become a hit for Cash, and a staple of his live shows, but Phillips didn't see a reason why, just because one side of the record was uptempo, the other shouldn't be as well. He wanted the music to be universal, rather than personal, and to his mind a strong rhythm was necessary for universality. They eventually compromised and recorded two versions, a faster one recorded the way Phillips wanted it, and a slower one, the way Cash liked it. Cash walked out convinced that Phillips would see reason and release the slower version. He was devastated to find that Phillips had released the faster version. Cash later said, “The first time I heard it on the radio, I called him and said, ‘I hate that sound. Please don’t release any more records. I hate that sound.’ ” But then the record became a massive hit, and Cash decided that maybe the sound wasn't so bad after all. It went to number one on the country jukebox chart, made the top twenty in the pop charts, and sold more than two million copies as a single. Phillips had unquestionably had the right instincts, commercially at least. [Excerpt: Johnny Cash, "I Walk The Line"] "I Walk The Line" has a very, very, unusual structure. There's a key change after every single verse. This is just not something that you do, normally. Most pop songs will either stay in one key throughout, have a different key for different sections (so they might be in a minor key for the verse and a major key for the chorus, for example) or have one key change near the end, to give the song a bit of a kick. Here, the first verse is in F, then it goes up a fourth for the second verse, in B flat. It goes up another fourth, to E flat, for the third verse, then for the fourth verse it's back down to B flat, and the fifth verse it's back down to F, though an octave lower. (For those wondering about those keys, either they're playing with capoes or, more likely, Sam Phillips sped the track up a semitone to make it sound faster.) And this is really very, very, clever in the way it sets the mood of the song. The song starts and ends in the same place both musically and lyrically -- the last verse is a duplicate of the first, though sung an octave lower than it started -- and the rising and falling overall arc of the song suggests a natural cycle that goes along with the metaphors in the lyrics -- the tides, heartbeats, day and night, dark and light. The protagonist of the song is walking a thin line, wobbling, liable at any moment to fall over to one side or another, just like the oscillation and return to the original tonal centre in this song. What sounds like a relatively crude piece of work is, when listened to closely, a much more inventive record. And this is true of the chord sequences in the individual verses too. The verses only have three chords each -- the standard three chords that most country or blues songs have, the tonic, subdominant and dominant of the key. But they're not arranged in the standard order that you'd have them in, in a three-chord trick or a twelve-bar blues. Instead the verses all start with the dominant, an unusual, unstable, choice that came about from Cash having once threaded a tape backwards and having been fascinated by the sound. The dominant is normally the last chord. Here it's the first. The backwards tape is also one story as to where he got the idea of the humming that starts every verse -- though Cash also used to claim that the humming was so he could find the right note because there were so many key changes. This is not a song that's structured like a normal country and western song, and it's quite an extraordinarily personal piece of work. It's an expression of one man's very personal aesthetic, no matter how much Sam Phillips altered it to fit his own ideas of what Cash should be recording. It's an utterly idiosyncratic, utterly *strange* record, and a very strong contender for the best thing Sun Records ever put out, which is a high bar to meet. The fact that this sold two million copies in a country market that is usually characterised as conservative shows just how wrong such stereotypes can be. It was a masterpiece, and Johnny Cash was set for a very, very, long and artistically successful career. But that career wouldn't be with Sun. His life was in turmoil, the marriage that he had written so movingly about trying to keep together was falling apart, and he was beginning to think that he would do better doing as Elvis had and moving to a major label. Soon he would be signed to Columbia, the label where he would spend almost all his career, but we'll have one last glimpse of him at Sun. before he went off to Columbia and superstardom, in a future episode. And next week, we'll look at how Elvis was doing away from Sun.

Episode thirty-seven of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at “I Walk The Line” by Johnny Cash, and is part two of a trilogy on the aftermath of Elvis leaving Sun, and the birth of rockabilly. Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a thirteen-minute bonus episode available, on “Don’t Be Angry” by Nappy Brown.  —-more—- Errata Two minor errors I noticed while editing but didn’t think were worth going back and redoing — I pronounce “Belshazzar” incorrectly (it’s pronounced as Cash does in the song, as far as I can tell), and I said that the lyric to “Get Rhythm” contains the phrase “if you get the blues”, when of course it’s “when you get the blues”. Resources As always, I’ve created a Mixcloud streaming playlist with full versions of all the songs in the episode. My main source for this episode is Johnny Cash: The Life by Robert Hilburn. I’m relying heavily on Sam Phillips: the Man Who Invented Rock and Roll by Peter Guralnick for all the episodes dealing with Phillips and Sun Records. This triple-CD set contains everything Johnny Cash recorded for Sun Records. His early Sun singles are also on this ten-disc set, which charts the history of Sun Records, with the A- and B-sides of ninety of the first Sun singles in chronological order for an absurdly low price. This will help give you the full context for Cash’s work, in a way hearing it in isolation wouldn’t.     Patreon This podcast is brought to you by the generosity of my backers on Patreon. Why not join them?  Transcript This podcast is called a history of rock music, but one of the things we’re going to learn as the story goes on is that the history of any genre in popular music eventually encompasses them all. And at the end of 1955, in particular, there was no hard and fast distinction between the genres of rock and roll, rhythm and blues, and country music. So today we’re going to talk about someone who, to many, epitomises country music more than any other artist, but who started out recording for Sam Phillips at Sun Studios, making music that was stylistically indistinguishable from any of the other rockabilly artists there, and whose career would intertwine with all of them for decades to come. Before you listen to this one, you might want to go back and listen to last week’s episode, on “Blue Suede Shoes”, because the stories of Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins tie together quite a lot, and this is effectively part two of a three-parter, about Sun Records and the birth of rockabilly. Johnny Cash’s birth name was actually J.R. Cash — initials rather than a full name — and that was how he was known until he joined the Air Force. His parents apparently had a disagreement over what their son’s name should be, and so rather than give him full names, they just gave him initials. The Air Force wouldn’t allow him to just use initials as his name, so he changed his name to John R. Cash. It was only once he became a professional musician that he took on the name Johnny Cash. He still never had a middle name, just a middle initial. While he was in the military, he’d been the very first American to learn that Stalin had died, as he’d been the radio operator who’d intercepted and decoded the Russian transmissions about it. But the military had never been the career he wanted. He wanted to be a singer. He just didn’t know how. After returning to the US from his stint in the Air Force in Germany, aged twenty-two, Cash got married and moved to Memphis, to be near his brother. Cash’s brother introduced him to two of his colleagues, Luther Perkins and Marshall Grant. Both Perkins and Grant could play a little guitar, and they started getting together to play a little music, sometimes with a steel player called Red Kernodle. They were very, very, unskilled musicians, but that didn’t matter. They had a couple of things that mattered far more than skill. They had a willingness to try anything if it might sound good, and they had Cash’s voice, which even as a callow young man sounded like Cash had been carved out of rock and imbued with the spirit of an Old Testament prophet. Cash never had a huge range, but his voice had a sonority to it that was quite astonishing, a resonant bass-baritone that demanded you pay attention to what it had to say. And Cash had a determination that he was going to become a famous singer. He had no idea how one was to go about this, but he knew it was what he wanted to do. To start with, they mostly performed the gospel songs that Cash loved. This was the music that is euphemistically called Southern Gospel, but which is really white gospel. Cash had had a religious experience as a kid, when his elder brother, who had wanted to become a priest, had died and had had a deathbed vision of heaven and hell, and Cash wanted to become a gospel singer to pay tribute to his brother while also indulging his own love of music. But then at one of their jam sessions, Cash brought in a song he had written himself, called “Belshazzar”, based on a story from the Bible: [Excerpt: Johnny Cash: “Belshazzar”] The other two were amazed. Not so much by the song itself, but by the fact that you could write a song at all. The idea that songs were something you write was not something that had really occurred to them. Cash, Perkins, and Grant all played acoustic guitar at first, and none of them were particularly good. They were mostly just hanging out together, having fun. They were just singing stuff they’d heard on the radio, and they particularly wanted to sound like the Louvin Brothers: [Excerpt: The Louvin Brothers, “This Little Light of Mine”] They were having fun together, but that was all. But Cash was ambitious to do something more. And that “something more” took shape when he heard a record, one that was recorded the day after the plane that took Cash back into the US touched down: [Excerpt: Elvis Presley, “That’s All Right Mama”] He liked the sound of that record a lot. And what he liked even more was hearing the DJ, after the song was played, say that the record was out on Sun Records, a label based in Memphis itself. Johnny, Luther, and Marshall went to see Elvis, Scotty, and Bill perform, playing on the back of a flatbed truck and just playing the two songs on their single. Cash was immediately worried – Elvis was clearly a teenager, and Cash himself was a grown man of twenty-two. Had he missed his chance at stardom? Was he too old? Cash had a chat with Elvis, and went along again the next night to see the trio performing a proper set at a nightclub, and this time he talked with Scotty Moore and asked him how to get signed to Sun. Moore told him to speak to Sam Phillips, and so Cash got hold of Sun’s phone number and started calling, asking to speak to Phillips, who was never in – he was out on the road a lot of the time, pushing the label’s records to distributors and radio stations. But Cash also knew that he was going to have to do something more to get recorded. He was going to have to turn his little guitar jam sessions into a proper group like Elvis, Scotty, and Bill, not just three people bashing away together at acoustic guitars. They sometimes had Red on steel guitar, but they still needed some variety. Cash was obviously going to be the lead singer, so it made sense for him to stick with the acoustic rhythm guitar. Luther Perkins got himself an electric guitar and started playing lead lines which amounted to little more than boogie-woogie basslines transposed up an octave. Marshall Grant, meanwhile, got himself a double bass, and taped markers on it to show him where the notes were. He’d never played one before, so all he could do was play single notes every other beat, with big gaps between the notes — “Boom [pause] boom [pause] boom [pause] boom” — he couldn’t get his fingers between the notes any faster. This group was clearly not anything like as professional as Presley and his group, but they had *something*. Their limitations as musicians meant that they had to find ways to make the songs work without relying on complicated parts or virtuoso playing. As Luther Perkins would later put it, “You know how all those hot-shot guitarists race their fingers all over the strings? Well, they’re looking for the right sound. I found it.” But Cash was still, frankly, a little worried that his group weren’t all that great, and when he finally went to see Sam Phillips in person, having failed to get hold of him on the phone, he went alone. Phillips was immediately impressed by Cash’s bearing and presence. He was taller, and more dignified, than most of the people who came in to audition for Phillips. He was someone with presence, and gravitas, and Phillips thought he had the makings of a star. The day after meeting Phillips for the first time, Cash brought his musician friends around as well, and Johnny, Luther, Marshall, and Red all had a chat with Phillips. Phillips explained to them that they didn’t need to be technically great musicians, just have the right kind of sound. The four of them rehearsed, and then came back to Phillips with some of the material they’d been practising. But when it came time to audition, their steel player got so scared that he couldn’t tune his guitar, his hands were shaking so much. Eventually he decided that he was holding the other three back, and left the studio, and the audition continued with just the group who had now become the Tennessee Three – a name they chose because while they all now lived in Tennessee, none of them had originally come from there. Phillips liked their sound, but explained that he wasn’t particularly interested in putting out gospel music. There’s an urban legend that Phillips said “go home and sin, then come back with a song I can sell”, though this was denied by Cash. But it is true that he’d had no sales success with gospel music, and that he wanted something more commercial. Whatever Phillips said, though, Cash took the hint, and went home and started writing secular songs. The one he came back to Phillips with, “Hey Porter”, was inspired by the sound of the railway, and had a boom-chick-a-boom rhythm that would soon become Cash’s trademark: [Excerpt, “Hey Porter”: Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two] Phillips liked it, and the Tennessee Three set to recording it. Or at least that was what they were called when they recorded it, but by the time it was released Sam Phillips had suggested a slight name change, and the single came out under the name Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two. As the Tennessee Two didn’t have a drummer, Cash put paper between the strings and the fretboard of his acoustic guitar to deaden the sound and turn it into something that approximated the sound of a snare drum. The resulting boom-chick sound was one that would become a signature of Cash’s recordings for the next few decades, a uniquely country music take on the two-beat rhythm. That sound was almost entirely forced on the group by their instrumental limitations, but it was a sound that worked. The song Cash brought in to Phillips as a possible B-side was called “Folsom Prison Blues”, and it was only an original in the loosest possible sense. Before going off to Germany with the air force, Cash had seen a film called “Inside the Walls of Folsom Prison”, and it had given Cash the idea that someone should write a song about that. But he’d put the idea to the back of his mind until two other inspirations arrived. The first was a song called “Crescent City Blues”, which he heard on a Gordon Jenkins album that a fellow airman in Germany owned: [Excerpt: Gordon Jenkins (Beverly Maher vocals): “Crescent City Blues”] If you’ve not heard that song before, and are familiar with Cash’s work, you’re probably mildly in shock right now at just how much like “Folsom Prison Blues” that is. Jenkins’ song in turn is also strongly inspired by another song, also titled “Crescent City Blues”, by the boogie-woogie pianist Little Brother Montgomery: [Excerpt Little Brother Montgomery, “Crescent City Blues”] The second musical inspiration for Cash’s prison song was a song by Cash’s idol, Jimmie Rodgers, “Blue Yodel #1”, also known as “T For Texas”: [Excerpt: Jimmie Rodgers, “Blue Yodel #1”] The line “I’m gonna shoot poor Thelma, just to see her jump and fall” hit Cash hard, and he realised that the most morally bankrupt person he could imagine was someone who would kill someone else just to watch them die. He put this bleak amorality together with the idea of a song about Folsom, and changed just enough of the words to “Crescent City Blues” that it worked with this new concept of the character, and he titled the result “Folsom Prison Blues”: [Excerpt: Johnny Cash, “Folsom Prison Blues”] 9) Sam Phillips didn’t think that was suitable as the B-side to “Hey Porter”, and they eventually went for a sad song that Cash had written titled “Cry Cry Cry,” but “Folsom Prison Blues” was put aside as a future possibility. When the contract was drawn up, the only person who was actually signed to Sun was Cash – Phillips didn’t want to be tied to the other two musicians. But while only Cash was signed to the label, they split the money more or less equitably, in a forty-thirty-thirty split (other sources say that the split was completely equal). “Hey Porter” and “Cry Cry Cry” both charted, and “Folsom Prison Blues” became Cash’s second single, and one of the songs that would define him for the rest of his career. It went to number four on the country and western chart, and established him as a genuine star of country music. It’s around this time that Sun signed Carl Perkins, which caused problems. Cash resented the way that he was being treated by Phillips as being less important than Perkins. He thought that Phillips was now only interested in his new star, and wasn’t going to bother promoting Cash’s records any more. This would be a recurring pattern with Phillips over the next few years — he would discover some new star and whoever his previous favourite was would be convinced that Phillips no longer cared about them any more. This is ultimately what led to Sun’s downfall, as one by one his discoveries moved on to other labels that they believed valued them more than Phillips did. Phillips, on the other hand, always argued that he had to put in more time when dealing with a new discovery, because he had to build their career up, and that established artists would always forget what he’d done for them when they saw him doing the same things for the next person. That’s not to say, though, that Cash disliked Perkins. Quite the contrary. The two became close friends — though Cash became even closer with Clayton Perkins, Carl’s wayward brother, who had a juvenile sense of humour that appealed to Cash. Cash even co-wrote a song with Perkins, “All Mama’s Children”, which became the B-side to Perkins’ “Boppin’ the Blues”: [Excerpt, Carl Perkins, “All Mama’s Children”] It’s not the greatest song either man ever wrote, by any means, but it was the start of a working relationship that would continue off and on for decades, and which both men would benefit from significantly. By this point, Cash had started to build a following, and as you might expect given his inspiration, he was following the exact same career path as Elvis Presley. He was managed by Elvis’ first proper manager, Bob Neal, and he was given a regular slot on the Louisiana Hayride, the country music radio show that Elvis had built his reputation on. But this meant that Cash was being promoted alongside Carl Perkins, as a rock and roll star. This would actually do wonders for Cash’s career in the long term. A lot of people who wouldn’t listen to anything labeled country were fans of Cash in the mid fifties, and remained with him, and this meant that his image was always a little more appealing to rock audiences than many other similar singers. You can trace a direct line between Cash being promoted as a rock and roller in 1955 and 56, and his comeback with the American Recordings series more than forty years later. But when Cash brought in a new song he’d written, about his struggle while on the road to be true to his wife (and, implicitly, also to his God), it caused a clash between him and Sam Phillips. That song was quite possibly inspired by a line in “Sixteen Tons”, the big hit from Tennessee Ernie Ford that year, which Cash fell in love with when it came out, and which made Cash a lifelong fan of its writer Merle Travis: [Excerpt: “Sixteen Tons”, Tennessee Ernie Ford] He never made the connection publicly himself, but that image of walking the line almost definitely stuck in Cash’s mind, and it became the central image of a song he wrote while on the road, thinking about fidelity in every sense. “I Walk the Line” was the subject of a lot of debate between Cash and Phillips, neither of whom were entirely convinced by the other’s argument. Cash was sure that the song was a good one, maybe the best song he ever wrote, but he wanted to play it as a slow, plaintive, lovelorn ballad. Phillips, on the other hand, wasn’t so impressed by the song itself, but he thought that it had some potential if it was sped up to the kind of tempo that “Hey Porter”, “Cry Cry Cry” and “Folsom Prison Blues” had all been performed in — a rock and roll tempo, for Cash’s rock and roll audience. Give it some rhythm, and some of the boom-chika-boom, and there might be something there. Cash argued that he didn’t need to. After all, the other song he had brought in, one that he cared about much less and had originally written to give to Elvis, was a rock and roll song. The lyrics even went “Get rhythm if you get the blues”: [Excerpt: Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two: “Get Rhythm”] That song itself would go on to become a hit for Cash, and a staple of his live shows, but Phillips didn’t see a reason why, just because one side of the record was uptempo, the other shouldn’t be as well. He wanted the music to be universal, rather than personal, and to his mind a strong rhythm was necessary for universality. They eventually compromised and recorded two versions, a faster one recorded the way Phillips wanted it, and a slower one, the way Cash liked it. Cash walked out convinced that Phillips would see reason and release the slower version. He was devastated to find that Phillips had released the faster version. Cash later said, “The first time I heard it on the radio, I called him and said, ‘I hate that sound. Please don’t release any more records. I hate that sound.’ ” But then the record became a massive hit, and Cash decided that maybe the sound wasn’t so bad after all. It went to number one on the country jukebox chart, made the top twenty in the pop charts, and sold more than two million copies as a single. Phillips had unquestionably had the right instincts, commercially at least. [Excerpt: Johnny Cash, “I Walk The Line”] “I Walk The Line” has a very, very, unusual structure. There’s a key change after every single verse. This is just not something that you do, normally. Most pop songs will either stay in one key throughout, have a different key for different sections (so they might be in a minor key for the verse and a major key for the chorus, for example) or have one key change near the end, to give the song a bit of a kick. Here, the first verse is in F, then it goes up a fourth for the second verse, in B flat. It goes up another fourth, to E flat, for the third verse, then for the fourth verse it’s back down to B flat, and the fifth verse it’s back down to F, though an octave lower. (For those wondering about those keys, either they’re playing with capoes or, more likely, Sam Phillips sped the track up a semitone to make it sound faster.) And this is really very, very, clever in the way it sets the mood of the song. The song starts and ends in the same place both musically and lyrically — the last verse is a duplicate of the first, though sung an octave lower than it started — and the rising and falling overall arc of the song suggests a natural cycle that goes along with the metaphors in the lyrics — the tides, heartbeats, day and night, dark and light. The protagonist of the song is walking a thin line, wobbling, liable at any moment to fall over to one side or another, just like the oscillation and return to the original tonal centre in this song. What sounds like a relatively crude piece of work is, when listened to closely, a much more inventive record. And this is true of the chord sequences in the individual verses too. The verses only have three chords each — the standard three chords that most country or blues songs have, the tonic, subdominant and dominant of the key. But they’re not arranged in the standard order that you’d have them in, in a three-chord trick or a twelve-bar blues. Instead the verses all start with the dominant, an unusual, unstable, choice that came about from Cash having once threaded a tape backwards and having been fascinated by the sound. The dominant is normally the last chord. Here it’s the first. The backwards tape is also one story as to where he got the idea of the humming that starts every verse — though Cash also used to claim that the humming was so he could find the right note because there were so many key changes. This is not a song that’s structured like a normal country and western song, and it’s quite an extraordinarily personal piece of work. It’s an expression of one man’s very personal aesthetic, no matter how much Sam Phillips altered it to fit his own ideas of what Cash should be recording. It’s an utterly idiosyncratic, utterly *strange* record, and a very strong contender for the best thing Sun Records ever put out, which is a high bar to meet. The fact that this sold two million copies in a country market that is usually characterised as conservative shows just how wrong such stereotypes can be. It was a masterpiece, and Johnny Cash was set for a very, very, long and artistically successful career. But that career wouldn’t be with Sun. His life was in turmoil, the marriage that he had written so movingly about trying to keep together was falling apart, and he was beginning to think that he would do better doing as Elvis had and moving to a major label. Soon he would be signed to Columbia, the label where he would spend almost all his career, but we’ll have one last glimpse of him at Sun. before he went off to Columbia and superstardom, in a future episode. And next week, we’ll look at how Elvis was doing away from Sun.

Episode thirty-seven of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at “I Walk The Line” by Johnny Cash, and is part two of a trilogy on the aftermath of Elvis leaving Sun, and the birth of rockabilly. Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a thirteen-minute bonus episode available, on “Don’t Be Angry” by Nappy Brown.  —-more—- Errata Two minor errors I noticed while editing but didn’t think were worth going back and redoing — I pronounce “Belshazzar” incorrectly (it’s pronounced as Cash does in the song, as far as I can tell), and I said that the lyric to “Get Rhythm” contains the phrase “if you get the blues”, when of course it’s “when you get the blues”. Resources As always, I’ve created a Mixcloud streaming playlist with full versions of all the songs in the episode. My main source for this episode is Johnny Cash: The Life by Robert Hilburn. I’m relying heavily on Sam Phillips: the Man Who Invented Rock and Roll by Peter Guralnick for all the episodes dealing with Phillips and Sun Records. This triple-CD set contains everything Johnny Cash recorded for Sun Records. His early Sun singles are also on this ten-disc set, which charts the history of Sun Records, with the A- and B-sides of ninety of the first Sun singles in chronological order for an absurdly low price. This will help give you the full context for Cash’s work, in a way hearing it in isolation wouldn’t.     Patreon This podcast is brought to you by the generosity of my backers on Patreon. Why not join them?  Transcript This podcast is called a history of rock music, but one of the things we’re going to learn as the story goes on is that the history of any genre in popular music eventually encompasses them all. And at the end of 1955, in particular, there was no hard and fast distinction between the genres of rock and roll, rhythm and blues, and country music. So today we’re going to talk about someone who, to many, epitomises country music more than any other artist, but who started out recording for Sam Phillips at Sun Studios, making music that was stylistically indistinguishable from any of the other rockabilly artists there, and whose career would intertwine with all of them for decades to come. Before you listen to this one, you might want to go back and listen to last week’s episode, on “Blue Suede Shoes”, because the stories of Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins tie together quite a lot, and this is effectively part two of a three-parter, about Sun Records and the birth of rockabilly. Johnny Cash’s birth name was actually J.R. Cash — initials rather than a full name — and that was how he was known until he joined the Air Force. His parents apparently had a disagreement over what their son’s name should be, and so rather than give him full names, they just gave him initials. The Air Force wouldn’t allow him to just use initials as his name, so he changed his name to John R. Cash. It was only once he became a professional musician that he took on the name Johnny Cash. He still never had a middle name, just a middle initial. While he was in the military, he’d been the very first American to learn that Stalin had died, as he’d been the radio operator who’d intercepted and decoded the Russian transmissions about it. But the military had never been the career he wanted. He wanted to be a singer. He just didn’t know how. After returning to the US from his stint in the Air Force in Germany, aged twenty-two, Cash got married and moved to Memphis, to be near his brother. Cash’s brother introduced him to two of his colleagues, Luther Perkins and Marshall Grant. Both Perkins and Grant could play a little guitar, and they started getting together to play a little music, sometimes with a steel player called Red Kernodle. They were very, very, unskilled musicians, but that didn’t matter. They had a couple of things that mattered far more than skill. They had a willingness to try anything if it might sound good, and they had Cash’s voice, which even as a callow young man sounded like Cash had been carved out of rock and imbued with the spirit of an Old Testament prophet. Cash never had a huge range, but his voice had a sonority to it that was quite astonishing, a resonant bass-baritone that demanded you pay attention to what it had to say. And Cash had a determination that he was going to become a famous singer. He had no idea how one was to go about this, but he knew it was what he wanted to do. To start with, they mostly performed the gospel songs that Cash loved. This was the music that is euphemistically called Southern Gospel, but which is really white gospel. Cash had had a religious experience as a kid, when his elder brother, who had wanted to become a priest, had died and had had a deathbed vision of heaven and hell, and Cash wanted to become a gospel singer to pay tribute to his brother while also indulging his own love of music. But then at one of their jam sessions, Cash brought in a song he had written himself, called “Belshazzar”, based on a story from the Bible: [Excerpt: Johnny Cash: “Belshazzar”] The other two were amazed. Not so much by the song itself, but by the fact that you could write a song at all. The idea that songs were something you write was not something that had really occurred to them. Cash, Perkins, and Grant all played acoustic guitar at first, and none of them were particularly good. They were mostly just hanging out together, having fun. They were just singing stuff they’d heard on the radio, and they particularly wanted to sound like the Louvin Brothers: [Excerpt: The Louvin Brothers, “This Little Light of Mine”] They were having fun together, but that was all. But Cash was ambitious to do something more. And that “something more” took shape when he heard a record, one that was recorded the day after the plane that took Cash back into the US touched down: [Excerpt: Elvis Presley, “That’s All Right Mama”] He liked the sound of that record a lot. And what he liked even more was hearing the DJ, after the song was played, say that the record was out on Sun Records, a label based in Memphis itself. Johnny, Luther, and Marshall went to see Elvis, Scotty, and Bill perform, playing on the back of a flatbed truck and just playing the two songs on their single. Cash was immediately worried – Elvis was clearly a teenager, and Cash himself was a grown man of twenty-two. Had he missed his chance at stardom? Was he too old? Cash had a chat with Elvis, and went along again the next night to see the trio performing a proper set at a nightclub, and this time he talked with Scotty Moore and asked him how to get signed to Sun. Moore told him to speak to Sam Phillips, and so Cash got hold of Sun’s phone number and started calling, asking to speak to Phillips, who was never in – he was out on the road a lot of the time, pushing the label’s records to distributors and radio stations. But Cash also knew that he was going to have to do something more to get recorded. He was going to have to turn his little guitar jam sessions into a proper group like Elvis, Scotty, and Bill, not just three people bashing away together at acoustic guitars. They sometimes had Red on steel guitar, but they still needed some variety. Cash was obviously going to be the lead singer, so it made sense for him to stick with the acoustic rhythm guitar. Luther Perkins got himself an electric guitar and started playing lead lines which amounted to little more than boogie-woogie basslines transposed up an octave. Marshall Grant, meanwhile, got himself a double bass, and taped markers on it to show him where the notes were. He’d never played one before, so all he could do was play single notes every other beat, with big gaps between the notes — “Boom [pause] boom [pause] boom [pause] boom” — he couldn’t get his fingers between the notes any faster. This group was clearly not anything like as professional as Presley and his group, but they had *something*. Their limitations as musicians meant that they had to find ways to make the songs work without relying on complicated parts or virtuoso playing. As Luther Perkins would later put it, “You know how all those hot-shot guitarists race their fingers all over the strings? Well, they’re looking for the right sound. I found it.” But Cash was still, frankly, a little worried that his group weren’t all that great, and when he finally went to see Sam Phillips in person, having failed to get hold of him on the phone, he went alone. Phillips was immediately impressed by Cash’s bearing and presence. He was taller, and more dignified, than most of the people who came in to audition for Phillips. He was someone with presence, and gravitas, and Phillips thought he had the makings of a star. The day after meeting Phillips for the first time, Cash brought his musician friends around as well, and Johnny, Luther, Marshall, and Red all had a chat with Phillips. Phillips explained to them that they didn’t need to be technically great musicians, just have the right kind of sound. The four of them rehearsed, and then came back to Phillips with some of the material they’d been practising. But when it came time to audition, their steel player got so scared that he couldn’t tune his guitar, his hands were shaking so much. Eventually he decided that he was holding the other three back, and left the studio, and the audition continued with just the group who had now become the Tennessee Three – a name they chose because while they all now lived in Tennessee, none of them had originally come from there. Phillips liked their sound, but explained that he wasn’t particularly interested in putting out gospel music. There’s an urban legend that Phillips said “go home and sin, then come back with a song I can sell”, though this was denied by Cash. But it is true that he’d had no sales success with gospel music, and that he wanted something more commercial. Whatever Phillips said, though, Cash took the hint, and went home and started writing secular songs. The one he came back to Phillips with, “Hey Porter”, was inspired by the sound of the railway, and had a boom-chick-a-boom rhythm that would soon become Cash’s trademark: [Excerpt, “Hey Porter”: Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two] Phillips liked it, and the Tennessee Three set to recording it. Or at least that was what they were called when they recorded it, but by the time it was released Sam Phillips had suggested a slight name change, and the single came out under the name Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two. As the Tennessee Two didn’t have a drummer, Cash put paper between the strings and the fretboard of his acoustic guitar to deaden the sound and turn it into something that approximated the sound of a snare drum. The resulting boom-chick sound was one that would become a signature of Cash’s recordings for the next few decades, a uniquely country music take on the two-beat rhythm. That sound was almost entirely forced on the group by their instrumental limitations, but it was a sound that worked. The song Cash brought in to Phillips as a possible B-side was called “Folsom Prison Blues”, and it was only an original in the loosest possible sense. Before going off to Germany with the air force, Cash had seen a film called “Inside the Walls of Folsom Prison”, and it had given Cash the idea that someone should write a song about that. But he’d put the idea to the back of his mind until two other inspirations arrived. The first was a song called “Crescent City Blues”, which he heard on a Gordon Jenkins album that a fellow airman in Germany owned: [Excerpt: Gordon Jenkins (Beverly Maher vocals): “Crescent City Blues”] If you’ve not heard that song before, and are familiar with Cash’s work, you’re probably mildly in shock right now at just how much like “Folsom Prison Blues” that is. Jenkins’ song in turn is also strongly inspired by another song, also titled “Crescent City Blues”, by the boogie-woogie pianist Little Brother Montgomery: [Excerpt Little Brother Montgomery, “Crescent City Blues”] The second musical inspiration for Cash’s prison song was a song by Cash’s idol, Jimmie Rodgers, “Blue Yodel #1”, also known as “T For Texas”: [Excerpt: Jimmie Rodgers, “Blue Yodel #1”] The line “I’m gonna shoot poor Thelma, just to see her jump and fall” hit Cash hard, and he realised that the most morally bankrupt person he could imagine was someone who would kill someone else just to watch them die. He put this bleak amorality together with the idea of a song about Folsom, and changed just enough of the words to “Crescent City Blues” that it worked with this new concept of the character, and he titled the result “Folsom Prison Blues”: [Excerpt: Johnny Cash, “Folsom Prison Blues”] 9) Sam Phillips didn’t think that was suitable as the B-side to “Hey Porter”, and they eventually went for a sad song that Cash had written titled “Cry Cry Cry,” but “Folsom Prison Blues” was put aside as a future possibility. When the contract was drawn up, the only person who was actually signed to Sun was Cash – Phillips didn’t want to be tied to the other two musicians. But while only Cash was signed to the label, they split the money more or less equitably, in a forty-thirty-thirty split (other sources say that the split was completely equal). “Hey Porter” and “Cry Cry Cry” both charted, and “Folsom Prison Blues” became Cash’s second single, and one of the songs that would define him for the rest of his career. It went to number four on the country and western chart, and established him as a genuine star of country music. It’s around this time that Sun signed Carl Perkins, which caused problems. Cash resented the way that he was being treated by Phillips as being less important than Perkins. He thought that Phillips was now only interested in his new star, and wasn’t going to bother promoting Cash’s records any more. This would be a recurring pattern with Phillips over the next few years — he would discover some new star and whoever his previous favourite was would be convinced that Phillips no longer cared about them any more. This is ultimately what led to Sun’s downfall, as one by one his discoveries moved on to other labels that they believed valued them more than Phillips did. Phillips, on the other hand, always argued that he had to put in more time when dealing with a new discovery, because he had to build their career up, and that established artists would always forget what he’d done for them when they saw him doing the same things for the next person. That’s not to say, though, that Cash disliked Perkins. Quite the contrary. The two became close friends — though Cash became even closer with Clayton Perkins, Carl’s wayward brother, who had a juvenile sense of humour that appealed to Cash. Cash even co-wrote a song with Perkins, “All Mama’s Children”, which became the B-side to Perkins’ “Boppin’ the Blues”: [Excerpt, Carl Perkins, “All Mama’s Children”] It’s not the greatest song either man ever wrote, by any means, but it was the start of a working relationship that would continue off and on for decades, and which both men would benefit from significantly. By this point, Cash had started to build a following, and as you might expect given his inspiration, he was following the exact same career path as Elvis Presley. He was managed by Elvis’ first proper manager, Bob Neal, and he was given a regular slot on the Louisiana Hayride, the country music radio show that Elvis had built his reputation on. But this meant that Cash was being promoted alongside Carl Perkins, as a rock and roll star. This would actually do wonders for Cash’s career in the long term. A lot of people who wouldn’t listen to anything labeled country were fans of Cash in the mid fifties, and remained with him, and this meant that his image was always a little more appealing to rock audiences than many other similar singers. You can trace a direct line between Cash being promoted as a rock and roller in 1955 and 56, and his comeback with the American Recordings series more than forty years later. But when Cash brought in a new song he’d written, about his struggle while on the road to be true to his wife (and, implicitly, also to his God), it caused a clash between him and Sam Phillips. That song was quite possibly inspired by a line in “Sixteen Tons”, the big hit from Tennessee Ernie Ford that year, which Cash fell in love with when it came out, and which made Cash a lifelong fan of its writer Merle Travis: [Excerpt: “Sixteen Tons”, Tennessee Ernie Ford] He never made the connection publicly himself, but that image of walking the line almost definitely stuck in Cash’s mind, and it became the central image of a song he wrote while on the road, thinking about fidelity in every sense. “I Walk the Line” was the subject of a lot of debate between Cash and Phillips, neither of whom were entirely convinced by the other’s argument. Cash was sure that the song was a good one, maybe the best song he ever wrote, but he wanted to play it as a slow, plaintive, lovelorn ballad. Phillips, on the other hand, wasn’t so impressed by the song itself, but he thought that it had some potential if it was sped up to the kind of tempo that “Hey Porter”, “Cry Cry Cry” and “Folsom Prison Blues” had all been performed in — a rock and roll tempo, for Cash’s rock and roll audience. Give it some rhythm, and some of the boom-chika-boom, and there might be something there. Cash argued that he didn’t need to. After all, the other song he had brought in, one that he cared about much less and had originally written to give to Elvis, was a rock and roll song. The lyrics even went “Get rhythm if you get the blues”: [Excerpt: Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two: “Get Rhythm”] That song itself would go on to become a hit for Cash, and a staple of his live shows, but Phillips didn’t see a reason why, just because one side of the record was uptempo, the other shouldn’t be as well. He wanted the music to be universal, rather than personal, and to his mind a strong rhythm was necessary for universality. They eventually compromised and recorded two versions, a faster one recorded the way Phillips wanted it, and a slower one, the way Cash liked it. Cash walked out convinced that Phillips would see reason and release the slower version. He was devastated to find that Phillips had released the faster version. Cash later said, “The first time I heard it on the radio, I called him and said, ‘I hate that sound. Please don’t release any more records. I hate that sound.’ ” But then the record became a massive hit, and Cash decided that maybe the sound wasn’t so bad after all. It went to number one on the country jukebox chart, made the top twenty in the pop charts, and sold more than two million copies as a single. Phillips had unquestionably had the right instincts, commercially at least. [Excerpt: Johnny Cash, “I Walk The Line”] “I Walk The Line” has a very, very, unusual structure. There’s a key change after every single verse. This is just not something that you do, normally. Most pop songs will either stay in one key throughout, have a different key for different sections (so they might be in a minor key for the verse and a major key for the chorus, for example) or have one key change near the end, to give the song a bit of a kick. Here, the first verse is in F, then it goes up a fourth for the second verse, in B flat. It goes up another fourth, to E flat, for the third verse, then for the fourth verse it’s back down to B flat, and the fifth verse it’s back down to F, though an octave lower. (For those wondering about those keys, either they’re playing with capoes or, more likely, Sam Phillips sped the track up a semitone to make it sound faster.) And this is really very, very, clever in the way it sets the mood of the song. The song starts and ends in the same place both musically and lyrically — the last verse is a duplicate of the first, though sung an octave lower than it started — and the rising and falling overall arc of the song suggests a natural cycle that goes along with the metaphors in the lyrics — the tides, heartbeats, day and night, dark and light. The protagonist of the song is walking a thin line, wobbling, liable at any moment to fall over to one side or another, just like the oscillation and return to the original tonal centre in this song. What sounds like a relatively crude piece of work is, when listened to closely, a much more inventive record. And this is true of the chord sequences in the individual verses too. The verses only have three chords each — the standard three chords that most country or blues songs have, the tonic, subdominant and dominant of the key. But they’re not arranged in the standard order that you’d have them in, in a three-chord trick or a twelve-bar blues. Instead the verses all start with the dominant, an unusual, unstable, choice that came about from Cash having once threaded a tape backwards and having been fascinated by the sound. The dominant is normally the last chord. Here it’s the first. The backwards tape is also one story as to where he got the idea of the humming that starts every verse — though Cash also used to claim that the humming was so he could find the right note because there were so many key changes. This is not a song that’s structured like a normal country and western song, and it’s quite an extraordinarily personal piece of work. It’s an expression of one man’s very personal aesthetic, no matter how much Sam Phillips altered it to fit his own ideas of what Cash should be recording. It’s an utterly idiosyncratic, utterly *strange* record, and a very strong contender for the best thing Sun Records ever put out, which is a high bar to meet. The fact that this sold two million copies in a country market that is usually characterised as conservative shows just how wrong such stereotypes can be. It was a masterpiece, and Johnny Cash was set for a very, very, long and artistically successful career. But that career wouldn’t be with Sun. His life was in turmoil, the marriage that he had written so movingly about trying to keep together was falling apart, and he was beginning to think that he would do better doing as Elvis had and moving to a major label. Soon he would be signed to Columbia, the label where he would spend almost all his career, but we’ll have one last glimpse of him at Sun. before he went off to Columbia and superstardom, in a future episode. And next week, we’ll look at how Elvis was doing away from Sun.

If you've ever had to communicate with someone (?!), especially if you're a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) this post is for you! It's a fascinating and wide-ranging interview with Rob Ashton, founder and CEO of Emphasis / Writing-Skills.com. Rob and I have been friends for several years now, and he's the one who turned me on to the idea of HSPs a couple months ago. I invited him on to go deeper into that subject, and we do, but we also spent a lot of time on communication, which was great because that's his superpower—and it's a favorite subject of mine, too. Anyway, it's a little longer than I planned, but I thought it was a great conversation. Enjoy! P.S. This is my first interview on the podcast. You might be able to tell. :-) Had a great time, though. Rob was a good sport. TOPICS Definition and traits of a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) How high-sensitivity relates to leadership and communication The surprising difference between written and verbal communication Communication tips and insights Listen to hear the full interview. ENJOY THE PODCAST SHOW NOTES - Rob's site: Emphasis / https://www.writing-skills.com - Twitter: @Robert_Ashton - HSP website: https://hsperson.com - HSP book: https://www.amazon.com/Highly-Sensitive-Person-Thrive-Overwhelms/dp/1559723505/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1539804671&sr=8-5 HOT NEWS & DEALS! 1) Free guide: "Three Things You Can Do Right Now To Start Loving Your Work (And Life) Again.” Visit davidlevin.com to get yours today! 2) NOW AVAILABLE: Limited Edition Raise Your Inner Game Medallion. Carry it in your purse or pocket. It's an UP button for your Inner Elevator! Visit DavidLevin.com to learn more and order yours. (FREE shipping!) 3) Check out our podcast, The David Levin Show. https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-david-levin-show/id1401013964 WHAT I'M READING Finished: The Miracle Strip. Nancy Bartholomew. Fun book! Thriller. Main character is a stripper. Smart, funny, fresh. Makes me smile thinking about it. Paul Simon, the Life. Robert Hilburn. Not a fun read. :-) Fairly dry. Didn't love the writing. But I do love Paul Simon, big time. He's simply the best writer there is, in my opinion. And of course, there's a lot of pure talent that went into that. But it turns out there was more grit and persistence involved than I would have thought. Anyway, can't say I recommend it. But I sure enjoyed it. Current: Holy Ghost. John Sandford. Virgil Flowers is one of my all-time favorite characters. All these book are just a blast. Funny. Insightful. Honest. I love them. Highly recommended.

From the publisher: For more than fifty years, Paul Simon has spoken to us in songs about alienation, doubt, resilience, and empathy in ways that have established him as one of the most beloved artists in American pop music history. Songs like “The Sound of Silence,” “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” “Still Crazy After All These Years,” and “Graceland” have moved beyond the sales charts and into our cultural consciousness. But Simon is a deeply private person who has resisted speaking to us outside of his music. He has said he will not write an autobiography or memoir, and he has refused to talk to previous biographers. Finally, Simon has opened up—for more than one hundred hours of interviews—to Robert Hilburn, whose biography of Johnny Cash was named by Michiko Kakutani of the New York Times as one of her ten favorite books of 2013. The result is a landmark book that will take its place as the defining biography of one of America’s greatest artists. Over the past three years, Hilburn has conducted in-depth interviews with scores of Paul Simon’s friends, family, colleagues, and others—including ex-wives Carrie Fisher and Peggy Harper, who spoke for the first time—and even penetrated the inner circle of Simon’s long-reclusive muse, Kathy Chitty. The result is a deeply human account of the challenges and sacrifices of a life in music at the highest level. In the process, Hilburn documents Simon’s search for artistry and his constant struggle to protect that artistry against distractions—fame, marriage, divorce, drugs, record company interference, rejection, and insecurity—that have derailed so many great pop figures. Martin’s interview with Robert Hilburn was recorded on June 18, 2018.

For more than fifty years, Paul Simon has spoken to us in songs about alienation, doubt, resilience, and empathy in ways that have established him as one of the most beloved artists in American pop music history. Songs like “The Sound of Silence,” “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” “Still Crazy After All These Years,” and “Graceland” have moved beyond the sales charts and into our cultural consciousness. But Simon is a deeply private person who has resisted speaking to us outside of his music. He has said he will not write an autobiography or memoir, and he has refused to talk to previous biographers. Finally, Simon has opened up—for more than one hundred hours of interviews—to Robert Hilburn, whose biography of Johnny Cash was named by Michiko Kakutani of the New York Times as one of her ten favorite books of 2013. The result is a landmark book that will take its place as the defining biography of one of America’s greatest artists Join Shelley and Christian as they dive into this amazing book and make sure you listen to our companion show, 'Deeper Digs in Rock: Robert Hilburn on Paul Simon' where the former LA Times music critic shares some incredible tales. 'Paul Simon: The Life' was published by Simon & Schuster on May 8, 2018 Support the shows by wearing cool rock n roll gear from TeePublic: https://www.teepublic.com/stores/rocknroll  Disclaimer: The views expressed here by Shelley Sorenson are made in her capacity as a private citizen, and do not necessarily reflect the views of the San Francisco Public Library or the City of San Francisco. Call us at 650-822-ROCK or email at: info@rocknrollarchaeology.com

For more than fifty years, Paul Simon has spoken to us in songs about alienation, doubt, resilience, and empathy in ways that have established him as one of the most beloved artists in American pop music history. Songs like “The Sound of Silence,” “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” “Still Crazy After All These Years,” and “Graceland” have moved beyond the sales charts and into our cultural consciousness. But Simon is a deeply private person who has resisted speaking to us outside of his music. He has said he will not write an autobiography or memoir, and he has refused to talk to previous biographers. Finally, Simon has opened up—for more than one hundred hours of interviews—to Robert Hilburn, whose biography of Johnny Cash was named by Michiko Kakutani of the New York Times as one of her ten favorite books of 2013. The result is a landmark book that will take its place as the defining biography of one of America’s greatest artists Join Shelley and Christian as they dive into this amazing book and make sure you listen to our companion show, 'Deeper Digs in Rock: Robert Hilburn on Paul Simon' where the former LA Times music critic shares some incredible tales. 'Paul Simon: The Life' was published by Simon & Schuster on May 8, 2018 Disclaimer: The views expressed here by Shelley Sorenson are made in her capacity as a private citizen, and do not necessarily reflect the views of the San Francisco Public Library or the City of San Francisco.

From battles with Art Garfunkel to the Graceland controversies, Paul Simon's biographer, Robert Hilburn, takes host Brian Hiatt inside the surprisingly dramatic artistic journey of a great American singer/songwriter

Rock N roll Archaeologist Christian Swain sits down with Mr. Hilburn at Aftermaster Studios in Hollywood for a deep dig into his latest book, ‘Paul Simon: The Life’, as well as a few digressions into rock n roll music in general. It’s a roaring good time where Christian gets to meet one of his journalistic heroes and throws the tough questions to the grizzled reporter.

Rock N roll Archaeologist Christian Swain sits down with Mr. Hilburn at Aftermaster Studios in Hollywood for a deep dig into his latest book, ‘Paul Simon: The Life’, as well as a few digressions into rock n roll music in general. It’s a roaring good time where Christian gets to meet one of his journalistic heroes and throws the tough questions to the grizzled reporter.

This week's podcast features music journalist Robert Hilburn discussing his book, “Paul Simon - The Life” and a visit with Fenway Park organist Josh Kantor.    

Esteemed American music writer Robert Hilburn discusses time spent with Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, and his new, authorized biography, Paul Simon - The Life, which was published by Simon & Schuster in May 2018. Supported by Pizza Trokadero, the Bookshelf, Planet Bean Coffee, Grandad's Donuts, Humber College’s online Music Composition course, Hello Fresh, and Planet of Sound. 

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Daniel B. Clendenin. Essay: *Happy Holy Week: Palm Sunday or Passion Sunday* for Sunday, 13 April 2014; book review: *Johnny Cash: The Life* by Robert Hilburn (2013); film review: *The Past* (2013, Iran); poem review: *Crucifixion* by Anna Akhmatova.

Whenever we see or hear great art, we are usually inclined to wonder about the forces that created it.  What constitutes the artistic life?  What influences, combined with what DNA creates the perfect storm of artistic temperament, vision and creation?Long time music critic and editor for the LA Times, Robert Hilburn, has made trying to understand this, his life's work.  He has reported extensively about many of pop music’s legends, including Dylan, Springsteen, U2, Elton John and John Lennon.Now he turns to the life and legend of Johnny Cash.  Cash spent a good part of his career fighting both his own demons and walking the line between being a credible artists and trying do good in the world Hilburn capture his essence in Johnny Cash: The LifeMy conversation with Robert Hilburn:

John Wilson talks to the fashion designer Paul Smith, on the eve of a major exhibition of his work and influences at the Design Museum, London. Natalie Haynes reviews The Counsellor, a film about drug dealers on the US / Mexico border, starring Cameron Diaz, Michael Fassbender, Brad Pitt and Penelope Cruz, with an original screenplay by Cormac McCarthy. As the Royal Shakespeare Company's production of Richard II, starring David Tennant, is streamed live to cinemas across the UK tonight, Lorne Campbell, artistic director of Northern Stage in Newcastle and Tom Morris from Bristol Old Vic debate the effect that live screening has on regional theatre. Johnny Cash biographer Robert Hilburn was the only journalist to witness the Folsom Prison Concert in 1968. He talks to John Wilson about Cash's troubled life and career. Producer Timothy Prosser.