This American’s Idol

By John Wooley, Tulsa World, Okla.

Mar. 13–For all-time rock ‘n’ roll classics, make mine ‘Mendocino’ For 23 years, my job has involved talking to celebrities. And when people find that out, they sometimes ask if I’ve ever been intimidated. I used to say, “Yeah, once,” and then tell them about going to the set of a Tulsa-made movie called “Revenge” and coming face to face with Old Hollywood star John Carradine, then an octogenarian. The moment he opened his mouth, I was pitched back to 1959, when I’d heard that same Shakespearean baritone issue from the lips of his Count Dracula during a showing of “House of Dracula” on TV’s “Shock Theater.” A grown-up with a job to do, I reverted, at least internally, to my former 10-year-old monster-crazy kid self. It was weird. I never figured it could happen again. Thinking out of the Vox Maybe you don’t know who Augie Meyers is. But if you’re of a certain age and a certain mind-set, he’s a rock ‘n’ roll hero of the first magnitude. I’ve been an Augie fan since 1965, when a churning three-chord rocker called “She’s About a Mover” hit Top 40 radio. Sounding as though it had been recorded inside an industrial washing machine, it was propelled — I learned later — by the raggedy voice of lead singer Doug Sahm and the innovative Vox organ work of Meyers. The band was called the Sir Douglas Quintet, undoubtedly to try and cash in on rock’s British Invasion, whose second wave was just then crashing on our shores. In fact, however, the Quintet was from Texas, some of its members Mexican-American. Regardless of its geographic origins, though, the tune hit you like a fist to the solar plexus. A few years later, the Quintet charted again with “Mendocino,” featuring an organ lead by Meyers that’s not quite like anything heard before or since. It sounds so simple — until you try to play it. A keyboardist of extremely limited skills myself, I tried. For decades I tried, right on up into middle age, as I played in a series of garage-band groups. Thanks to one of my bandmates, Mitch Maurer, I even scored a vintage Vox organ like Augie’s. But that Meyers sound continued to elude me. Meanwhile, I kept on following his career, a true, full-blown fan. The Church sessions In 1981, Meyers came into Cain’s Ballroom with the Sir Douglas Quintet to play what is still one of the three or four best shows I’ve ever seen in my life. In full fan-boy mode, I met him briefly then. A few years later, after I’d landed my present job, I was thrilled when he sent me a handwritten letter following my review of one of his solo discs. Then, last week, Augie Meyers came back to town. This time, he was by himself. The Red Dirt Rangers, whose regard for Meyers is as profound as mine, hired him to play on their new disc. They were recording it with Steve Ripley at Church Studio, and they not only asked me to come over, but asked if he could play my old Vox on the sessions. I make my living with words, but I don’t have the words to describe that visit. It was a joy, but that doesn’t begin to cover it. Meyers was full of funny stories about the old hippie days (“My wife and I would go to restaurants back then, but they wouldn’t let us in because my hair was too long and her dress was too short”), obscure bands he had been in (Lord August and the Visions of Lite, Closed on Mondays), and people getting song titles wrong, like the guy who kept asking for “Herbie the Mexican Lion,” which was actually “Who’ll Be the Next in Line.” He talked about his old amigo Sahm, who once drove from Austin to San Antonio to have a car dealership remove a couple of dollops of bird manure from his new Cadillac. And he played Vox organ like it was 1969. The heart of a cynic He also showed me how to play that elusive lead from “Mendocino,” inverting the chord and adding a 10th note. Watching his right hand on the keys of my own Vox organ, I finally saw the light. In this business, we insulate ourselves with cynicism. We gird ourselves in psychological armor to try and keep from looking goofy or vulnerable, to attempt to avoid having our souls bruised when the people we love, whether they’re stars or just plain folks like us, don’t live up to our expectations. But sometimes, you’ve got to let it drop. The armor has to fall, and you have to open yourself up to the possibility of seeing something with your 1959 eyes, or hearing it with your 1969 ears. Yeah, sometimes you’re burned. But sometimes, you’re blessed.

Related Photos & Graphics Tulsa World music writer John Wooley listens to keyboard legend Augie Meyers play his Vox Jaguar at the Church Studio.KELLY KERR / Tulsa World View in Print (PDF) Format Copyright © 2006, World Publishing Co. All rights reserved.

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Copyright (c) 2006, Tulsa World, Okla.

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