On The Wild Side Of Life
Minute-With Mister Jerry Jeff Walker’s Music In Mind
CD Review
By Zack
James
Great Gonzos, Mister Jerry
Jeff Walker,
The 1980s, the early 1980s,
were a tough time to try and weather the financial doldrums of the alternative newspaper
industry (much like today, in 2016, the whole print press and journal industry
is going down with the ship in the digital age). That was the age of Ronald
Reagan, a time when the nighty-takers took their revenge in big gobs, those who
almost got kicked in the ass for good back in the 1960s except we forget the
first rule of a power struggle whether down on the corner boy block or in order
to take state power-if you are going to take on the big guys you had better be
ready to go all the way down and dirty or just back off.
As if to put paid to that
“victory” those who would in earlier times come through and supported such
ventures as truth-teller alternative media took a dive, waved the white flag
and fell into line (a straight and narrow line that even the latest polls have
shown they never have backed away, have passed on that keeping their heads down
to their kids, hell, their grandkids, Jesus) the money dried up and the
publication that Seth Garth had been the film critic for in good times and bad
for over a decade The Eye had put him on short rations, had
almost reduced him to the free-lancer status he had started out in the business
doing. To alleviate their dilemma, maybe to draw one last breathe would have
been a better way to put it Benny Gold the long time editor had begged Seth to
take a long swig at the then emerging outlaw country music scene that was
starting to bust out of Nashville, started getting up a head of steam in Texas,
Austin, really and places like Colorado, Iowa and the like.
Seth Garth, for those who
didn’t remember the name from when what he had to say about some song, album
(tapes in those days really), or a performer carried weight via the
distribution of The Eye on the coasts and with some
strongholds in the center of the country too or were too young to know who he
was could give, to use and expression from his corner boy days which he had
never given up, a rat’s ass about country music, the Nashville Grand Ole Opry
stuff. Held his nose whenever anybody mentioned that George Jones had not shown
up at a concert for the millionth time or that Loretta Lynn had the vapor and
was a “no show” at one of her performances. Yeah could give a rat’s ass no
question. Moreover having just started the process of divorcing his third wife
(three wives and a brood of kids, all young) he was in a sullen funk about
starting all over like some rookie chasing ambulances and cop cars for a
fucking story. Was trying, seriously trying, to decide whether he might link up
with his old corner boy Johnny Blade who was now out of stir after doing a
nickel for his last armed robbery and start pulling a few quick haul bank
robberies. That larcenous heart of his that he had held in check for a number
of years now was being to come to the fore. He after all was the guy back in
the day who had perfected the “clip,” had designed the neighborhood midnight
creep in Mayfair swell houses that kept the boys in clover through high school.
In the end though, at least
for the public prints, Seth decided that he would give the outlaw country scene
a quick run through to see if circulation would rise and The Eye would stop
bleeding away financially. So he held his nose and headed to Austin (he refused
to go to Nashville where some of the guys he was supposed to check out still
had connections enough to draw work if the “outlaw” thing was running a little
to the lean side. He first ran into a guy named Townes Van Zandt who was a true
outlaw, could have given a fuck about Nashville just wanted to write his
lyrics, drown his sorrows in liquor and chase young honeys, the younger the
better. But Townes with his downer lyrics, his lusts and his short-handed way
of taking when he was not singing was not going to help himself out of his
miseries never mind a left-leaning newspaper in need of a big circulation
jump.
So he pushed on, had a nice
interview with Willie Nelson but the guy was almost too big by then, hell, he
was playing Northern venues to sell-out crowds, radio stations were ready to
switch formats if they could get a hook from him. Same with Kris Kristofferson
who was getting acting jobs as well as drinking the state of California dry.
Then Big Bill Bloom who had made a career out of big bang folk lyrics that
everybody in the 1960s was chewing on (or chewing on partially because while
everybody knew maybe three verses of his stuff they could not go the distance
on the whole song, half the time Seth couldn’t) called Seth to tell him that he
had heard that The Eye was on the ropes (The Eye always gave Big Bill great
build-up reviews although a couple of times Seth had nixed his work but Benny
had nixed his nix) and that he was working the outlaw country racket. Did Seth
know about a guy, Jerry Jeff Walker, who just then was out of jail but who was
a great performer, wrote great lyrics and had a pal, a guy named Guy Clark, who
wrote stuff for
him?
Seth told Big Bill that he
had never heard of the guy, was moreover worried about that “just out of jail”
bit even if he was an outlaw but when Big Bill said he could make the
connections Seth in desperation said he would go for it. And strangely enough
they connected, connected when Seth was able to see that Jerry Jeff was just
another larcenous corner boy except down Texas way and out West they called them
good old boys. Seth was the guy who gave Jerry Jeff’s first concert out of jail
a big play. Got him a connection to a big record producer and even got him his
first gig north of the Mason-Dixon line. Got him into Harvard Square for crying
out loud. The crowd almost all old folkies and raw college kids with dates went
crazy for a real outlaw country singer. For a while, maybe a year, The Eye got
by but the Reagan era was in deep throttle and once Jerry Jeff became old news
everybody went back to keeping their heads down. And Seth became once again a
freaking free-lancer with no place to go but
down.
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