WASHINGTON, DC, the White House—February 21, 2012—
12
B.B. asked me if I remembered Shinny Walker.
Of course I remembered Shinny. With the outline of his gun showing through his topcoat, he was the quintessential Beale Street music manager, sending young bluesmen into clubs or studios and onto buses for tours. Memphis musicians had to go through him to have a career during that era.
Then he asked me if I remembered Tuff Green. I played my first gigs on piano in Tuff’s band, and B.B. made his first demo at Tuff’s home studio.
He wanted to know if I remembered George Coleman and Phineas Newborn. “I was Phineas’s paperboy, B.B. His house was the first on my route, and I was always late throwing my papers on days he was practicing.”
“How about Ben Branch and Earl Forrest? Remember them?”
“I sure do.”
“How’s Floyd?”
“Which Floyd? Floyd Newman or Floyd Golden?”
“Floyd Golden. Him and Gwen, how are they doing?”
“They’re fine, B.B. Thanks for asking.”
Floyd Newman was a baritone sax player at the Flamingo in Memphis who was in B.B.’s band from time to time. Floyd Golden was my brother-in-law. He and B.B. were classmates at Manassas High School in Memphis.
The conversation was taking place on a makeshift stage in the East Room of the White House. B.B. was positioned across the stage from me, so it was an awkward interruption of the rehearsal for me to linger there talking to him about old times. In addition, his mike was live, so every word of our conversation was heard around the room.
Directly, I went back to my place at the Hammond B-3 across the stage. I was music director and band leader for In Performance at the White House: Red, White and Blues, a PBS special. The show was created to celebrate Black History Month and was hosted by Taraji P. Henson.
Besides B.B. King, featured performers included Jeff Beck, Gary Clark Jr., Shemekia Copeland, Buddy Guy, Trombone Shorty, Warren Haynes, Mick Jagger, Keb Mo, Susan Tedeschi, and Derek Trucks.
B.B. played the opening notes to “The Thrill Is Gone.” Soon after, a man in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves slipped in a side door and stood in back.
It was the president. Barack Obama.
This was music that came from the Mississippi Delta and that birthed rock and roll. That it was being played in the East Room under portraits of Thomas Jefferson wasn’t lost on anyone. The political implications were huge, and that essence filled the air. It would be a historic concert.
President Obama told me he’d like to enter the room to “Green Onions” instead of “Hail to the Chief.” At the concert, I hit the “Green Onions” funky organ intro when he and the first lady appeared at the back of the room. They walked to the stage to the music shifting and bouncing like they might break out dancing. The first couple walked onstage dignity intact, but not before I got a little tradition-breaking wink and smile before he took the podium.
SAN FRANCISCO, Private Fund-Raiser—Spring 2012—3
My wife, Nan, a coach’s daughter, is competitive. Some of President Obama’s reelection team members told her the president’s enthusiasm was waning. Probably due to the fact he had slipped a few points against challenger Mitt Romney. Nan was disturbed. She saw her opportunity at an election fund-raiser in San Francisco when she and I had a private photo with the president.
The occasion was at the expansive home of Robert Mailer Anderson and Nicola Miner, daughter of the late Robert Miner, founder of Oracle. I had been asked to provide music, along with Les Claypool and Charlie Musselwhite, for the $38,500-per-plate dinner.
Nan told the president of the United States, “Next November, you’re going to kick butt.”
Big grin from Mr. Obama, and he replied, “With your help.” She was embarrassed after the fact when she realized what she had said.
I appreciated his warmth and relaxed demeanor. During the twenty-minute talk, a man of quick wit and human caring who was unafraid to speak to the very powerful on behalf of the less fortunate was revealed to me. I became respectful of his courage and humanity and his regard for generations to follow. The president underscored values that were close to my heart, and I was proud that our country elected a person willing to represent all of us, regardless of skin color or differences of beliefs and origins.
Clearly, a black man at his core, born of a white mother, Barack Obama identified himself as a humanitarian and a fighter, defiantly optimistic about uplifting this and future generations.
WASHINGTON, DC, the White House—April 9, 2013—9
I returned to the White House after President Obama’s reelection as music director and band leader for another PBS special, In Performance at the White House: Memphis Soul. Al Green, Ben Harper, Queen Latifah, Cyndi Lauper, Joshua Ledet, Sam Moore, Charlie Musselwhite, Mavis Staples, and Justin Timberlake were all on the show. I told the producer that President Barack Obama would prefer “Green Onions” for his entrance song instead of “Hail to the Chief.” The producer was highly skeptical until the White House staff returned the answer—Yes, the president would like “Green Onions.”
President Obama made the mistake of singing a few bars of “Let’s Stay Together,” revealing a smooth singing voice and sounding almost as good as Al Green. It’s just from that point on, he was asked to sing anytime he stepped on the same stage as an R & B band.
Before the show, during the photo op in the reception room, the president included me, Nan, our three children—Olivia, Cicely, and Teddy—and Nan’s twin sister, Janine, and her husband, David. Walking in, President Barack Obama pointed a finger at Nan and said, “I did what you said!” All smiles.
At the photo op, the first lady (a Princeton graduate) had a long conversation with Cicely about Princeton. Michelle broke the line to run after Cicely to wish her good luck. C. C. said to her mom, “Is this really happening?”
ATHENS, GA—2009—1
Andy Kaulkin took us all over LA, driving aimlessly to listen to music in his car. It was an old Chevy that he should have traded in years ago. I never said anything because he truly loved driving that old car. A music aficionado, Andy played me all kinds of music, and we had vibrant discussions, becoming friends in the process. After a few of these sessions, he played something by the Drive-By Truckers, an awesome southern rock band. Something went off in my brain. Every new song I had written started with a guitar. Drive-By Truckers had three guitars.
In Austin, at South by Southwest, I jammed down on Sixth Street with Jason Isbell, and he also said something to me about the band. Shortly, I found myself in Athens, Georgia, at the Truckers’ studio, eating homemade pies and other dishes the band’s families brought to the studio. Patterson Hood told me I had been a household name in their family, that his dad, David, played our music all the time. “What? Your dad is David Hood?” People had mistaken David’s bass lines for Duck Dunn bass lines more than once, especially the one on the Staple Singers’ “I’ll Take You There.”
I signed with Andy’s Anti-Records and prepared to record with the Drive-By Truckers. It took a while for us to find our groove. Then they gave themselves musically over to me. My melodies and my guitar parts came to life in their heads and their hands, and we became a musical family.
The result was Potato Hole, an instrumental rock album featuring heavy guitars and B-3 organ. My stepson Michael had turned me on to “the golden ratio,” and I experimented with that form on the title track, “Potato Hole.”
Booker T. Washington’s “Up from Slavery” was the inspiration behind the music and the title. A potato hole was a hollow cavity concealed in the dirt floor of their quarters where slaves stowed food from unkind, parsimonious owners. Potatoes were the most common food hidden there. The song juxtaposes an eight-bar phrase against a thirteen-bar phrase—a perfect golden mean.
Anti-Records president Andy Kaulkin was hands-on during the final mixing in Los Angeles. It was my first album in a very long time, and come award season it won for Best Instrumental Album. Not bad.
The Grammy Award from the Recording Academy is the most prestigious music award in the world.
During the lead-up to the announcement, I tried to stay still in my chair. I really did want to win.
In the final moments, another category was added that wasn’t listed, so I looked down at my program. I lost my place. I heard my name, and my wife screamed. I said to myself, “Just get up the steps to the stage.” A lot of time went by, it seemed. I kissed my wife and turned as the award music played. Jimmy Jam, the face of the academy, handed me the Grammy and said, “Knock ’em dead.” I had written down eleven names on a three-by-five index card but couldn’t get it out of my tux coat pocket. I fumbled a little more, then muttered heartfelt thanks to my wife, my producer, and a few others, then they played the get-off-the-stage music, and I was behind the curtain, holding a Grammy. People were smiling, standing off, looking at me.
“What just happened?”
NEW YORK—2011—3
In the studio, Lou Reed and Biz Markie were different as night and day. “Is there anyone in this whole f—ing building who knows the lyrics to this song?” Lou barked at me from the other side of the glass. For me it was an exercise in poise, patience, and tolerance. On the other hand, Biz came in with a huge entourage, a big smile on his face, laughing loud at everything, and in the best mood.
Up until the time I got to SFO, Andy Kaulkin was undecided about whether he wanted vocals on my next album. That is until the day of my departure to New York for the recording, when he thought vocals would be cool. I called my songwriter daughter, Olivia, from the airport and laid out my thoughts and the direction the four songs should take.
By the time I landed at JFK, she had words for my idea for “The Bronx” and had written lyrics to four songs. I called Lou from the hotel that night, read the words to him, and he said, “I’ll be there.”
Recording would begin in NYC at MSR Studios with the Roots and Questlove. Questlove, my coproducer, had a commitment to The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon and let nothing interfere with that. Sometimes he showed up as late as 4:00 p.m. for my recording sessions.
When it comes to making music, I’m more like a weed than a flower. It takes more than a late drummer to discourage me. Plus, Jimmy Fallon’s a great music supporter and a great guy. I just had to have his drummer is all.
Questlove’s steady drumming is inimitable and unmistakable. Captain Kirk Douglas (guitar) and Owen Biddle (bass) were both gale forces. Gabe Roth of the Dap-Kings was very smooth in the control room. Thanks to him, the record came out sounding great. The other New York guests were Matt Berninger and Sharon Jones. Matt and I established a lasting friendship, partly because, like me, he let Sharon tell him everything to sing and do in the studio. Sharon was the Otis Redding type. A force of artistry not to be denied.
Back in LA, Rob Schnapf and Andy Kaulkin put their hearts into the mix. Motown’s Dennis Coffey lent his unmistakably soulful guitar. Yim Yames phoned in the album’s most positive track, “Progress.” The jewel of the week was Lauren Hill’s “Everything Is Everything.” Timelessness is embedded into her music. I wrote the autobiographical “Representin’ Memphis” with Olivia. The album, The Road from Memphis, also won a Grammy for Best Instrumental Album!
Mojo magazine placed it at number forty-two on its Best Albums of 2011.
LOS ANGELES—2013—12
In 2013, I returned to the Stax label. John Burk, the main instigator, had been wining and dining me at a famous Beverly Hills restaurant, often inviting my friend Bill Withers.
It was a reissue-based company, but the essence of the original Stax Records remained, even with the completely different location, staff, and management. The family atmosphere of the 1960s prevailed and transferred to the Beverly Hills office. When I walked in, people stopped their work and applauded, making me stop dead in my tracks and absorb the welcome.
I reached out to some of my favorite artists to play on this album, including Gary Clark Jr., Anthony Hamilton, Mayer Hawthorne, Luke James, Estelle, Sheila E., Poncho Sanchez, Kori Withers, Vintage Trouble, and my own son, Ted Jones. Olivia Jones, my daughter and manager, was superb at negotiating the guest artists’ contributions.
A special moment happened when Ted and I played a song together, “Father-Son Blues.” We Joneses have a family affair happening: Booker as the lead artist, Ted full-time guitar player, Olivia as manager, Nan as tour manager, and Cicely as social media director. Somehow, we all get along.
TOKYO, JAPAN—2012—6
On May 13, 2012, my good friend bass player Donald “Duck” Dunn passed away in Tokyo. He was in the company of Eddie Floyd and Steve Cropper. Luckily my daughter Cicely called me before I saw it splashed all over the news. Steve said he died in his sleep.
I am struck deeply by Duck’s death. I had played many times with Duck at the Blue Note in Tokyo and witnessed how hard it was for Duck to do two shows a night. God is calling names in the music world. I can’t imagine not being able to hear Duck laugh and curse.
“Got daaamn!” he would bark ten times a day, and cackle.
Everyone loved him. His intensity both on the bass and in life was incomparable. No one could ever replace him musically, replicate his sense of humor, fill his bass boots, or say “Got damn!” like he did.
LAKE TAHOE—2014—6
In West Hollywood, Nan said, “I’m just not happy here, Booker.”
“Never mind, honey; I know just the place.”
I took my mountain girl back to the mountains. We took the first house we saw in the Lake Tahoe area.
We had been in Tahoe less than a year when I got the worst call of my life.
Tragically, in 2014, my firstborn—Booker T. III—died suddenly of a heart attack. There was no warning, and I was left with no way to say goodbye, tell him I loved him one more time, or show my love. I was left with my memories and a big, empty space inside and outside.
My stepson Matthew gave me a wooden box with a hidden compartment. Inside I found his letter to me.
Letter to Booker
You are the best step dad
In the history of the universe
I love you
Thank you for always
being kind
to me and to my mother
I helped bury T
That was hard for me
Thank you for that honor
It is way harder for you than me
I miss my grandma
Thank you for all of your wisdom
I think at 38 I’ll start
flossing regularly because of you.
Love,
Matthew
A few months later, Prince died. I picked up the phone to call T. Then I remembered. Somehow, I had forgotten my son was dead. I couldn’t just call him up. After all, my son T was working for Prince. He was Prince’s main engineer.
There’s a deep connection between parents who’ve lost children. It goes beyond words, something felt deep in your bones and heard in your voice. You may hear each other’s screams even though no one is making an outward sound. You hold on tight to each other so neither of you fall. I held on tight to my brother-in-law Blane at his son Andrew’s memorial service, and Blane looked at me. “Now I know how you feel.”
Willie Nelson called to offer his condolences—he lost his son Billy fifteen years before.
After five years at the lake—several with record snowfall—Nan and I moved down the hill. Still close to Lake Tahoe but a lower elevation. Now we are able to make our frequent flights out of Reno, avoiding the treacherous Mt. Rose snow-covered pass in the winter.
LOS ANGELES—2019—8
I have at last reached the point in my career where audiences demand my early work. Each show must include “Green Onions” and a couple of others from that era. Thankfully, I have a substantial repertoire, and I can always vary my set list.
For my part, playing live, particularly now with my son Ted, carries that thrilling sensation like it did when I first started in front of audiences in junior high. I never lost the feeling that it was a privilege to have people listen. Our audiences are so kind to me and always ask me to return. Some of my shows now feature the Stax Revue, and that’s a treat with a ten-piece ensemble parading through the Stax catalog—Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, Wilson Pickett, Carla Thomas, Jean Knight, William Bell, Albert King, and, of course, Booker T. & the MGs.
The quartet I play with is fresh, experimental, and tight. Ted helps direct me to new gear, advances the shows, gets the stage ready, and gives support during the show. He’s also my musical director, my guitar player, and my son. I could not have hoped for a more ideal situation.
Ted and I are working on a new joint project. I love hearing his perspective, his youthful angle. I get to touch and create music with the next generation.
I am eternally thankful.
Thank you. All of you.
LOS ANGELES—2019—2
Good fortune continues to follow me with the new production of the National’s Matt Berninger’s debut solo album Serpentine Fire. He came to me wanting the magic I applied to Willie Nelson’s Stardust album. There was an abundance of magic on the Serpentine project. Benefiting from the huge amount of work and effort put into the songwriting by multiple pairs of Matt’s cohorts, the project is brimming with creative melodies and lyrical nuance.
Just before embarking on Matt’s project, a bright shining light appeared and opened my heart. His name is Elliott Long, child of stepson Brian and his wife, Megan—an awesome, perfect grandson.
At three years old, he’s already on the move and talks more than many adults.
Michael, another of my stepsons, with his wife, Elisabeth, gave birth to a bright, redheaded fireball named Elena. She has so many facial expressions that she might become an actress. She’s my little granddaughter/starlet.
Olivia, my daughter, and her husband, Deshalen, are the proud parents of my most recent grandson, Dylan. “He’s so curious,” my daughter says and laughs. “He gets it from his father,” she says, because her husband is also curious. Dylan is a heartbreaker with big dimples and a huge smile.
All my children who have become parents provide loving, day-to-day attention and care to the young ones, which is something the world needs. These next generations of people are going to be the ones that protect, defend, and enrich the future of humankind.