Everybody knows what rockabilly looks like. Die-hard fans have arguably more reverence for the traditional visual and cultural trappings of their scene than those of just about any other genre. Every style of music from hip-hop to death metal comes with its own obvious fashion cues, and millions of listeners take the hint. But a girl wearing a terry workout suit isn't necessarily a Missy Elliott devotee, and a dude with long hair and tight black Levis isn't assumed to own the entire Obituary back catalog.On the other hand, that guy over there with the perfectly pomaded pompadour, the one wearing the utterly wrinkle-free bowling shirt over a wife-beater and smoking a Lucky Strike — that guy can probably tell you as much about Link Wray and Gene Vincent as he can about The Reverend Horton Heat, which is undoubtedly a shitload.
There's just something about rockabilly, and its numerous offshoots and subgenres, that hangs on admirably to the old-school idea of doing a night out up right, of making an event of it.
The bands are more than happy to do their part. Some are more image-oriented than others, but nearly all of them hold to the idea of offering something bigger than life, something more than a bunch of men on a stage playing songs. Vincent, an ex-sailor with a bum leg, reinvented himself as a dynamic, sexy bad boy. Jim Heath steps onstage to become the fiery, liquor-fueled, wittily lewd ringmaster Reverend Horton Heat.
California songwriter and bandleader Robert Williams is one of the least image-conscious artists to build a 15-year career in the scene. But even he gets into the act, in the name of preserving rockabilly tradition; in concert, he's Big Sandy, and he and His Fly-Rite Boys play some of the most rollicking, eclectic western roadhouse swing to have come out of neither Texas nor the '50s.
"I used to wear an old mechanic's jacket with a name patch on it that said 'Sandy,' and our bass player suggested that we use that," says Williams of his pseudonym's origins. "My uncle Santiago gave it to me — when he was a teenager, it was the jacket he used to wear on his first job. His name was too long to fit on the nametag, so they were going to shorten it to 'Santy,' and it came back from the manufacturer misspelled."
While mechanics' jackets and band names that spotlight frontmen are both classic rockabilly staples, Big Sandy & His Fly-Rite Boys have always offered something more than thumping stand-up bass and reverbed-out hollow-body guitar. They've spent more than a decade augmenting primal, danceable rock 'n' roll and stripped-back, twangy swing with elements of Latin, surf, soul and doo-wop styles. Each of the band's seven full-lengths orbits old-school rockabilly at a different distance, from 1994's fairly straightforward and comfortably retro Jumping from 6 to 6 to last year's roots-rock- and vocal-group-heavy It's Time!
Live, the band effortlessly re-creates the raucous dancehall vibe of generations past, a fun, nervy excitement that balances a sweaty, sexual coming-of-age with a smooth, classy demeanor. There's something for bar-hugging fashion-plate hipsters and swing-addict dancers alike, though if the band has any particular mission statement, it's probably about getting the hipsters off the bar and onto the dancefloor.
"That's a big part of our live experience. Those are my favorite nights, when people are moving around," affirms Williams. "Sometimes we'll play venues where they cater to more singer-songwriter stuff, you know, the kind of places where it's more of a folky environment. That can be great, but to me it's a little disconcerting; I like to see movement in the audience. Even if they can't dance, they can just jump around, do something."
Which isn't to say that fans of more contemporary or punky rockabilly sounds aren't welcome, or that they won't find something to like.
"We get a good mix of people at our shows. Some people happen to be into it just because it's the cool thing to do, and we get some folks who were lucky enough to have caught some of this music the first time around, older people," Williams says. "We've played quite a few festivals over the years that introduced us to a wide audience. I like when there's a healthy mix, a good balance."
Given the genre's current and widespread punk-rock associations, there are some artists holding true to earlier sounds who would rather not be called rockabilly. Williams admits that there were stretches earlier on when being tied to the term irked him, but says the band long ago outgrew such worries. After all, it would be hard for a group that was years ago inducted into the Rockabilly Hall of Fame (yep, there is such a thing) to ever jettison the tag.
But more than that, Williams is willing to give fans old and new the benefit of the doubt, with regard to recognizing what that tag may or may not really mean. "You have to call it something, and I don't really have a better phrase myself," he says with a laugh. "I guess I've come to terms with it, you know? It used to describe a specific style of music, but I think the term has broadened. People know that it encompasses a few different styles. And rock 'n' roll was formed out of those styles. With us, those roots are just showing a little more."
scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com
This article appears in Nov 3-9, 2004.