This was 1969. When next Elvis returned to Vegas, he would have a fancier set and snazzier outfits for his band. Also, Ronnie Tutt had more drums. Like, a lot more drums.
See? More drums.
(Ronnie Tutt needed every single one of those tom-toms, though, because Ronnie Tutt’s job wasn’t playing drums; Ronnie Tutt’s job was helping Elvis be awesome, and so when the King demonstrated karate, Ronnie Tutt made it sound like Thor was taking a shit. Rock Nerds will note that “accenting the singer’s dance moves” was also a requisite for James Brown’s drummers, but they should further note that James Brown had, like, four drummers onstage at a time. Ronnie Tutt had to play Hound Dog way too fast AND underscore Elvis’ spin-kicks.)
(At no point did Elvis consider a multiple-drummer set-up.
“THASS SOME COMMIE BULLSHIT, MAN. GOOD LORD WANTED US T’ HAVE TWO DRUMMERS, HE WOULD’A MADE THE STAGE WIDER.”
How did you get inside a parenthetical?
“GOD MADE ADAM AN’ EVE, NOT TWO DRUMMERS AT ONCE.”
We get it.
“AH DIDN’ EVEN HAVE ONE DRUMMER WHEN AH STARTED OUT, AN’ AH DID JUS’ FINE!”
Sure, but that was a different type of music, King.
“AN’ AH HAD NOT YET MASTERED KARATE!”
True.
“LISSEN, BOY. ONLY TWO REASONS YOU GOT MORE’N ONE DRUMMER IN YER BAND. EITHER YER A COMMUNIST, AN’ Y’THINK EVERYONE WHO WANTS A JOB IN TH’ BAND SHOULD GET ONE, OR YER ONE O’ THEM IN’ELLECTUAL TYPES THAT THINKS MUSIC SHOULDN’T SOUND GOOD.”
I agree with the second part, but don’t really understand the first one.
“ONE DRUMMER!”
Okay, okay. How many backup singers?
“SHITLOAD, MAN. THINK OF A BIG NUMBER, THEN DOUBLE THAT SUMBITCH.”
This was 9/15/76, and the Duchess was a real boat, not some poorly-named North Shore bar. The New York branch of the Hells Angels–friends of the Dead since the ’72 Academy of Music benefit–threw a party in a location they knew could not be raided by the cops. It wasn’t a dinghy, either. Check this fucker out:
Did you check that fucker out? (The Duchess used to be called the Bay Belle. Ships can change names. For example, in the 60’s the SS Lew Alcindor changed its name to the SS Mohammad Ali.) A boat’s officially big when it’s required to have other, smaller boats hanging off the sides. (One day, Carnival Cruises will build a ship so large that its lifeboats are so big that they themselves need lifeboats.) They didn’t go much of anywhere–just circled Manhattan a couple times–but Jerry Band played, so it was probably worth putting on your floaties. (This was the version of Jerry Band with John Kahn in it, just in case you’re a stats nerd.) But why listen to me? Read about the show from someone who was there.
Like so many other things, this was John Kahn’s fault. You will recall that in October of ’74, the Grateful Dead pulled the ol’ “fake retirement” trick–one of the hoariest gimmicks in show biz–and now Garcia had no touring money coming in. This is suboptimal for a man with three children and a mortgage, and so Garcia ramped up the Jerry Band. Whereas before, he stuck mostly to the Bay Area and played with locals, now he would take to the road and get some of that sweet, sweet East Coast cash. Those coffers ain’t gonna replenish themselves.
First, he put together the Legion of Mary–his best solo band, hands down–which was Kahn on bass (of course), Merl Saunders on organ and terrible vocals, Martin Fierro on out-of-tune saxophone, and the Greatest Drummer of All Time™ Ronnie Tutt. Sadly, this combo proved short-lived; Garcia fired Saunders and Fierro (not personally, of course; he let Parish make the calls) and added legendary British pianist Nicky Hopkins. Those big, brutish block chords in Sympathy for the Devil? That was Nicky.
But Nicky wasn’t a road dog like Garcia was: he was unhealthy since he was a kid, and he drank too damn much. He was a chatty drunk, too, and would introduce songs for ten minutes. Plus, according to Ronnie Tutt, he had bad time. (What Ronnie Tutt thought of Garcia’s time, he has kept to himself all these years.) A new keyboardist was needed. Someone reliable, professional, a real team player.
James Booker’s tenure with the Jerry Band lasted a weekend, which makes him the Anthony Scaramucci of the JGB. Quite frankly, I can’t believe Garcia kept him on for the second night. Go listen to the show. Booker overpowers Garcia, and Kahn, with the deluge of music coming from his piano and, even more hilariously, refuses to listen to Garcia in the slightest. Booker cuts off his solos, goes into verses when Garcia starts singing the chorus, and at least once takes over the lead vocal halfway through the song. Also: the tunes end when James Booker says they end, and that’s it. (Every song. Every single song ends with Garcia trying to finish up the song but Booker keeps playing, or he’ll just ripcord out of the song while Garcia is soloing away merrily in the background.)
Was he amused? Pissed? I bet Garcia was pissed. I’ll bet his eyes got darker and darker throughout the evening, and that he made fun of Kahn for the suggestion for years afterwards.
Anyway, this is the 1/9/76 show. There was a second show the following night, and then James Booker was bundled back onto a plane bound for New Orleans. Garcia called up Keith and Mrs. Donna Jean and never hired any geniuses ever again.
See that guy behind Fancy Spanglestein? That, Enthusiasts, is Ronnie Tutt; he is a motherfucker. Do not bring your mother around Ronnie Tutt, unless you want her to be fucked. Ronnie Tutt was born in Dallas, Texas, and he might be one of the great American drummers. Ronnie played in Garcia’s best solo band, the short-lived Legion of Mary, and his second-best band, the one with Nicky Hopkins.
Ronnie Tutt also played sessions. You are intimately familiar with him even if this is the first time you’ve heard his name. Piano Man. You’ve heard it once or twice? Ronnie Tutt. He also played for the Carpenters, which breaks my heart because I thought Karen did the drumming. You lied to me, Carpenters. (Although that does make the story about John Bonham flying into a rage when she beat him in some “Best Drummer” poll even funnier.)
And he drummed for Elvis. Ronnie Tutt was in the King’s vast Vegas band from the first show in ’69 to the last tour in ’77, and Elvis keyed in on him throughout the show, and Ronnie Tutt watches Elvis right back so that when the King demonstrates karate, he has a proper soundtrack.
Here, watch:
When Elvis died, Ronnie Tutt went to work for Neil Diamond and hasn’t left since; from interviews with him, the job seems like a good fit. Ronnie Tutt appreciates professionalism, and one gets a sense that he was completely sick of Garcia’s hippie bullshit within weeks of forming the LoM. (When Ronnie Tutt asked John Kahn when band practice was, John Kahn responded with, “Practice? We’re talking about practice? Not a show. Not a show, but practice?) Neil also lets him sing, which Ronnie Tutt loves to do.
“WE TALKIN’ ‘BOUT HARD-WORKIN’ RONNIE TUTT?”
Oh, good. You’re back.
“AH AM WELCOMED EV’RYWHERE, AN’ SOMETIMES PEOPLE GIMME STUFF.”
Great.
“RONNIE TUTT WAS TH’ MOST POWERFULLEST DRUMMER EVER DONE COME OUTTA TEXAS. HE SOUNDED LIKE A FREIGHT TRAIN WITH A BONER, BOY.”
Lovely simile.
“AH WOULD OFTEN HAVE HIM SET UP HIS DRUMS IN MAH BOO-DWAH AT GRACELAND.”
Why?
“SO HE COULD MUSICALLY ACCOMPANY MAH LOVEMAKIN’. MADE IT SOUND REAL DRAMATIC. LIKE AH WAS SOME SORTA SEX DINOSAUR.”
You just popping in or are you back for a while?
“TH’ FUTURE GONNA DO WHAT TH’ FUTURE GONNA DO.”
True. Elvis, did Ronnie Tutt ever sing backup for you?
“SINGIN’ DRUMMERS? AIN’T GONNA BE NO SINGIN’ DRUMMERS AT TH’ KING’S SHOW, BOY. THERE’S TWO DOZEN SINGERS IN TH’ BAND ALREADY.”
You may, Enthusiasts, have noticed that TotD has been on a bit of an Elvis bender. I found this nifty YouTube-to-MP3 gadget, and there’s tons of live shows available; some soundboards, but also some great-sounding AUDs and they might honestly be better, as you hear the crowd’s reaction. Elvis told a lot of jokes, so the SBD’s sound like those sitcoms with the laugh tracks removed.
This show’s from ’74 at the International in Vegas. The Dead had the Wall of Sound in 1974; Elvis had a Wall of Musicians: a six-piece rock group, plus TWO sets of backup singers (white boys and black girls), and a lady named Kathy Westmoreland whose job was to sing the high notes, plus a 30-piece (honest) orchestra.
And, of course, Charlie Hodge on scarves and water.
The band is–as I’m sure you’ve grown tired of me telling you–one of the greatest show bands in history: powerful and tight and dramatic and anchored by the great Ronnie Tutt, who would join Garcia’s Legion of Mary a few months after this show. The music is perfect, and Elvis is in good voice; he does some tunes he always did–the sublimely goofy American Trilogy and the genuinely affecting You Gave Me A Mountain–and some lesser known songs like If You Talk In Your Sleep.
But this show is not about the songs. This performance–Elvis’ last of that particular engagement–is about so much more. Allow me, if you will, to slip into some more comfortable bullet points:
(EDITOR’S NOTE: I SWEAR I AM NOT MAKING THE FOLLOWING UP. IF YOU DOUBT ME, THEN PLEASE LISTEN TO THE SHOW AND CALL ME A LIAR IN THE COMMENT SECTION.)
Elvis demands Charlie Hodge remove his belt for him.
Several book reviews.
He liked one book that wrote about him positively, and praised the author for being honest.
He did not like a different book which wrote mean things about him, and scolded the author for printing lies.
Elvis sounds like a guy I know.
An explanation of the belt system in karate.
A refutation of rumors about his recent divorce, leading to the introduction of Priscilla, who is in the crowd.
She is sitting with Lisa Marie, who is presented to the audience.
Also at the table is Elvis’ current girlfriend, who is told to hold up her hand so everyone could see the ring Elvis just bought her.
Elvis then talks about the ring for a while.
’74 was when Elvis’ habit of singing along with the band got hilarious.
Elvis would just belt out “BAH bah BAH” with the horn section in between lyrics.
Multiple women are asked to “TWIRL ‘ROUND SO EV’RYBODY C’N SEE YOU.”
It’s Now Or Never is performed twice.
And then there are the introductions. Holiest of shits, the introductions. Elvis introduces damn near every human in the building and it takes a solid twenty minutes while the band is vamping (wonderfully) under him. I was listening to this while running errands, and I didn’t hear one song: just Elvis introducing the crowd to itself.
The introductions are so long that Elvis gets bored with doing them, sings two songs, and then goes right back into them.
Again: I am not making these up; I won’t put silly ones in.
All of the TCB band.
Obviously, Elvis instructs them all to solo.
“SHOW ‘EM WHY YER HERE, BOY!”
Both backup singing groups, individually.
The high-singing lady.
The conductor.
Charlie Hodge.
At this point, Elvis demands that the piano player from the opening act come back out onstage and sing a song; Elvis recites the lyrics along with him.
The audio engineer.
Several karate men.
Vikki Carr, who was playing at the Tropicana.
At this point, Elvis sings It’s Now Or Never for the second time.
His family, again.
His girlfriend, again.
His droopy-eyed, weak-chinned, four-balled, whiskey-dicked, fartstain of a daddy–
Vernon.
–Vernon.
Colonel Parker.
Judy Spreckles, heiress to the Spreckels sugar fortune. (I swear. I know that sounds like a name I would make up, but it really happened and also Elvis talked about the ring she had given him for a couple minutes.)
At this point, Elvis stops introducing people to declare a recent paternity suit against him “a conspiracy.”
Bill Cosby.
I feel I must make a confession, Enthusiasts: I am a monster. This cascading insanity of a pill-fueled nutbar had had me giggling throughout my errands, but when the King said “GIVE IT UP F’R TH’ COZ, LADIES AN’ GEN’LEMEN!” I started laughing so hard that I almost crashed my car. Surprise Cosby is the funniest Cosby. (Or, the least funny Cosby.)
Oh, and then the crazy sumbitch introduces “MAH JEW’RY.” Honest. Elvis introduces his rings to the audience, and the audience applauds.
New theory: everything’s not connected to the Dead, it’s all connected to Ronnie Tutt.
Stop being weird.
Nothing weird about loving the Tutt.
True. You just phrase your compliments so oddly.
Yeah. Anyway, it’s the King singing Neil Diamond, with King Tutt on the drums. Of note is the song’s length: a little over two-and-a-half minutes. Elvis got bored if a song lasted three minutes, and would start doing karate. Also, like all of Elvis’ Vegas arrangements, the tune doesn’t end so much as it stops. It’s great regardless.
Plus, the sound of Ronnie Tutt’s drums is “thrump.”
I’ll stand up for Neil Diamond’s songwriting, and the voice he had as a young person (Neil Diamond was never a kid), and his Semitic Prince Valiant haircut, but he was never cool and has only gotten schmaltzy with age. I cannot recommend watching the above video, but–again proving that the Dead is everywhere, maaaan–Neil’s drummer (for many years now) is the Ronnie Tutt of drummers, the actual Ronnie Tutt.
After Elvis and Garcia, perhaps Ronnie was looking for a more predictable and/or sober bandleader. (Elvis and Garcia could be predictable as hell when they wanted to be, but it wasn’t the good kind of predictable.) No more lunatics or junkies or British wastrels on piano: professional management, top-notch travel, great pay. Sure, Neil wouldn’t stand for half the bullshit he used to get up to with Elvis–Ronnie pretty much soloed for the whole show with the King–but he’d never have to have another conversation with Red or Joe Esposito. Elvis hung out with some dumb motherfuckers.
I’d ask if he misses the chaos at all, but I don’t think Ronnie Tutt does, not in the slightest. Interviews with the man reveal an insanely low tolerance for foolishness; even lower for fucking up the time. To drop a beat while playing with Ronnie Tutt was an insult: it was implying you disagreed with Ronnie Tutt about where the one was, and Ronnie motherfucking Tutt knows where the one is.
At a certain point, we all become caricatures of ourselves. For example, Donald Trump announced today that he was not, in fact, worth the $9 billion he claimed last week; it was more like 10. The sketch kinda writes itself.
Throw me in the bucket with the rest, though: I have committed the ultimate Dead-obsessive cliché – taking a break from the Dead…with the Jerry Band.
I know, I know, but it’s from the stupidly talented lineup with Ronnie Tutt and Nicky Hopkins. Nicky Hopkins sounds exactly like if you asked someone to do an impersonation of “an Englishman who won’t live to see 40.” Nicky had problems, and so does the show, but they are the ones endemic to all Jerry Band shows: everything is too slow except for the ballads.
The ballads are way too slow. (The tempo of Night They Drove Old Dixie Down is “legally deceased.” On the music, it’s written in Italian, so it sounds better, but the dirge-like nature of the tune cannot be overlooked.
Rest of it’s great: check out an uncredited Merl Saunders (?) doing his rhythm guitarist impression on the nasty and dirty clavinet on Let It Rock, a Mission in the Rain, and…
That Garcia guy: maybe he has been a bit overlooked these last weeks, but he could play a little. Sing a little, too.
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