How Willie got free
Texas legends muse on melding their hillbilly and hippie past.
In March, Willie Nelson’s soothing but lonesome voice washed over 70,000 people at Rodeo Houston days before the pandemic shut it all down and turned our lives inside out. In a bent straw hat and trademark braids, the Texas legend welcomed on stage a harmonica player fast becoming a Houston legend in his own rite: Jim Allison’s pioneering cancer research on immunotherapy won a Nobel Prize and is saving lives. They jammed that night and the crowd sang along, none likely realizing they could be risking their lives to hear Willie croon and Trigger wail in their own sweet tempo. But still, nobody feelin’ no pain.
No more live shows though, but Willie’s still keeping busy with the release of a new book with his sister, Bobbie Nelson, and music writer David Ritz. In this excerpt from “Me and Sister Bobbie: True Tales of the Family Band,” brother and sister take turns telling a story about how they reconnected with each other, and their Texas childhoods singing hymns at the Abbott United Methodist Church. Brother Willie goes first.
BROTHER
I think there’s a divine plan. Like my song said, I don’t have to understand the plan to see that it’s being put in place by someone who sure ain’t me. For example, I didn’t tell Bobbie to move back to Austin. That was something she did on her own. I was happy being tucked away in Bandera. But once Bobbie settled in Austin, she kept saying how things were changing. She kept describing Austin as something altogether different from anywhere in Texas.
I sawhowAustinwas a haven for the hippies, and how the hippies were open-minded ’bout all sorts ofmusic. Also saw that Austin had its own version of San Francisco’s FillmoreWest called the ArmadilloWorld Headquarters. It was one of those giant venues where folks came out to see Frank Zappa on a Friday and Ravi Shankar on a Saturday. When I booked in the ’Dillo I wondered howmy band would be received. Didn’t have to wonder long. Austin welcomed us with open arms. Austin was also home to Darrell Royal, the University of Texas football coach and one ofmy closest buddies, who lovedmusic asmuch as sports. Like Bobbie, Darrell was always tellingme I’d be happy in Austin. Austin’s progressive politics alsomademe comfortable.
The antiwar position I’d taken for years didn’t sit well in the rest of the Texas, but I didn’t care. I followedmy conscience. I found a like-minded constituency of fellow protesters. Both in ’72 and ’74, I played benefits for gubernatorial candidate Sissy Farenthold, and though she didn’t win, I saw Austin as a city of winners. Musical winners. Spiritual winners. A place where hippies and hillbillies looked beyond labels and came together to hear goodmusic. Once in a while a wise guy, seeing how I’d started braiding my long hair, said he absolutely had to know whether I was a hippie or a hillbilly. I passed him the joint and said, “Have a hit and decide for yourself.”
SISTER
By the end of 1972, Willie had moved to Austin. He was living on Riverside Drive near Town Lake.
His wife, Connie, was pregnant with their second daughter, Amy. Seemed like overnight Brother had become an Austin hero. He was the rightman in the right place at the right time. Willie became everything to everyone. That brought me great pride. At the same time, I stayed on an independent course, working supper clubs..
On a visit to Mama Nelson in FortWorth whenWillie mentioned this plan for us to finally startmaking music together, he talked about JerryWexler, an owner and producer at Atlantic Records famous for his work with Ray Charles and Aretha Franklin. Even thoughWexler’s specialty was rhythm and blues, he loved Brother’smusic and was convinced that the Nashvillemusic establishment hadn’t done right by him. He offered a deal that was different from any deal that had ever comeWillie’s way. Wexler wantedWillie to be his own producer, pick his own material, and play with whichever musicians he wanted.
One of the reasons I’d never recorded withWillie before had to do with Nashville’s proclivity to use a stable of studiomusicians the producers felt were the best around. Willie never had any argument with themusicianship on the Nashville recording scene. But because hismusic is so peculiar to his own sensibility, Willie knows best who fits in most naturally with whatever he’s creating. JerryWexler was the first one to understand. He setWillie free. BROTHER
As phone calls go, this one turned out to bemonumental. It began simply enough.
“You knowmy favoriteWillie Nelson album?” asked JerryWexler.
“I have no idea.” “Yesterday’sWine.”
“That’s not everyone’s favorite.”
“I love it, Willie, because it’s you being you.”
“Thanks, Jerry.”
“I’m not looking for thanks. I’m looking for you to do more of the same.”
“What do youmean?”
“I want you to do whatever you want. Get in the studio and followyourmuse. Let it take you wherever it takes you.”
Well, I’d been waiting fifteen years to hear words like that from a producer. Jerry also had other words.
“Cut the record in New York,” he suggested.
“New York’s a little too hustlebustle forme.”
“New York might help get the sparks flying. You’ve never recorded here before, have you?” “Nope.”
“Another reason to give it a try. New studio. New canvas.”
“You gonna provide the studio musicians, Jerry?” I asked.
“Hell, no. You’ll choose whoever you want.”
I immediately thought of Bobbie. She was the main spark I’d been missing. I also thought of a gospel record. I was convinced a concept like that, so obviously uncommercial, would turnWexler off. But it actually turned him on.
“I love gospel,” he said. “I just recorded Aretha singing ‘Amazing Grace’ in a Los Angeles church. Let’s go with gospel.”
All this good man wanted was forme to beme. There was no way to get around it. Hemade it impossible forme not to go to New York. To get ready, the first call Imade was to Bobbie. When it came to playing with Sister, Wexler had givenme the plan I’d been praying for.
SISTER
Willie was excited. Willie’s always excited aboutmusic, but this was a different kind of excitement. This was a way for us to go all the way back to our deepest roots. “You pick the songs,” he said. “You know them better than me. You’ll know which ones will work best on a record.”
I said, “Willie, you’ve been recording your whole life. I’ve never recorded before. I’ve never even been in a recording studio. I won’t know what to do.”
“Sure you will. You’ll show me what to do. You’ve always shown me what to do. Recording in a studio is no big deal. You’ll do great.”
“I’ve never been to New York. I’ve never even been on a plane.”
“Evermore reason to sign on. Flying is fun, and you’ll get to see the Empire State Building.”
I laughed and promised to get to work. Thatmeant picking out songs. I knew the onesWillie wanted were those we’d sung as kids while Daddy Nelson was still alive. Thatmeantmusic from our original hymnal at the Abbott United Methodist Church — “Precious Memories,” “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” “Uncloudy Day,” “Sweet Bye and Bye,” “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,” and “In the Garden.” Before we got to New York, I worked out the arrangements, usingWillie’s bass player Bee Spears, steel guitarist Jimmy Day, electric guitarist
Doug Sahm, and of course Paul English on drums. I kept it simple ’cause that’s how Brother likes it. He added on a song called “The Troublemaker” that turned into the album title. Typical ofWillie. He likes to see himself as a troublemaker, although in this case the troublemaker is Jesus, who is compared to the hippies, a benevolent soul going around calling for love and peace.
Doing those sessions with Willie, joy filledmy heart. We were back in our childhood at the same time we were together in our adulthood. Ourmusic merged like it always had. Time melted. Melodies flowed. Harmonies came naturally. Willie sang beautifully. JerryWexler was thrilled. He didn’t have a single criticism. Matter of fact, all he said was, “Givememore.” That’s whenWillie got an idea. Willie always has ideas.
BROTHER
For good reason, Wexler was always pushing me. He liked the gospel record but now he wanted more. Now he wanted me writing. He said, “Willie, you sing great, you play guitar great, but no one writes better. While you’re up here in New York, take off a few days, write a few songs, and record them with Bobbie and the boys. I’ll give you all the studio time you need.”
Turning down Jerry was tough ’cause I’d learned to love him.
The man had great spirit. I told him I’d give it a try.
Wasn’t easy. Hanging out inmy hotel room reminded me of when I was in that little office in Goodlettsville, Tennessee, the day I wrote “Hello, Walls.” No ideas were coming my way. So instead I wrote some nonsense lyrics about Shotgun Willie sitting around in his underwear, biting on a bullet, pulling out his hair, with his family there. Guess I was thinking about the time back in Ridgetop when I took a shot at my daughter’s husband. My thoughts got even stronger. I started writing ’bout how you can’t make a record if you ain’t got nothing to say and you can’t play music when you don’t know nothing to play. Turned out to be a song about not being able to write a song. Called it “Shotgun Willie.” That became the album title. Wrote a few more originals and also recorded with a harmonica player introduced to me by Coach Darrell Royal, Mickey Raphael, who was so good he’s with me to this day. Mickey’s one of the world’s most soulful musicians on any instrument.
While Nashville saw my phrasing as offbeat, Jerry saw it as being right on. He compared me to Sinatra, who was, in fact, the singer who taughtme that you can play with the beat. You can adjust your phrasing any way that suits your style. You can bring the song to you rather than strain to make it sound “correct.” The idea is to make it sound natural, conversational, completely personal. Later in life when I met Sinatra, first thing I said was that he was my favorite singer. His reply knocked me for a loop. He said I was his favorite singer. Hot damn!
The Atlantic Records experience put me on a new course. Most important, it brought me back together with Bobbie.
When the sessions in New York were over I made it plain.
“Sister,” I said, “you’re now a member of the band.”