The Forgotten

Someone died, and nobody cares.

Those words raced through my frenzied brain in the aftermath of my stepfather’s death, an overstatement endlessly replaying itself inside of my skull. Even then, with all of the tears and the seemingly bottomless well of heartbreak that I didn’t think I would ever fill, I knew that Charlie was loved; people really did care. Friends and family, former co-workers and a smattering of people barely acquainted with the man—they all attended Charlie’s low-key funeral. But it wasn’t enough. Not for me. Life would return to normal for just about everybody the following day—work and grandkids and the endless string of thankless tasks one needs to accomplish over the course of a day—and Charlie would, all too soon, be forgotten, relegated to a gravestone, a drawer filled with memories and “what a nice man he was” platitudes.

No one, outside of his closest circle of family and confidants, would know of the unique happenstances that shaped Charlie’s character: how a broken leg dashed any expectations of a career playing for the National Football League, or how he had once belonged to a motorcycle gang; how he had attended the ultimate rock and roll concert, Woodstock, yet somehow missed seeing Jimi Hendrix’s iconic performance. No magazine or website detailed Charlie’s life. No television news crew covered his death. Yes, the world continued to spin, completely oblivious to the hole left in my family and to the hollow ache buried within me.

Someone died, and nobody cares…and that made me very, very angry.

That anger was reborn when I learned of the passing of one of the rockabilly genre’s forgotten heroes, Jumpin’ Jack Neal.

*   *   *  

“Who the hell is Jumpin’ Jack Neal?”

Those were the first words out of my husband’s mouth when I informed him of Jack’s death on September 22^nd. I knew that Jumpin’ Jack was an original member of rockabilly idol Gene Vincent’s backing band, the Blue Caps; that his work on the doghouse bass helped to shape the distinctive Blue Caps sound that would become a template for an endless succession of rockabilly-based musicians. But what did I really know about Jumpin’ Jack Neal? How did the bassist meet Gene Vincent? How did he come to join the Blue Caps? What became of him after his sudden departure from the group in late 1956?

As intrigued as I was with the mystery of Jack Neal’s life, I was discouraged—and disgusted—by the lack of media coverage of his death. I wasn’t delusional. I didn’t think that CNN, MTV or VH-1 would devote lengthy segments to Neal’s legacy, but I did expect something: a ten-second mention or a blurb contained within the ticker at the bottom of MSNBC’s telecast; a short piece featured on Rolling Stone magazine’s website. Over the next few days, I slogged through pages of internet searches, poking around for any tidbit, any video clip, any thing about the former Blue Cap’s death. I located a few mentions on Facebook—where I had received the news—and on a handful of rockabilly-themed and guitar enthusiast message boards There was a brief, skeletal blog post and Jack’s obituary, printed in a Virginia Beach, Virginia-area newspaper. CNN’s website? Nothing. MTV? More of the same. Rolling Stone or Entertainment Weekly? Nada. While the latest Dancing with the Stars episode was dissected ad nauseam, not a single news or entertainment media outlet deemed Jumpin’ Jack Neal’s death noteworthy. The old all-consuming anger I had felt when my stepfather, the only genuine father figure I’d had in my life, had died was back.

Someone died, and nobody cares.

It’s difficult not to care about a man whose star burned so brightly for such a brief time—just one year—before fading into the “whatever happened to…?” file. So, back to my desk I went, fingers clacking on computer keyboard, pen skittering across paper as I attempted to paste together the pieces of Jack’s life. Jack was born on November 7^th, 1930 to Jenny and Dixie B. Neal, Sr., in St. Brides, Virginia. Two of his five siblings, a pair of older brothers, educated Jack musically, utilizing their guitar and steel guitar playing experience to teach the younger Neal. Jack’s musicianship grew and, at age 15, he was playing in a band alongside his brothers. It was during a gig at TT’s Place, an area venue, that a female bassist, performing with another group, taught Jack how to play the upright bass. Around 1952, Jack purchased a Kay five-string bass. Unsure what to do with the additional string—standup basses typically have just four of them—Jack removed it…and never missed a beat.

I can’t say if Jumpin’ Jack Neal’s investment in that modified Kay bass was the catalyst to his music career, but the ensuing four years were a boon for the bassist. While working at a Ford assembly plant by day, Jack joined a musician’s union and spent his evenings as a guitarist for semi-hire, playing whatever bookings—paying or otherwise—he managed to snare. It wasn’t long before Norfolk, Virginia country radio station WCMS expressed an interest in Jack’s talent and recruited him for the Virginians, the station’s resident backing band. The Virginians performed with numerous name acts touring the area, including Marvin Rainwater—who would find fame with the smash “Gonna Find Me a Bluebird”—and future country hitmaker, Ferlin Husky. The Virginians was the breeding ground for what would become the Blue Caps: Galloping Cliff Gallup, the man who would achieve fame as Gene Vincent’s revered guitarist; Wee Willie Williams, Gene’s soon-to-be rhythm guitarist, and future Vincent drummer Dickie “Be-Bop” Harrell were members of the Virginians, too.

Sometime around 1955, Jumpin’ Jack met Gene Vincent, another Virginia native attempting to establish himself in the music biz. Gene, backed by the Virginians, performed on WCMS’s Country Showtime program, and the rest…well, you know. Host “Sheriff” Tex Davis expressed an interest in Gene’s career and became instrumental to the singer’s early success. Although his possible co-writer credit for “Be-Bop-a-Lula”, Vincent’s most recognizable number, continues to be in dispute—no one seems sure of the song’s exact origin—Davis’ influence on Gene’s early career, and on the formation of the Blue Caps, is not. With the Blue Caps name—courtesy of Dickie Harrell, by most accounts—and line-up cemented, the quintet recorded a demo containing “Be-Bop-a-Lula”, rockabilly anthem “Race with the Devil”, and the silky ballad “I Sure Miss You” for Capitol Records.

The following months were filled with recording sessions, tours, television appearances and more recording sessions. Capitol Records liked what Gene Vincent and his newly formed Blue Caps had to offer and, on May 4^th, 1956, the group entered Owen Bradley Studios in Nashville, Tennessee and recorded a handful of Gene’s best known tunes: “Be-Bop-a-Lula”, “Race with the Devil” and “I Sure Miss You”, along with the slinky “Woman Love”. As “Be-Bop-a-Lula” began to ascend the music charts—it was actually the flip side of “Woman Love”, the song originally intended for radio airplay—Gene, Jumpin’ Jack and the rest of the Blue Caps re-entered the studio to record 16 songs, many of which would appear on Vincent’s inaugural album, Bluejean Bop!. Included in the session were the energetic “Who Slapped John?”, “Well I Knocked Bim Bam” and “Gonna Back Up Baby”, a slower tempo number laced with Jumpin’ Jack’s powerful, thumping bass line.

“Be-Bop-a-Lula” was a hit. By the end of June, the single had sold a jaw dropping 200,000 copies. With the impending release of Bluejean Bop!, on July 20^th, Gene, Jumpin’ Jack and the rest of the Blue Caps embarked on their first tour. The boys were sharing the bill with trombone playing rocker Lillian Briggs and a boisterous group that would become a prototype for numerous rock and rollers, the Johnny Burnette Trio. On July 28^th, Gene and the Blue Caps performed “Be-Bop-a-Lula” on The Perry Como Show, a popular variety TV program. Jumpin’ Jack even appeared in a sketch as a waiter, made memorable when he handed guest host Julius LaRosa a menu…upside down…on live television. An August performance on rock and roll kingpin Alan Freed’s WINS radio show was followed by a brief appearance in the Jayne Mansfield bombshell-cum-rock-and-roll-star vehicle, The Girl Can’t Help It. Upon completion of their scene, Jack and his bandmates shipped their instruments home to Virginia…but that didn’t prevent Gene and the Blue Caps’ overseers from booking the band for a smattering of shows—after all, Gene and company had some free time, and time is money, right?  The group reportedly borrowed instruments to fulfill their gigs and, according to rockabilly legend, during a particularly frenetic show, Jumpin’ Jack broke his loaner bass.

Mid-October saw Jack and the boys making music once more at Owen Bradley Studios. From October 15^th through October 18^th, Vincent and the Blue Caps recorded 15 tracks, including rockabilly standards “Cruisin’” and “Double Talkin’ Baby”, the beguiling “Cat Man” and “Hold Me, Hug Me, Rock Me”, a wild, frantic romp featuring Gene and the Blue Caps at their very best. Twelve tunes would land on the group’s sophomore effort, the acclaimed Gene Vincent and the Blue Caps, which would not be released until 1957, well after several of the Blue Caps had bowed out of the band…including Jumpin’ Jack Neal.

Gene and the Blue Caps' second album

A string of shows at Las Vegas’ Sands Hotel were Jumpin’ Jack’s final appearances as a Blue Cap. Three weeks into the month-long engagement, Gene canceled the band’s remaining dates to seek treatment for his severely reinjured leg. Jack, weary of life on the road and longing to be with his family, left the Blue Caps and returned home to Norfolk. Once again, Jumpin’ Jack assumed the double life of a starving artist, repairing railroad cars by day; performing with any band in need of a bassist by night. During the mid-1960s, after tiring of too many late nights spent onstage, Jumpin’ Jack Neal walked away from the music business. The blue cap he’d worn as a member Gene Vincent’s band had, long ago, been put away; the upright bass was sold.

But then what? Whatever happened to Jumpin’ Jack Neal? The pieces I gathered were far flung, just the beginnings of what appears to be a vague snapshot of Jack’s remaining years. Around the time Jack said goodbye to his career as a bassist, he began working for Virginia Beach City Schools—first, as a plumber’s helper, then, until his retirement in 1993, as a plumber. Although performing music was no longer a part of his life, Jack certainly wasn’t idle. He worked part-time as a driver for Ceramic Arts Dental Lab. He was a member of Virginia Beach’s Salem United Methodist Church. He had been married for 61 years. He was a father; a grandfather—yet the musical flame within Jack wasn’t completely extinguished. On September 1^st, 2001, after a month spent practicing on a rented bass, Jumpin’ Jack performed at London’s Tennessee Club, his first time on a stage in over 30 years. Paired with Graham Fenton, the eerily Vincent-sounding frontman for popular British rockabilly group, Matchbox, and an assortment of musicians, Jack performed a successful show that included plenty of Gene/Blue Caps tunes and a rousing Cliff Gallop-esque number titled, appropriately, “Cliff’s Gallop”. This one-off gig appears to have been Jumpin’ Jack Neal’s last.

It’s hard to believe that one scant year could encapsulate such an abundance of music, of songs and sound that continues to inspire scores of rockabilly musicians and music lovers alike. Jumpin’ Jack Neal’s body of work includes a pair of tunes for Phil Gray and the Go Boys, the single “Bluest Boy in Town” and its B side, “Pepper Hot Baby”, as well as 35 songs recorded with Gene Vincent and the Blue Caps—some of Vincent’s rockinest, most memorable tracks. It’s a legacy that, regardless of time or memory, won’t ever—not entirely—be forgotten…not as long as turntables continue to play “Be-Bop-a-Lula” or digital copies of “Gonna Back Up Baby” exist.

“We have lost one of the very great ones,” Levi Dexter, known for his work with ‘80s rockabilly juggernaut, the Rockats, shared in a September 23^rd posting on his Facebook page. “Jumpin’ Jack Neal, bass player of Gene Vincent’s Bluecaps [sic] passed away of natural causes this morning!!! I’m devastated!” Others shared the sentiment, leaving a trail of comments and heartfelt remembrances.

It’s mid-October, now. The 40^th anniversary of Gene Vincent’s death has passed. It almost seems fitting that another bassist from another generation of Blue Caps, Bill Mack, died on October 5^th. Another Blue Cap gone…and another session of TV channel surfing and trawling the internet, mostly in vain. Sigh.

But that’s another story.

Somebody died…and I care.

I’m not alone.

HeadCat Rocks with Walk the Walk...OR, How Strange Bedfellows Make Great Music

HeadCat promotional photo, courtesy of Danny B. Harvey

The music gods have been a benevolent lot this year. With rockabilly’s reigning queen, Wanda Jackson, popular Irish songbird Imelda May, and the venerable Brian Setzer among those who’ve released new discs--not to mention two Buddy Holly tribute albums and Jeff Beck’s 

rockabilly-infused homage to the grandfather of the electric guitar, Les Paul--fans of the genre have had plenty of reasons to pay their favorite music purveyor a visit.

Here’s another.

Walk the Walk…Talk the Talk is a feel-good, car windows down, crank-up-the-volume-to-eleven rocker. Steeped in rockabilly--the essence of rock and roll--and blues, Walk the Walk… is the latest offering from HeadCat, a most unlikely trio. Comprised of Stray Cats drummer Slim Jim Phantom, versatile guitar slinger and movie soundtrack composer Danny B. Harvey, and Lemmy Kilmister, lead vocalist of metal band Motorhead--yes, that Motorhead--HeadCat has taken its wealth of individual musical experiences and seamlessly meshed them into an album that’s a can’t miss. Harvey’s pedigree is well known in rockabilly circles: guitarist for The Rockats, a member--with HeadCat bandmate Slim Jim Phantom--of rockabilly supergroup 13 Cats, one-half of the acclaimed duo Lonesome Spurs…and that’s just a snapshot of Danny’s resume. Harvey’s fine guitarmanship is the perfect accompaniment to Phantom’s merciless beat and Lemmy Kilmister’s unique singing skills. Kilmister sounds as if his throat were laced with gravel, his voice rough, yet startlingly soulful. 

Unlikely? Yes. Surprisingly good? Definitely.

A follow-up to the Buddy Holly covers-heavy Fool’s Paradise, Walk the Walk…Talk the Talk continues the HeadCat tradition of making what was once old new again. Interspersed with rockin’ takes on Eddie Cochran, Jerry Lee Lewis, Gene Vincent, and The Beatles is a smattering of HeadCat originals. The album kicks off with “American Beat”, an infectious HeadCat compilation that’s one of the record’s shining stars. Slim Jim Phantom’s driving drumbeat sets the tone for this toe tapper, while Danny B. Harvey pulls double duty, adding a jangling piano line to his usual top-notch guitar work. If “American Beat” doesn’t cause your fingers to snap or your body to sway, then you don’t have a rock and roll heart.

Fiery versions of Gene Vincent’s “Say Mama” and Chuck Berry’s “Let It Rock” are sandwiched amongst a rowdy version of the Eddie Cochran standard, “Something Else”, and the Webb Pierce/Mel Tillis-penned “I Ain’t Never”. Although initially a country number, “I Ain’t Never” is one of those songs that has bridged the musical divide. Co-writer Tillis, country sweetheart Patsy Cline, and rock and roller Dave Edmunds are just a few of the artists to have recorded the tune. HeadCat eases their usual frenetic tempo just a notch, making this version of the song a nice addition to the album.

HeadCat also gives the re-do treatment to the Johnny Kidd & The Pirates classic, “Shakin’ All Over”. Harvey’s blistering guitar and Lemmy’s rocky voice lend the number just enough raunch to nag at your conscience.

“The Eagle Flies on Friday”, another original, is an example of what HeadCat is capable of. The song begins like a slow burn: Slim Jim’s subtle percussion supplementing Kilmister’s soft crooning, before crescendoing into a blast of bluesy guitar riffs from Danny. From opening lyric--“Well, if you wanna see the

reason why all the world is crying out…”--to closing note, “The Eagle Flies on Friday” is spot on.

A pair of lesser known Beatles tunes, “Bad Boy” and “You Can’t Do That”, are unexpectedly good vehicles for Lemmy’s distinctive tone. You may not think that a man synonymous with the metal subculture of rock and roll could sing a Beatles song…rather, sing one well. You’d be wrong. The former is an almost whimsical tale of a ne’er do well transplant to the neighborhood; the latter, one of the record’s best tracks.

Blues legend Robert Johnson may have relinquished his soul to the devil in exchange for improved guitar prowess--or so the Johnson mythology tells us--but the devil apparently saw fit to bestow his influence upon HeadCat’s rollicking version of “Crossroads”, the album’s closer. More similar in style to Eric Clapton’s rendition than to Johnson’s original “Cross Road Blues”, HeadCat spins the song into a tornado of raucous guitar, thumping bass, and pounding drums. Wanna know why Danny B. Harvey is such a respected member of guitar player society? Take a listen to “Crossroads”. You’ll hear the answer.

In an era when rock and roll has seemingly morphed into an overly-mixed, corporate influenced, focus 
group-approved bland stew, it’s a relief to know that HeadCat is around to keep roots-based rock alive and thriving. “When the three of us play rock ‘n’ roll songs, it’s completely different from any of our other bands,” Danny B. Harvey told me in a 2008 interview for Blue Suede News magazine (available at http://www.bluesuedenews.com/84cover.html). “It’s always a pleasure to be on stage with those two [Lemmy Kilmister and Slim Jim Phantom] and look around and see us all excited about the music we’re making.”

With Walk the Walk…Talk the Talk, it shows.