charlene
11-23-2013, 09:16 PM
http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2013/11/21/ronnie-hawkins-interview_n_4311435.html?utm_hp_ref=canada-music
videos at link..
Ronnie Hawkins On Partying Cancer Away, Bill Clinton's Ladies And Retiring After 50 Legendary Years
HuffPost Canada Music | By Stuart Henderson Posted: 11/21/2013 10:06 am
I am sitting across from Mr. Dynamo.
The Hawk.
Rompin' Ronnie Hawkins himself.
And he just showed me an old wooden one-hitter pipe that he claims John Lennon left at his house back in the early 1970s. I hold it, then pass it along to his road manager who opens it up, and sees that it’s packed with weed. Is that Lennon’s, too?
Hawkins might tell you, but you’ll never know if it’s true or not. That is, you’ll never know if it’s accurate –- everything he says sure feels true in one way or another. It’s as if, as a storyteller, the man -– among the few honest-to-goodness rock’n’roll legends still walking this earth –- can’t for the life of him hit a false note. And he’s remarkably up front about it.
"It has nothing to do with whether it’s true or whether it ain't," he drawls, his trickster grin pulling you, pulling everyone, in. “If the story’s good, it can be a lie.”
***
Ronnie Hawkins was born in Arkansas in 1935. An early aficionado of rhythm and blues, by the 1950s Hawkins had developed his act and was touring the club circuit riding the wave of interest in white rockabilly artists like Carl Perkins and Elvis Presley. But by the late ‘50s, it was clear that he was but a small fish in a mighty huge pond, and so on Conway Twitty's advice he made his way, quite ingeniously, to Toronto, Canada.
Suddenly, Ronnie Hawkins was a blue whale in a bathtub.
Instantly billed as the authentic real deal –- an American playing American music sold well in provincial, culturally insecure 1950s Toronto –- Hawkins found himself the hottest act in town. What’s more, by extraordinary luck or foresight or genius (or combination thereof), he managed to gather a few of the very best young musicians in the world to be his backing band, the Hawks. He had the style, they had the substance.
Hell, one of these incarnations would go on to back Bob Dylan by the mid-60s, and be reborn a few years later as The Band. You may have heard of them.
Meanwhile, Hawkins reigned over Yonge Street’s strip of bars and rock’n’roll clubs, burlesque joints and seedy booze cans. His band had a revolving door of talent, and while he made record after record (few of which sold terribly well), his reputation as an epic performer, a heroic partier, and a uniquely talented raconteur grew at an exponential rate. By the late 1970s, he was more legend than man, the embodiment of a certain fantasy about the rock’n’roll fraternity: it seemed like Hawkins was the pin around which the whole goddamn thing turned. Friends with everyone, admired by all, Ronnie Hawkins had become a living myth.
It was no surprise that when a long-lost Canadian John Lennon interview from 1969 turned up recently that the reel-to-reel tape had been recorded at Hawkin's mansion -- after all, John and Yoko lived there for a time -- or that Hawkins got stoned with Lennon and Pierre Trudeau, together.
Now in 2013, Ronnie Hawkins has embarked on his farewell tour. After a few exclusive and hotly anticipated dates across Ontario over the next weeks, the curtain will fall on a 50 year career as storied, influential, and plainly important as any you can name.
The Hawk sat down for a long, wide-ranging conversation with HuffPost Canada Music in his Toronto hotel room. He looked tired, haggard, and drawn as we began. But, as if a switch had been flipped, he lit up with the first question, the first opportunity to regale me with stories, tales, lies, and legends from the long, winding road of his life. At every turn, his warmth, his humour, and his profane wisdom flowed like the booze that fuelled so much of his story. A helluva ride.
I know you must be tired, so we’ll keep this…
Ronnie Hawkins: Oh, I’m just wore out. I’m old! 80 years old. They took me out of the “home” to get me here.
Well, it’s good to see you. I mean, ten years ago we were told you had a terminal disease.
They gave me 90 days or less. They cut me open to see if [the cancer] was operable. And they couldn’t get it. And they zipped me back up. 90 days or less to live.
How do you respond to a death sentence like that?
I thought, ‘Well, if I’m going to die in 90 days, I might as well go out like a rocket!’ So we ordered whisky and booze and dope. Dope that Bob Dylan hadn’t even heard of. And we partied, boy. It woulda killed Charles Atlas, what we did. Never mind me that’s supposed to die! But anyway, all of a sudden I got to feeling better. I took that last CAT Scan… it was completely gone. I don’t know how it happened. But I was one of the luckiest cats in the world, they said.
As an artist, did you find that you were reinvigorated? Did you want to get back out on the road after beating that rap?
No, no. That isn’t for me. I’m ready to retire. I’m going to go out one last time for a few dates. Then I’m going to disappear.
They’re billing these shows as “intimate evenings with Ronnie Hawkins.” What does that mean?
I don’t know who named it that but I guess it's alright. All I do is I'm going to do about five songs, the five songs that changed my career as I went along. And I'll tell a bunch of stories.
You've said it'll be “a few songs and some lies."
That's it! If I was Pinocchio, my nose would be in China. I can tell some lies. But, you see, I told 'em a long time ago. It ain't whether it's true or false. It's how good the story is. It has nothing to do with whether it's true or whether it ain't. If the story's good, it can be a lie.
But then where does the legend end and the man begin? How do we separate out the man from the myth?
Ain't no way. I’ve been trying to do that myself for years. Can’t do it.
The story of your arrival in Toronto has practically become the creation myth for Canadian rock’n’roll.
I've been the luckiest bugger in the world. Music's all I ever wanted to do and Canada has been the Promised Land. See [down south] we'd been playing bars so rough you had to show them a razor and puke twice before they'd let you in. Some rough-ass bars.
And Toronto offered you a chance to make it. Do you think the scene would have taken off like it did without your influence?
Oh, I know it would have happened. It might have taken a little bit longer. You know, Canada's always had so much talent, it's scary. But I used to have to tell the club owners that bands was American. In fact, I used to loan my car [with Arkansas plates] to acts that nobody knew. I'd tell 'em they were from Arkansas. Because those old club owners said 'Canadians won’t come out to see a Canadian act.' I said 'I don't think that's true for hockey! I think a few of ‘em come out to see a Canadian play some hockey!” But, anyway, that's what we'd have to do. Then they'd play there for a month or two, finally tell the owner they were Canadian. But they already had the job.
They wouldn't book Canadians for some reason. When I look back I say: 'Boy, I was lucky they didn't!' Because, boy, it didn't take long for them bands to get really good.
The Canadian insecurity complex, I guess. They figured you were authentic because you were American, while the local acts were just copying?
Well, rock'n'roll, a course, depending on how you interpret it, started with just the blues, rhythm and blues. And then a poor white cat that couldn't copy it right -- like me -- tried it and it just came out different. So it's not rhythm and blues anymore. I wanted to sound like Bobby 'Blue' Bland and Ray Charles, but it come out more like Ernest Tubbs! So I couldn't do that stuff. That's why I hired [future pianist and vocalist for The Band] Richard Manuel and I brought him into my band. With his throat, he could do that stuff. And he did it well, boy.
Yeah, Bobby ‘Blue’ Bland. “Turn on your lovelight, and let it shine on me.” He was a he-ro of ours. I took [the Hawks] on a tour down south. Colleges, mostly. And Richard [Manuel] just tore ‘em up. Man, they were giving him standing ovations everywhere we played. Because no white band had ever sung that stuff yet. We were the first ones to start playing Motown and that rhythm and blues stuff. Because we had a band that could do it. With [future organist in The Band] Garth Hudson on the saxophone, we could fake all the stuff.
part 2 - next post
videos at link..
Ronnie Hawkins On Partying Cancer Away, Bill Clinton's Ladies And Retiring After 50 Legendary Years
HuffPost Canada Music | By Stuart Henderson Posted: 11/21/2013 10:06 am
I am sitting across from Mr. Dynamo.
The Hawk.
Rompin' Ronnie Hawkins himself.
And he just showed me an old wooden one-hitter pipe that he claims John Lennon left at his house back in the early 1970s. I hold it, then pass it along to his road manager who opens it up, and sees that it’s packed with weed. Is that Lennon’s, too?
Hawkins might tell you, but you’ll never know if it’s true or not. That is, you’ll never know if it’s accurate –- everything he says sure feels true in one way or another. It’s as if, as a storyteller, the man -– among the few honest-to-goodness rock’n’roll legends still walking this earth –- can’t for the life of him hit a false note. And he’s remarkably up front about it.
"It has nothing to do with whether it’s true or whether it ain't," he drawls, his trickster grin pulling you, pulling everyone, in. “If the story’s good, it can be a lie.”
***
Ronnie Hawkins was born in Arkansas in 1935. An early aficionado of rhythm and blues, by the 1950s Hawkins had developed his act and was touring the club circuit riding the wave of interest in white rockabilly artists like Carl Perkins and Elvis Presley. But by the late ‘50s, it was clear that he was but a small fish in a mighty huge pond, and so on Conway Twitty's advice he made his way, quite ingeniously, to Toronto, Canada.
Suddenly, Ronnie Hawkins was a blue whale in a bathtub.
Instantly billed as the authentic real deal –- an American playing American music sold well in provincial, culturally insecure 1950s Toronto –- Hawkins found himself the hottest act in town. What’s more, by extraordinary luck or foresight or genius (or combination thereof), he managed to gather a few of the very best young musicians in the world to be his backing band, the Hawks. He had the style, they had the substance.
Hell, one of these incarnations would go on to back Bob Dylan by the mid-60s, and be reborn a few years later as The Band. You may have heard of them.
Meanwhile, Hawkins reigned over Yonge Street’s strip of bars and rock’n’roll clubs, burlesque joints and seedy booze cans. His band had a revolving door of talent, and while he made record after record (few of which sold terribly well), his reputation as an epic performer, a heroic partier, and a uniquely talented raconteur grew at an exponential rate. By the late 1970s, he was more legend than man, the embodiment of a certain fantasy about the rock’n’roll fraternity: it seemed like Hawkins was the pin around which the whole goddamn thing turned. Friends with everyone, admired by all, Ronnie Hawkins had become a living myth.
It was no surprise that when a long-lost Canadian John Lennon interview from 1969 turned up recently that the reel-to-reel tape had been recorded at Hawkin's mansion -- after all, John and Yoko lived there for a time -- or that Hawkins got stoned with Lennon and Pierre Trudeau, together.
Now in 2013, Ronnie Hawkins has embarked on his farewell tour. After a few exclusive and hotly anticipated dates across Ontario over the next weeks, the curtain will fall on a 50 year career as storied, influential, and plainly important as any you can name.
The Hawk sat down for a long, wide-ranging conversation with HuffPost Canada Music in his Toronto hotel room. He looked tired, haggard, and drawn as we began. But, as if a switch had been flipped, he lit up with the first question, the first opportunity to regale me with stories, tales, lies, and legends from the long, winding road of his life. At every turn, his warmth, his humour, and his profane wisdom flowed like the booze that fuelled so much of his story. A helluva ride.
I know you must be tired, so we’ll keep this…
Ronnie Hawkins: Oh, I’m just wore out. I’m old! 80 years old. They took me out of the “home” to get me here.
Well, it’s good to see you. I mean, ten years ago we were told you had a terminal disease.
They gave me 90 days or less. They cut me open to see if [the cancer] was operable. And they couldn’t get it. And they zipped me back up. 90 days or less to live.
How do you respond to a death sentence like that?
I thought, ‘Well, if I’m going to die in 90 days, I might as well go out like a rocket!’ So we ordered whisky and booze and dope. Dope that Bob Dylan hadn’t even heard of. And we partied, boy. It woulda killed Charles Atlas, what we did. Never mind me that’s supposed to die! But anyway, all of a sudden I got to feeling better. I took that last CAT Scan… it was completely gone. I don’t know how it happened. But I was one of the luckiest cats in the world, they said.
As an artist, did you find that you were reinvigorated? Did you want to get back out on the road after beating that rap?
No, no. That isn’t for me. I’m ready to retire. I’m going to go out one last time for a few dates. Then I’m going to disappear.
They’re billing these shows as “intimate evenings with Ronnie Hawkins.” What does that mean?
I don’t know who named it that but I guess it's alright. All I do is I'm going to do about five songs, the five songs that changed my career as I went along. And I'll tell a bunch of stories.
You've said it'll be “a few songs and some lies."
That's it! If I was Pinocchio, my nose would be in China. I can tell some lies. But, you see, I told 'em a long time ago. It ain't whether it's true or false. It's how good the story is. It has nothing to do with whether it's true or whether it ain't. If the story's good, it can be a lie.
But then where does the legend end and the man begin? How do we separate out the man from the myth?
Ain't no way. I’ve been trying to do that myself for years. Can’t do it.
The story of your arrival in Toronto has practically become the creation myth for Canadian rock’n’roll.
I've been the luckiest bugger in the world. Music's all I ever wanted to do and Canada has been the Promised Land. See [down south] we'd been playing bars so rough you had to show them a razor and puke twice before they'd let you in. Some rough-ass bars.
And Toronto offered you a chance to make it. Do you think the scene would have taken off like it did without your influence?
Oh, I know it would have happened. It might have taken a little bit longer. You know, Canada's always had so much talent, it's scary. But I used to have to tell the club owners that bands was American. In fact, I used to loan my car [with Arkansas plates] to acts that nobody knew. I'd tell 'em they were from Arkansas. Because those old club owners said 'Canadians won’t come out to see a Canadian act.' I said 'I don't think that's true for hockey! I think a few of ‘em come out to see a Canadian play some hockey!” But, anyway, that's what we'd have to do. Then they'd play there for a month or two, finally tell the owner they were Canadian. But they already had the job.
They wouldn't book Canadians for some reason. When I look back I say: 'Boy, I was lucky they didn't!' Because, boy, it didn't take long for them bands to get really good.
The Canadian insecurity complex, I guess. They figured you were authentic because you were American, while the local acts were just copying?
Well, rock'n'roll, a course, depending on how you interpret it, started with just the blues, rhythm and blues. And then a poor white cat that couldn't copy it right -- like me -- tried it and it just came out different. So it's not rhythm and blues anymore. I wanted to sound like Bobby 'Blue' Bland and Ray Charles, but it come out more like Ernest Tubbs! So I couldn't do that stuff. That's why I hired [future pianist and vocalist for The Band] Richard Manuel and I brought him into my band. With his throat, he could do that stuff. And he did it well, boy.
Yeah, Bobby ‘Blue’ Bland. “Turn on your lovelight, and let it shine on me.” He was a he-ro of ours. I took [the Hawks] on a tour down south. Colleges, mostly. And Richard [Manuel] just tore ‘em up. Man, they were giving him standing ovations everywhere we played. Because no white band had ever sung that stuff yet. We were the first ones to start playing Motown and that rhythm and blues stuff. Because we had a band that could do it. With [future organist in The Band] Garth Hudson on the saxophone, we could fake all the stuff.
part 2 - next post