Wilson Pickett Remembered

From my friend, Erik, a remembrance of Wilson Pickett:

Wilson Pickett, One of The Great Ones (my tribute)

Sometime in the early/mid 80's I went to see him play at the old Lonestar Cafe, on 5th Ave at 13th street. I had been getting into a lot of 60's R&B, which is some of the greatest music ever, and a lot of artists from that era were newly popular. There was a resurgence of intrest in them from people that weren't around the first time they were coming up.

The Lonestar was a very intimate club, and the stage was on the first floor, on the right when you came in. If you came early enough you could claim a seat at the bar and the bands would be about 8-10 feet away and the stage was about 3 feet high, maybe less. Beers were kind of pricey for that era, $3 or $4, but it was well worth it. If you couldn't get there early enough you could still stand right by the stage. You also had the option of sitting in the upstairs balcony and looking down on the perfomances.

So we get there early, but not early enough for a bar seat. That was fine, because I was ready to dance and bop around. The cover wasn't too bad, although pricey for a broke lower east sider: $10. I'm not sure if that's right, but it's close enough.

The first thing that happens is - his band comes out w/out him, playing some covers to warm up themselves and the crowd (BTW, it wasn't that packed). I remember they did a Beatles song, and "Purple Rain"! So actually this would be no earlier than '83 or '84, right? Anyway, they were perculating along, stop suddeny, and there's a holler coming from the stairs. Somebody annouces "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Lonestar is proud to present the legend known as the Wicked Wilson Pickett" or some showbiz-nessy thing like that. Crowd cheers.Wilson is coming down stairs, grinning, holding his arms out, giving out screams and yelps. He's got a small afro, and he's wearing a jumpsuit type thing, but it's just vest connected to tuxedo pants (bellbottoms, he doesn't need to leave the funky 70's behind), black, with a ruffled shirt (might have been lavender) and big black bow tie. Coupla big rings and some shiny patent leather shoes. When he gets up on the stage amidst some flourishes and banging from the band, I'm five feet away from him, and he looks right at me and says something like "You ready to have a good time tonight?" I scream out "yeah man!". He asks a couple of other people, revving everybody up, looks up to the balcony - "Y'all ready to have a good time tonight?". Screams. Him and the audience together. He looks back at the band and they kick off the show with "Midnight Hour", a surprising choice. You would have thought he would have saved it for towards the end of the set, right?

Now let me tell you about this smoking band. Naturally they are all or mostly "brothers" - African-Americans. The keyboard player might have been white or hispanic, and maybe one of the horn players was also. Anyway, evrybody was playing soulful and simple, but totally syncopated. The guitarist wasn't doing anything fancy, as a matter of fact, a lot of the songs are just first and fifths and octaves, start and stop riffs, occasional full chords for turnarounds and bridges, punctuated by the horns, keyboard (piano and organ) flowing around those two, and the mighty bass and drums rolling it all along, putting the accents and stops right where they need to be. Everybody's singing, but I don't remember if there was a line of female back up singers or not, but it's sounding like a sweet soul R&B apocalypse. Like I said, this band is smoking!

Wilson can do no wrong: he's screaming, he's barking, grunting, crooning, he's always in tune, even at his most animalistic. That bow tie is undone by the second song. That vest is unzipped by the third. He's covered in sweat and that ruffled shirt ain't gonna be buttoned up no more!

"Funky Broadway". "Mustang Sally". "634-5789". I had gotten the greatest hits record just a few weeks before and I was loving this show. When these record were made there wasn't a lot of effects or enhancing done, just great tunes and great playing. But if you could hear what we heard that night - with modern equipment and a kick ass sound system, you would swear that this was the sound of human passion brought to musical fruition. Did I just say that? Yes, I did, no shit.

Anyway, after a grooving, (but much more spirited than the record) rendition of "Don't Let The Green Grass Fool Ya", it's gets real quiet on the stage. Wilson is just standing there, looking like he's just conquered the world (he has). And then:

"ONE TWO THREE!" (HORNS) "ONE TWO THREE" (HORNS)
"C"MON!" (THE ULTIMATE R&B RIFF KICKS IN)
"YEAH I KNOW HOW TO PONY - LIKE BONY MARONEY"
"DO THE WATUSI - TWISTING WITH LUCY!"

If you don't understand what I'm saying - go download "Land of a Thousand Dances" right the fuck now and play it loud. Then picture a club full of people screaming "NAAH - NA NA NA NA - NA NA NA NA - NA NA NA"

Wilson: "NOW - DO IT!"
Crowd: "NAAH - NA NA...."

Picture the band hittin' it like there's no tomorrow but they do it EVERY NIGHT, at EVERY SHOW they do.

And he keeps coming back to the chorus:

Wilson: "NOW - DO IT!"
Crowd: "NAAH - NA NA...."
Wilson: "I NEED SOMEONE TO HELP ME SING IT NOW!"
Crowd: "NAAH - NA NA..."

Etc. Ad infinitum. Until it's over.

The song stops suddenly, his fist in the air, he's looking down at the stage, with a serious look on his face. He's been working. And then he looks up and gives us all a big grin: his work is done here, it seems to say. Then he says something like "Goodnight" and "Thank you, people".

We had been in a frenzy, but now we were composed and satisfied.

And when he left the stage, we thanked him.