“Stoop down baby,
Let your daddy see. (X2)
You got something down there baby worrying the hell out of me.
Two old maids, laying in the bed,
One turned over to the other and said.
Wake up old maid,
Don’t sleep so damn sound,
You know what you promised when you first laid down.”
I had the very good fortune to see to see Chick Willis and his “Stoop Down Revue” at the height of “Stoop Down Fever,” during the summer of 1973. An early issue of ‘Living Blues’ sparked my interest as it contained a feature on Willis, a colorful performer (who wore a turban!!!). Chick was related to the great Chuck Willis and had a record that was then tearing up the South—the said “Stoop Down Baby”—which no radio station could play. Jukebox’s were responsible for breaking that record.
On a record hunting trip to Detroit, I tracked down of a copy of the actual “Stoop Down” album which was issued on LaVal, a label out of Kalamazoo, Michigan. When I got home I dropped the needle on side one which contained a 21 minute plus version of “Stoop Down.” It took about 20 seconds to realize that if any radio station aired the record, their broadcast license would be revoked before the it finished playing. (I’ve since been reminded it was played on New Orleans radio, “Until we were sick of hearing it.”) Side two contained two songs by our own Guitar Slim—”The Story of My Life” and of course the timeless “The Things I Used To Do.” While I didn’t realize it at the time, to this day, Willis probably interpreted Slim’s material better than anyone else living-or-dead.
I had a month to kill before I enrolled in my first year of college and I talked my dad into lending me the family’s second car–a brand new Ford Maverick—to make my first trip to New Orleans. Being a possessed blues record collector, the plan was to head South (from Canada) and hit all the juke box dealers (jukebox dealers were a prime source for blues records then as they sold off their old 45s for as little as a dime), junk stores and thrift stores, after I crossed the Mason Dixon Line. Disdaining Inter State Highways, my travels took me to Greenville, Mississippi. Now a gambling destination, back then Greenville’s major industry was poverty and ginning cotton. First stop in decent sized town meant finding the yellow pages and finding out where the jukebox dealers were located. On this day, instead I stopped to inspect one of a plethora of neon colored posters that were seemingly stapled to every utility pole inside Greenville’s city limits. The posters announced “CHICK WILLIS & his Stoop Down Revue and Show—added attraction—stoop down contest with prizes. This is not a BYOB event. Admission $5.00.” As luck would have it, the show was that evening at the Greenville VFW Hall. My evening was planned.
Despite being a week night, the parking lot was jammed and I dare say, I had the only car in it with Ontario plates. The Greenville VFW’s major source of lighting seemed to be dim Christmas lights initially. Drink options were limited. Set ups—pint of whiskey, two cokes, ice and paper cups—and tepid quarts of Falstaff and Budweiser beer that sold for $2.00 each. I chose the latter and sat inauspiciously in a corner. When the stage lights came on, a local band, the Zodiacs no less, ran through a short set of current soul favorites. Then a small band took the stage and played a couple of instrumentals while they struggled with the sound system. Then a well dressed man—the promoter or a local deejay—got behind the microphone and asked the audience “Are you ready for the star of the show? Are you ready for the man of the hour?” The audiences response was was resounding “Yes!” The guy in the suit then proclaimed “Here he is, the stoop down man—Chick Willis!!!
On stage came a slight man toting a Gibson guitar and wearing a big smile. Well, if you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought a bomb went off. Every woman it the building went ass over tea kettle. A master showman, Willis worked that crowd like a world champion yo-yo player works a yo-yo. He played the guitar behind his head, between his legs, he dropped to his knees, he played the guitar with his tongue. The latter which inspired women to charge the stage and kept Willis’ valet busy peeling them off the edge of the stage. Musically, Willis was dead on even in the midst of a circus. I recalled he played one of his cousins songs, maybe “What Am I Living For,” “Dirty Muther Fuyer” (called “The Dozens” in these parts) and Guitar Slim’s “The Things I Used To Do,” which brought the house down. (In later, years I learned Slim was born and raised in nearby Hollandale.)
With the preliminaries dispensed, Willis lit into a 20 minute version of “Stoop Down Baby” that had everyone on their feet shaking their groove thing instantly. Well, except for me. Willis had a string of verses that seemingly had no end. Barn yard animals, little kids, the president—Willis managed to have everybody in the world stooping down except the Red Chinese and the USSR national hockey team. Soaked in sweat, he eventually retreated back stage. Then it was time for the much anticipated stoop down contest.
As one might assume, only “ladies” participated in the stoop down contest. At first, it reminded me of the limbo contests they had on American and Canadian Bandstand–Yes Virginia, there was a Canadian Bandstand, they filmed it in my home town—but, with no limbo stick. With the MC judging and “Stoop Down Baby” blasting over the sound system, scores of women in all shapes and sizes lined up for first prize. The object of the contest seemed to be, not just how low you could go, but how much drawers you could show. Naturally, the men in the audience howled in delight throughout. It was during the contest that an older black gentleman put his hand on my shoulder—quite obviously noting the look of disbelief on my face. He smiled and said, “Son, I bet you never saw anything like this before.” Obviously, he had a point. A rather well endowed woman took home first prize that night. I don’t remember what the award was, but I’m sure it wasn’t a gift certificate to Victoria Secret.
Willis then returned to the stage and pretty much reprised the first set, again concluding with you know what. He did however underline his genius by coming up with even more verses to “Stoop Down.” In later years, Willis would make several attempts to coat tail his hit–”Stoop Down Part 2,” “Stoop Down ’76,” “Don’t Let Me Catch You With Your Britches Down,” etc., but he couldn’t match the popularity of the original. However, that’s not to say he didn’t make anymore good records as even his most recent recordings have plenty to offer. Take it from some one who found out 37 years ago, an evening with Chick Willis won’t soon be forgotten.
Since the late 1950s to the dawn of the new millennium, there have been well over 200 different independent labels operating in and around New Orleans — perhaps the most of any American city outside of Nashville and New York. In the early days the record business appealed to individuals of various backgrounds who shared an entrepreneurial streak. For an investment of just a few hundred dollars, you could record and press several hundred singles. With a little luck — and maybe a $20 bill or a fifth of whiskey given to the right jock or jukebox operator — you could recoup your investment or, better yet, score a bona-fide hit record. With the abundance of R&B talent in New Orleans, it would happen with mind-boggling frequency.
As one old-school label owner and producer pointed out, “If you threw 10 (singles) out there and one stuck, it would pay for the other nine, and you still made money. That’s how the business worked.” With that kind of playing field, the independent record business obviously attracted many interesting and fascinating characters — and none more so than Senator Jones.
Between the late 1960s and early 1980s, Jones recorded an enormous amount of local R&B talent and headed up several labels under the “Erica Productions,” umbrella, a business he ran out of a small, cluttered office in the Masonic building on St. Bernard Avenue. Johnny Adams, Charles Brimmer, Barbara George, Chris Kenner, Tommy Ridgley, Walter Washington and James Rivers were among the numerous New Orleans artists to record for “the Senator.” A street-smart hustler who knew the independent record business backwards and forwards, Jones discovered several artists, but perhaps more importantly, he also extended the careers of many veteran R&B performers.
Senator Nolan Jones was born on Nov. 9, 1934, in Jackson, Miss., and his family moved to New Orleans in 1951. Fond of the bright lights, Senator worked as a laborer but was drafted into the Army two years later. Eventually stationed at Fort Benning, Georgia, Jones sang with a vocal group called the Desperados, whose ranks included Oscar Toney Jr. and Jo Jo White. The Desperados occasionally opened shows for the Five Royals as well as Hank Ballard and the Midnighters at nearby clubs.
Jones was discharged in 1957 and returned to New Orleans, where he began sitting in at local clubs like the Dew Drop and Club Tijuana. Hooking up with Al Johnson, Jones helped write “You Done Me Wrong,” which Johnson recorded in 1958 for Ron Records. In the early 1960s, Jones began hanging out at Joe Assunto’s One Stop Record Shop on South Rampart Street along with the likes of Earl King, Johnny Adams, King Floyd, and Professor Longhair. Assunto was an important player in the local record business, as he was a retailer, a wholesaler, and a record-label owner. Befriending One Stop clerk Beryl “Whurley Burley” Eugene, Jones convinced Eugene that he might well profit from his connections with Assunto if he started his own record label. In 1963, the Whurley Burley label debuted with Jones’ truely dreadful “Call the Sheriff”/ “Let Yourself Go.”
Senator Jones – Call the Sheriff
The following year Jones cut “Sugar Dee” for Assunto’s Watch label and, later, “Einie, Meenie,Minee, Mo” for the International City label, which was owned by a local disc jockey, Bob Robbins. The latter single actually made some noise, and Jones got booked for some local sock hops. International City did another session on Jones that produced “Mini Skirt Dance,” which was leased to Bell. However, after four tries, Jones realized he wasn’t going to make it as a recording artist.
However, bitten by the record bug, he decided to start working on the other side of the studio board. “I could see that local artists weren’t getting as recorded as much as they should,” Jones said in 1985. “I saw New Orleans acts steal the shows from national acts with hit records. That’s when I started thinking about producing.”
In 1968, Jones founded his first label, Black Patch, named for the patch he wore for several years after losing his left eye in an accident, and recorded “The President of Soul,” guitarist and singer Rockie Charles from New Orleans’ West Bank. When Charles’ “Mr. Rickashay” failed to sell, he folded Black Patch and formed a new label, Shagg.
Rockie Charles – The President of Soul
“I recorded ‘Kid Stuff,’ by the Barons,” recalled Jones. “I put that record out on Shagg 711. Shagg was a nickname a lot of artists gave me. ‘Kid Stuff’ did pretty well. Cosimo Matassa leased it to Dover (distributors) during the session. He paid me $800, which paid off (arranger) Wardell Quezergue and the musicians.”
Needing some startup capital to get off the ground, Jones got financing from club and motel owner Ferdinand Prout as well as two All South Records salesmen, Elmo Sonnier and Whitney Picou. The second Shagg single was by Guitar Ray, a cousin of Earl King, who had earlier recorded for Hot Line. Now highly collectable, the coupling of the intense “You Gonna Wreck My Life” and “I’m Never Gonna Break His Rules” was one of the best blues records to come out of New Orleans in the 1960s.
After just two releases on Shagg, Jones decided to fold it and form several other labels, including Superdome, Erica, Jenmark, JB’s, and Hep’ Me. “As I got more and more artists, I didn’t want to go to the radio stations with seven records on the same label,” said Jones. “I knew the deejays would say, ‘I can’t play all these records; they’re all on the same label.’ So I started new labels and switched colors on the labels to make them look different.”
Eventually, most of Jones releases would come out on Hep’ Me, a label that got its name in a curious fashion in the late 1960s. “When John McKeithen (from north Louisiana) was running for governor, he would get on TV and say, ‘Won’t you please hep me.’ Well, it got him elected. I figured if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me too.”
In 1973, local keyboardist, Ray J. (Raymond Jones) had the first release on Hep’ Me with a cover of Dr. John’s “Right Place Wrong Time,” which sold well around New Orleans. Ray J., who doubled as a prep school music teacher, also began arranging sessions for Jones. One of his first sessions produced the 1974 Carnival hit “Second Line Pt. 1 & 2″ by Stop Inc., which appeared on JB’s.
“That group was led by two brothers from Baton Rouge, Clyde and Brian Tolivar,” said Jones, “Bill Sinigal had recorded the original for White Cliffs, but the master was lost and they couldn’t press any more records. It was still a popular Carnival song even though nobody could buy it. Alvin Thomas plays tenor sax on my record because no one in the group could get that second-line sound.”
That same year Jones also had a best-seller with Eddie Lang’s topical “Food Stamp Blues,” which was released on Superdome. A veteran blues guitarist from the north shore, Lang had earlier recorded for RPM and Ron. “Food Stamp Blues” eventually was leased by Jewel Records and became a modest Southern hit.
Jones’ next taste of success was with deep-soul legend Charles Brimmer of New Orleans, whose smoldering “Afflicted” topped the local charts. The following year Jones produced Brimmer’s biggest hit, “The New God Bless Our Love.” Al Green had first recorded “God Bless Our Love,” but it was available only on an LP. Despite the pleas of jukebox operators and distributors, Green’s label, Hi, refused to issue the song on a single, hoping to extend the sales of the album. Jones was shrewd enough to realize there was a demand for a single of “God Bless Our Love” even it wasn’t by Al Green. Jones asked Brimmer to cover the song, and 48 hours after delivering dubs of “The New God Bless Our Love” to radio stations, Jones’ distributor, All South Records, had orders for 10,000 singles. Jones didn’t have enough money to press that many singles, so he leased “The New God Bless Our Love” to the Chelsea label in Los Angeles. Chelsea wound up selling 60,000 singles as well as 10,000 copies of a subsequent Charles Brimmer album produced by Jones.
Charles Brimmer – Afflicted
With his labels getting a tenuous foothold in the New Orleans R&B marketplace, Jones struck a deal with Marshall Sehorn. In return for access to the Sea-Saint recording studio owned by Sehorn and Allen Toussaint, Jones turned over a percentage of his profits to Sehorn and gave him the rights to license his material.
Jones lost his best-selling artist in 1976 when he and Brimmer had a falling out and the singer moved to Los Angeles. However, the following year Brimmer’s place would be taken by “The Tan Canary” of New Orleans, vocalist Johnny Adams. Adams hadn’t recorded since 1975, when his longtime label, SSS of Nashville, went out of business. Adams hoped to get signed by a major or a national independent label, but after two non-promoted singles on Atlantic, he had no other offers. Jones had been after Adams to do some recording for him for some time, but as anyone who knew Adams knows, Johnny was never in a hurry to do anything. Finally, when gigs started to dry up, Adams realized he needed a new record on the jukeboxes to attract work. That’s when Adams and Jones came to an agreement.
“Johnny was by far the greatest singer I ever heard,” said Jones. “The first time I booked the studio, he didn’t show up, which made me mad as hell (not a pleasant sight). I didn’t think he’d show up the second time, so when he did, we just pulled songs out of the air. That’s how the first single, “Stand By Me,” and the “Stand By Me” album came about. Marshall made a deal with Chelsea to release them.”
While the “Stand By Me” album (which might have sported the most uninspiring cover of the decade) and his early JB’s singles were reworkings of soul classics, Adams’ later work with Jones was far more imaginative. Jones scored his first hit with Adams with an interpretation of Conway Twitty’s “After All the Good Is Gone.” Originally released on Hep’ Me in 1978, the single was a strong regional mover and caught the attention of Ariola. Ariola leased the single, coaxing it into the charts, and contracted Adams to do an album with Jones. The resulting LP, “After All the Good Is Gone,” is arguably the best one that Adams ever recorded.
Johnny Adams -After all the Good Is Gone
Adams continued to record great singles for Jones that sold well around New Orleans, including the telling country lament “Hell Yes I Cheated,” “Spanish Harlem,” “Please Come Home For Christmas,” “I Live My Whole Life At Night” and “Love Me Now.” The latter song was leased to PAID Records and briefly charted. By the early 1980s, Jones had begun issuing 12-inch albums. While he had the market covered in regards to singles, his album releases were mostly woeful. Canned graphics, blurry photographs, distain for dictionaries and proofreaders (Johnny Adams was referred to as “the tan canery” on the back cover of his initial Hep’ Me LP) and extremely short playing time were common on Jones’ LPs.
Another consistent artist for Jones was Baton Rouge’s Bobby Powell, who joined Hep’ Me in 1978. Powell had a national hit with “C.C. Rider” in 1965 on the Baton Rouge label Whit after Jewel leased it. Powell recorded soul, blues, and gospel for Jones.
“Bobby was a sweet artist,” said Jones. “He can deliver anything you ask him to. He does blues, but he also leads a choir at his church. We had a number of good records. I’m speaking of “Sweet Sixteen,” “The Glory of Love,” and “I’m a Fool For You.”
Jones also recorded several New Orleans R&B veterans, including Chuck Carbo, Tommy Ridgley, Barbara George, Chris Kenner, and James Rivers. He also gave up-and-comers like the Las Vegas Connection, Walter Washington and Clem Easterling a chance to record.
However, by 1985, many of the local stations Jones depended on for airplay were in the hands of out-of-state owners and corporations that devised their own national playlists. This meant that the chance to get a local single played on the radio in New Orleans were slim to none. When airplay dried up, it became impossible to sell his releases to record stores and distributors. Once that happened, Jones could no longer afford to record and manufacture records.
“The stations in New Orleans forgot about us small record companies,” fumed Jones. “It got impossible to make a profit from a local record.”
After Adams left to record for Rounder, Jones more or less threw in the towel and began managing a small motel on the West Bank. By 1990, he had moved back to Mississippi, where he divided his time raising goats, producing the occasional record (often on himself) and working as a disc jockey on a small AM station under the guise of “Mr. Bo Bo.” He briefly partnered with Ace/Avanti Records owner Johnny Vincent, but there wasn’t a room in Mississippi big enough to hold both their egos and they eventually split. Jones also did some talent scouting and occasional record promotion, most notably for Malaco. His best find might have been discovering “The Love Doctor” and steering him to Mardi Gras Records, and he also released an early CD by Sir Charles Jones on the Hep’ Me label.
An era in the independent R&B record business ended when Senator Jones died in his sleep on Nov. 5, 2008, at his home in Bolton, Miss.
While Henry Gray has lived in the sleepy hamlet of Scotlandville, Louisiana, just north of Baton Rouge, for nearly 40 years, he is the obvious heir to the Chicago blues piano throne. Why, one might well ask? He gets the crown, via 25 years of playing in the Windy City during the golden age of Chicago blues. While he is best known for his lengthy tenure with Howlin’ Wolf, Gray also backed a virtual who’s who of legendary Chicago blues artists in the studio, and on the bandstand.
Gray’s style was, and still is, instantly recognizable. Rather than play chords like most of his contemporaries, Gray instead plays a busy cluster of notes on his right hand, overtop of the solid blues or boogie bass that he plays with his left hand. His style shone brightest on Wolf’s early 1960s recordings like, “Tail Dragger,” “Goin’ Down Slow” and “You’ll Be Mine.” But, even earlier, he enhanced Billy Boy Arnold’s, “I Wish You Would,” G. L. Crockett’s, “Look Out Mabel,” and Jimmy Rogers, “Blues All Day Long,” to name but a few.
Born January 19, 1923, at Kenner, La, he moved with his family to rural Alsen, La, when he was one year old. Little Henry began playing piano at the age of 10. He took formal lessons, but in 2002 he admitted, “There was no feeling in doing that.”
Gray’s parents were church-goers, and hoped their son would confine his playing to spirituals. However, at the age of 16 he was offered a job playing secular music at a local juke joint. Perplexed, his parents agreed when they realized their son was going to make a pocketful of money every night.
Gray had an aunt in Chicago, and in 1939, he visited her for a week. Taken aback by the active music scene there, he promised himself he’d soon be back. Unfortunately, WW II intervened and Gray found himself in the South Pacific until his honorable discharge in 1946.
“I was back in Louisiana a week and then took a train to Chicago,” said Gray. “My aunt was still there and I stayed with her a good while. I worked in a steel mill, but went to clubs at night. When I got there, I played with Big Bill Broonzy, Tampa Red and the Sonny Boy Williamson that got murdered.”
Gray would meed “Big” Maceo Merriweath, who became Gray’s biggest influence. He also hustled spare change with guys like Little Walter, playing music in Jew Town. In the early 1950s, he joined Little Hudson’s Shower’s Rain group which was a fixture at the Upstairs Lounge on the Southside.
In 1952, Gray entered the studio for the first time to accompany Jimmy Rodgers on his Chess recordings of, “Chicago Bound,” and “Blues All Day Long.”
“I went on the road with Jimmy,” said Gray. “He played with Muddy Waters. But when he had a record out that made a little noise, he’d leave and put a band together.”
The following year was a busy year for Gray as he backed Little Walter, Morris Pejoe and made his first solo recordings for the Checker label under the guise, “Little Henry,” The following year, he joined Little Walter’s Jukes on a cross country tour and recorded, “Who Will Be Next,” with Howlin’ Wolf, who had just recently moved north from Memphis.
The year 1955 remained a busy one for Gray as he split time between the Red Devil Trio and the Jukes. He also found time to record with Billy Boy Arnold—”I Wish You Would,” Jimmy Reed’s, “I Ain’t Got You,” and Jimmy Rodgers’, “Blues All Day Long.” Otis Spann was clearly Chess producer, Leonard Chess’, first choice on piano, but when Spann was on the road with Muddy Waters, Gray often got the call.
“I recorded with Junior Wells, Jimmy Reed, Billy Boy and Bo Diddley, but I was never part of their band,” specified Gray. “They saw me playing somewhere and asked me to make one of their sessions. Sometimes I’d make a gig with them if I could. Me, Spann and Little Johnnie Jones could work seven nights a week if we wanted to. Chicago was a piano players town back in the 1950s.”
In 1956, Gray only cut one session with Billy Boy Arnold at Vey Jay, but it marked the beginning of a 12 year tenure with Howlin’ Wolf.
“Wolf offered me more money than Walter so I went with him. He was quite strict but we got along okay. He had a .38, and I had a .38. You had to have one back then because we played in some pretty rough joints. Wolf was about business. Walter never was. Wolf bought the band uniforms—I had six different uniforms. Some musicians didn’t like Wolf telling them what to do and what to wear, but if it was your name out there, would you want a band behind you with their asses hanging out? He was professional and taught me a lot.
“Wolf was a good showman. He would crawl around on his hands and knees and drive the audience crazy. Hubert (Sumlin) was in the band when I joined. We played all over the south and west sides but we were the house band at Sylvio’s. When Wolf went on the road he took Hubert and left me to front the band because I could sing and hold a crowd.”
Gray played on scores of Wolf’s recordings and recalled they were arduous, often taking multiple takes, but occasionally quite humorous.
“Once he set his mind to doing something one way, it was had to get him to change,” said Gray. “We were in the studio cutting one of Willie Dixon’s songs, “Taildragger.” Wolf just couldn’t get the lyrics right. He kept singing, “I’m a tail dragger, I swipe out my tracks.” That just drove Leonard Chess crazy. He kept stopping us and yelling, ‘Damn Wolf. You don’t swipe out your tracks, you wipe out your tracks!’ It took over a dozen takes before Wolf got it right.”
Gray continued to pile up the studio credits, contributing brilliant piano backing on G. L. Crockett’s, “Look Out Mabel,” and Harold Burrage’s, “She Knocks Me Out.” In 1959, Gray brought a new sound to ensemble Chicago blues—at least in clubs—the electric piano.
“It was a Wurlitzer,” said Gray. “I played it through a Fender Bassman (amplifier). I got tired of playing torn up, out-of-tune pianos and playing around the bad notes. The worst was when we played clubs behind Muddy Waters. Spann destroyed pianos because he played so hard. He used to split the hammers on the piano some nights and they’d be all over the floor. I never recorded on the electric piano though because that wasn’t the sound the studios were looking for.”
In the early 1960s, most of Gray’s studio dates were in support of Howlin’ Wolf at Chess, although he took on an occasional outside session. In 1968, Wolf and Gray—two men with strong personalities parted forever.
“I had a few drinks one night and I was tired of Wolf’s petty bullshit,” said Gray. “I didn’t need the money, because I was getting a pension from the army. The day after I quit, I took the train back to Louisiana.”
After he got back to Louisiana, he picked up sporatic work plying music with Slim Harpo, Raful Neal, Silas Hogan and Tabby Thomas, but to make ends meet, Gray drove a bulldozer and worked as a roofer. In 1970, Lazy Lester took him to Crowley, Louisiana, where he recorded the spectacular single, “Lucky Lucky Man/You’re My Midnight Dream.” (This would make Gray the only musician to work under probably the three greatest blues record producers ever—Leonard Chess, Willie Dixon and J. D. Miller. The single alerted the world that Gray was still in the game. He was soon after recorded by Arhoolie and Blue Horizon, who put together Louisiana Blues anthologies. In the mid-1970s, Gray made the first of over 30 trips to Europe. In 1987, he made his first solo album, “They Call Me Little Henry,” which appeared on the German Blue Beat label. His first solo American album, “Lucky Man,” was released on Blind Pig in 1988. By then, Gray was a fixture on the American and European blues festival circuit, and a particular favorite at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.
Now in his mid-80s, Gray remains very active and is enjoying the release of a new CD, “Times Are Gettin’ Harder,” issued on the Lucky Cat label. If you’re interested in checking out a legend, or hearing some authentic blues, Henry Gray will be appearing at the Ogden Museum October 15, 2009.
Despite being a week night, the parking lot was jammed and I dare say, I had the only car in it with Ontario plates. The Greenville VFW’s major source of lighting seemed to be dim Christmas lights initially. Drink options were limited. Set ups—pint of whiskey, two cokes, ice and paper cups—and tepid quarts of Falstaff and Budweiser beer that sold for $2.00 each. I chose the latter and sat inauspiciously in a corner. When the stage lights came on, a local band, the Zodiacs no less, ran through a short set of current soul favorites. Then a small band took the stage and played a couple of instrumentals while they struggled with the sound system. Then a well dressed man—the promoter or a local deejay—got behind the microphone and asked the audience “Are you ready for the star of the show? Are you ready for the man of the hour?” The audiences response was was resounding “Yes!” The guy in the suit then proclaimed “Here he is, the stoop down man—Chick Willis!!!
In 1973, local keyboardist, Ray J. (Raymond Jones) had the first release on Hep’ Me with a cover of Dr. John’s “Right Place Wrong Time,” which sold well around New Orleans. Ray J., who doubled as a prep school music teacher, also began arranging sessions for Jones. One of his first sessions produced the 1974 Carnival hit “Second Line Pt. 1 & 2″ by Stop Inc., which appeared on JB’s.
While 
