2005-12-02 - 11:41 p.m.
I just heard that Link Wray passed away, so now I�ll never get a chance to meet him. I thought I�d take this opportunity to recount the time I should have met him, but didn�t because I was being a wuss. Let it serve as a reminder to you to seize the day and not let a minor inconvenience keep you from rendezvousing with greatness. Or something.
Link Wray was one of the pioneers of rock and roll. He was in many ways the godfather of punk rock. Part of this is because he was white and punk is essentially a white piss-take on the rock music originally created by black musicians. Part of this is because, the fuzz-box not to be invented for another decade, he punched holes in his speaker cones when he was first recorded (in 1956?) to get the right guitar distortion sound.
Link was from the Maryland panhandle and played in a band with his brothers starting in the early 1950s. They played a music often called �rockabilly�, but I don�t think they would have thought to call it anything. The creation of new musical forms is not a conscious process. No one says �Currently we play rockabilly music, but we are shifting our sound to form a new style which will be named �rock�n�roll��.
The story I heard is that the band was playing a high school dance in 1955. Someone requested they play a �stroll� (a song using one of the early proto-rock beat structures). Link had no idea what this was, so he improvised a tune on the spot, later recorded as �Rumble�. It absolutely terrified the audience. Go listen to it. It�s still terrifying now, a half-century later. It�s menacing, dangerous, primal. It is sex. And it doesn�t even have words.
I used to give a talk to aspiring DJs at my radio station on the early history of rock. The �pre-punk� lecture. The lecture was part of a series (later ones included punk, art-rock, hardcore, post-punk, indie rock, pop, and noise) meant to familiarize the kids with the development of rock music as underground music DJs wanted it presented (hence, the Beatles were barely mentioned so we could focus on the Sonics and the Seeds and the Pleasure Seekers � yeah with Tuscadero a.k.a. Suzi Quatro � from the same era).
Giving the pre-punk lecture was tougher than it sounds, as I was asked to pack everything from 1955-ish to 1977-ish into one hour. But Link certainly got a place of honor. An outside artist like all great pioneers, a crazy kid from the backwoods, he could get more feeling out of a guitar with one of the simple power chords he basically invented than anyone could ever learn with years of Julliard training. Naturally, I�d always assumed he died an early and tragic death.
Well, in the winter of 2001-2002 I saw that the Wraymen (his band) were scheduled to play at a local club. I figured it was just some former sideman using the name, but called the club anyway to ask. They said it was indeed Link himself, now in his 70s and usually living (I imagined some weird hermitic existence) on an island off the coast of Denmark.
With a flush of excitement, I called his label to arrange an interview. They were happy to accommodate and said Link actually liked giving interviews (someday I�ll tell you about the time I talked with a surly Jonathan Richman and he totally stuffed me). This was unbelievable good fortune! I was getting to meet a living legend! I was going to interview Link Wray!
I counted the days until the show. A few days before it, I got some kind of toe infection (I really can�t remember how), but I shrugged it off. Minor discomfort certainly wouldn�t impact me interacting with an idol. That my toe was turning alarming shades of purple and swelling up to the size of a grapefruit would not sway me from my rendezvous with greatness.
Well. The night of the show came and I knew I had to get there early, like during the soundcheck, to get time with Link. The club was across the river in Cambridge and I didn�t have money for a cab. But I figured I would just take the T. Walk a few blocks to the Haymarket Green Line stop, transfer to the Red at Park Street, and get out at Central. I did it all the time to go to shows. No problem.
Except not this time. Every step was a world of pain. I couldn�t even make it down my stairs, never mind hoof it to the train station. This hurt an awful lot. No way I could make it tonight. The show would have to go on without me; I was just going to pass out from the pain. Maybe I should see a doctor or something. Maybe tomorrow.
When I woke up in the morning, I made an appointment with a podiatrist and wondered how I could get there without putting weight on my foot. Then I remembered that I hadn�t gone to interview Link Wray. Because my toe hurt. The guy was in town from Denmark and I couldn�t make it from Boston to Cambridge. Pretty pathetic.
And Link Wray had lost a lung. Some bronchial infection run amok contracted during his military service during the Korean War (I think he was stationed in Europe, but still). The reason he rarely sings on his tracks is because he just doesn�t have the vocal strength. One freakin� lung. And I had a toe infection. They just don�t make real men like they used to.
Now he really is dead. I�ll never get a chance to meet him. Ah fuck. Hey, listen to his music right now. Buy an album. Download an MP3 (it�s not like he�s getting royalties anymore). Quake in terror. Snarl with delight. Fuck someone. Start a fistfight. This is what rock�n�roll is.
� 2005 Geoff Gladstone
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