Big Sandy & His Fly-Rite Boys Seek Darkness on the Edge of Rockabilly
There was a significant evolution in sound from the Trio days to the full ensemble the Fly-Rite Boys have become, but there have been subtler developments as well. Williams is the primary songwriter for the group — a hefty responsibility considering the amount of time he spends on the road. In an average year the band dedicates more than six months to touring, and even when they’re not traveling, they stay busy with local gigs. Williams has been trying to keep an ongoing resolution to change his writing habits so that he doesn’t always end up composing an album’s worth of material under pressure, with studio time looming.
That may be easier with new bassist Jeff West in the fold. Following the departure of Wally Hersom (with whom Williams founded the band in 1988), who left to put down domestic roots, West signed on from a more straight-up rockabilly side project that Kingman and drummer Bobby Trimble play in called Ramblin’ James & the Billy Boppers.
“He’s been bringing a lot to the band,” Williams says of West. “I never had anybody to sing with before, so having that harmony vocal brings a lot to it, and it’s kind of given me a renewed enthusiasm to come up with new ideas and new possibilities.
“As it is now I write most of our material. Jeff contributed a song to the new album [‘Give Your Loving To Me’], and we’ll see where he goes with that. Maybe he’ll end up putting in a little bit more. Maybe he and I will start working on some things together.”
Recently Williams also has felt the need to broaden the emotional range of his songs. Though the Fly-Rite Boys’ current album, Night Tide, doesn’t take any wild mood swings, several tracks reflect a concerted effort to explore more somber scenarios, musically and lyrically. “Between Darkness And Dawn” infuses Buddy Holly-style pop with darker blues elements; “Tequila Calling” is a plucky ode to the bottle; and possibly the most ambitious track on the album, “When Sleep Won’t Come (Blues For Spade)”, is an ode to Spade Cooley, the legendary western swing bandleader.
Cooley enjoyed immense popularity in the 1940s and ’50s before his fortunes took a turn for the worse. He began hitting the bottle, and subsequently his second wife, Ella Mae Evans. On April 3, 1961, he killed her in a drunken rage, in front of their 14-year-old daughter. Williams tried to write the song from Cooley’s perspective in prison, alone with his conscience. (On December 17, 1969, Cooley was allowed by the parole board to play a sheriff’s benefit before an audience of 3,000. He was well-received, then died of a heart attack backstage.)
It was a challenge for Williams to wear another persona, but in telling Cooley’s story he was able to tap into his more pensive side. “When you’re out touring and doing a couple months playing every night, you’re sort of focused on that,” he says. “You’ve got a daily routine and it’s sort of like living another life. You don’t have to worry about your troubles back home. But when I get back home it’s like I don’t know what to do with myself. You’re left alone with your thoughts and it can take different dark turns sometimes.”
Williams says Night Tide “was also partially a response to comments I’d been getting over the last few years — compliments, actually, but something that made me think about what we’re doing. People always come up and tell me, ‘I just love you guys. I can’t help but smile listening to your music You guys are so fun.’ And they’re being very complimentary, but I don’t want to be just that. We usually have a pretty full dance floor when we’re playing and I really love that element of it, but I want there to be something more there for the people who are listening to the lyrics and paying attention to that sort of thing.”
Kingman is also interested in expanding the band’s range and feels it’s entirely possible to do so without disrupting the rootsy foundation of the band. “I kind of think of us as the thing that came after [western swing] but before rock ‘n’ roll,” he says. “Like western swing with the manic-ness kicked up a notch, and when rock ‘n’ roll came along it was manic all the way so it almost lost the folky feeling.
“Like, listening to the Million Dollar Quartet where it’s Elvis singing and it’s Carl Perkins’ band with Jerry Lee Lewis on piano…but you know there’s some really good gospel songs on that. ‘Take My Hand Precious Lord.’ The way they play it, you can hear that them guys probably sat around playing religious songs, and some of the feel that’s in religious music transfers into the rockabilly.
“You know there’s more to it than clothes and cars — there’s actually a deeper connection with peoples’ souls in it…I wouldn’t mind doing a gospel record, but the problem is people might think that you’re not sincere about it. But it definitely moves me.”
Sincerity isn’t something Kingman and company need to worry about. Songs that plumb deeper and higher will come if they set their minds to it, but in the meantime the vivacious music and the affection with which they play comes through loud and clear — and that’s what matters most.
“We’ve had a very consistent core audience,” Williams says. “Some places we play, the crowd will be entirely the rockabilly kids, but when we go to other areas there will be those kids along with older people who were around to hear the music the first time around.
“A few times we’ve gone to cities where we’ve been sandwiched between a couple of punk rock bands in front of kids who don’t really know the history of the sort of music we’re drawing from, but they seem to enjoy it. Sometimes I prefer playing in situations like that. It’s more of a challenge because they don’t know the music, but it can be easier because they don’t have any preconceptions about what it’s supposed to sound like. They just get caught up in the energy of it.”
Sandy Masuo is a Los Angeles-based freelance writer. Her work has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, RayGun, and Smug. She lives with two anti-social cats, a collection of exotic rugs, and every Star Trek figure known to man. Except for Thomas Riker.