A Tribute to Stevie Ray Vaughan

On a blues night to remember, Eric Clapton, B.B. King, Bonnie Raitt, Robert Cray, Buddy Guy and other stars joined Jimmie Vaughan in paying tribute to their late friend and brother, Stevie Ray Vaughan.
By Alan Paul

Jimmie Vaughan is all over the stage, demonstrating a slinky riff for Eric Clapton, Buddy Guy and Bonnie Raitt even as he teaches Robert Cray, Art Neville and Dr. John vocal cues. The super-group begins to run through a song, falling effortlessly into a deep, rolling groove, until Clapton suddenly stops playing, a smile spreading across his usually stoic face. The music trails off as everyone on stage follows Clapton's eyes across the room.

B.B. King, the focus of this show-stopping attention, strides across the floor, chest forward, head held high, a smile lighting up his round face. Trailed by a guitar-toting valet, King ascends the stage and, like the father of the bride at a big, joyous wedding, walks down the receiving line, embracing everyone in an expansive hug. He holds Vaughan in his arms for an extra moment, patting him three times on the back.

The valet takes Lucille out of her case and hands the guitar to King, who leans against a stool and begins to noodle away, loosening his fingers. Clapton takes a seat on a Fender Bassman amp directly behind B.B., as does Guy, both of them gazing up reverentially.

Vaughan, King, Clapton, Guy and Co. are all old friends, and their gathering was, in fact, a spectacular act of friendship, one which is now captured for posterity on a new album and video, both titled A Tribute to Stevie Ray Vaughan. On May 11, 1995, they came to Austin, Texas, from near and far to pay tribute to their fallen comrade, Stevie Ray Vaughan, who died five years prior after participating in a similar summit meeting at Alpine Valley, Wisconsin. The concert, organized and hosted by Stevie's brother, Jimmie, included everyone who shared the stage with Stevie Ray on August 26, 1990, the guitarist's final night on earth-Clapton, Guy, Cray, and Jimmie Vaughan-along with King, the slide diva Raitt, and two New Orleans keyboardists who were close with Vaughan, Dr. John and Art Neville.

"It was easy to figure out who to ask," Jimmie explained. "These people were Stevie's heroes and friends. You have to realize that Stevie was someone who wasn't accepted all the way back to the beginning of his life, so the acceptance of his idols--Clapton, Buddy Guy, B.B. King--meant everything. Without them, there was no tribute. "Doing this has been in the back of my mind for a long time," Vaughan continued. "But I didn't want to do it too soon-I couldn't have handled it, emotionally, and I wanted it to be far enough removed that it could be a happy, celebratory event. Most importantly, I wanted the music to be natural, because I knew that's what Stevie would have wanted."

Although rehearsal time for the concert was limited, songs came together almost instantly. King, whose regal arrival occurred less than three hours before showtime, worked out "Telephone Song"-which he had never sung before-in 45 minutes, twice stopping run-throughs to hear a playback of Stevie Ray's version (from Family Style) on a hand-held recorder.

"I just got the tape a week ago," he explained after the show. "I hummed through it a couple of times and tried to learn the song and figure out how I would sing it. I never even thought about the guitar part. I just tried to hear the chord progression and come up with something to play. I didn't even think about what Stevie played."

That was how Jimmie wanted it. "I told everyone that I wanted them to play like themselves," Vaughan said. "You don't ask B.B. King or Eric Clapton to do anything else, and besides it wouldn't be the right way to honor Stevie. And the only reason this whole thing is happening is because we all love Stevie."

Vaughan's sentiments were echoed by the other performers, each of whom recalled personal memories of Stevie Ray.

"The most lasting memory I have of Stevie is his passion," said Raitt. "I don't think there's anyone who tears into a song the way he did. I think Stevie Ray was coming from some place so deep and so beautiful that there's no one you can compare him to."

B.B. King went further, placing Stevie in the rarefied company of two of jazz's greatest innovators."When most of us play a 12-bar solo, we play maybe two choruses and the rest is all repetition," King said. "Stevie Ray was one of just a handful of musicians I've heard in my life-Charlie Parker and Charlie Christian come to mind-who weren't like that. The longer they played, the better they played. Ideas continuously sprang up and were developed. Stevie's playing just flowed; he never had to stop to think.

"His execution was flawless, and his feel was impeccable. He could play as fast as anyone, but he never lost that feel. His guitar was his means of speech, and he spoke beautifully. I would say you could feel his soul. I know I did."

Buddy Guy, sitting at King's side, added simply, "He was one of the best ever. Period."

"That's right," King said. "He was a leader in what he did. Not a follower-a leader."

"I'm glad we're doing this," Guy continued. "And I'm glad we waited almost five years. I couldn't even talk about it right afterwards. He was like family to me; when he died, I felt as bad as if I had lost my kid. I still can't believe he's not here anymore. But he wouldn't have wanted it to be sad, because this is about the music, and he was completely pure about the music."

"The music meant everything to Stevie," agreed Vaughan. "The guitar was his instrument of liberation, his magic sword. It allowed him to express himself, so he could speak, he could have an identity, he could find out who he was. When Stevie played, his guitar literally talked. If you listen, you can hear him speaking."

Bonnie Raitt swaggered onstage brandishing her stripped-to-the-bone Strat and proclaimed herself proud to be the evening's only woman representative. "Stevie," she added, "this one's for you, darlin'." With that, she tore into "Pride And Joy," playing it as a headbanging shuffle romp and rolling out a limber, fluid yet biting slide solo, which glided over and around the hard-charging rhythm section.

Emcee Jimmie Vaughan picked up his guitar and took center stage for a blistering attack on "Texas Flood," the Larry Davis song which helped launch Stevie's career. Pompadoured head down, Strat capoed at the third fret, Jimmie played with searing intensity, all serious business. Stretching out, Vaughan played more extended lines than is his wont, with Stevie Ray's Double Trouble rhythm section firmly locked into the song's straight blues stomp.

"The whole time I couldn't figure out if I should laugh or cry," said Vaughan afterwards. "I often got choked up and didn't think I'd be able to sing. You know how you feel when you're fixing to cry? It was like that, and I wasn't sure if anything was gonna come out when I opened my mouth. But it was happy at the same time, because I was thinking about Stevie and how proud this would make him."

Next up was B.B. King, who ripped through "Telephone Song," singing with fiery passion and offering up streams of melodic, liquid-toned guitar work. On the coda, rhythm guitarist Vaughan stepped forward, initiating some sterling interplay between two of guitardom's most consummately tasteful players, bringing the song down with a pillow-soft landing.

An obviously moved Buddy Guy took the stage with one of his trademark polka-dot Strats, several times appearing on the verge of tears. "I felt Stevie looking down when I was playing," the guitarist explained after the show. A mesmerizing singer, he turned "Long, Long Way From Home" into a dramatic vocal showpiece.

Starting at low volume, Guy masterfully manipulated dynamics to build from a whisper to a roar, letting out a burst of barely controlled feedback which served as a perfect metaphor for his reckless playing.

The always-unenviable task of following the hyper-magnetic Guy fell on Eric Clapton, who said simply, "I'm scared." He had little to worry about on this night, playing an inspired "Ain't Gone 'N' Give Up On Love." He grabbed the slow blues by the throat and shook it with feral intensity. Playing with fire in his belly and passion in his heart, Clapton unleashed a barrage of rapid-fire, increasingly aggressive licks on his cream-colored Strat. An impressively fiery performance.

Robert Cray led the band through a Chuck Berry-flavored "Love Struck Baby," singing the shuffle with evident glee. With Vaughan playing dead-on double-stops behind him, Cray stepped forward, eyes closed, head rocking side to side and played a staccato, stabbing solo. Dr. John followed with a sinuous, barrelhouse take on "Cold Shot," banging out his trebly triplets and octave basslines with gusto.

The concert was gaining steam, with all the performers seeming to find their zone, but the real fun was just about to begin, as everyone took the stage for the much-anticipated grand finale. Vaughan, standing at center stage, launched into "Six Strings Down," a moving tribute to his brother from his own Strange Pleasure album. Everyone kicked in, each player finding a corner of the song and making it his or her own, with Cray firing off economical, chiming counterpoint to Raitt's stinging slide, King playing fills to Clapton's three-note solo figure, and Guy unleashing piercing, single-note bends to answer Vaughan, who fingerpicked the main theme on his battered Strat. The sounds rose together and meshed into one glorious guitar wail, sending the song soaring into the stratosphere.

And when Vaughan, head thrown back, eyes tightly clenched, sang "Alpine Valley, in the middle of the night/ Six strings down, on the heaven-bound flight/," the music was so powerfully evocative of Stevie Ray that for a lingering instant it seemed as if he might stride on stage, Number-One Strat in hand. It was a transcendent moment-the kind one is lucky to experience a handful of in a lifetime of playing and listening to music.


But there was still much more to come. Vaughan's trio of backup singers took the stage for "Tick Tock," and mono-named vocalist Briz took the song to church, building a gospel fervor that was picked up on by King, who launched a soaring cluster of blue notes which ascended like a mournful lamentation for Stevie Ray. As the song built to a crescendo, with Clapton playing a pungent solo, Jimmie looked upward and grinned from ear to ear. The song gained an added poignancy it really could have done without when Briz died of a brain aneurysm a few months after the concert.

At the conclusion of "Tick Tock," Vaughan played a serpentine four-note riff which initiated an unrehearsed jam, now titled "SRV Shuffle." King played a flurry of his trademark, heavily vibratoed licks, which Cray answered with a pithy, sharp-toned attack. Guy responded with several overbends, so absurdly wide that they cracked up Clapton, who flashed a huge cross-stage grin at Vaughan. But Guy had only just begun; he unleashed a cluster of seemingly insane notes, entering a land of total abandon where few dare to tread. Clapton took up the challenge, answering Guy with a chorus of repeats which built to an impressive, if more controlled, frenzy. Bonnie Raitt responded with spitfire slide clarions, and Dr. John rolled down the ivories before Jimmie literally leapt to center stage, taking over with his own unorthodox attack-percussive, staccato fingerpicking.

The song was winding down, but no one was ready for the evening to end, so Clapton took another chorus, which B.B. answered, the two of them engaging in a call and response. Then, with the band laying out, the guitarists went round-the-clock playing unaccompanied choruses, a conversation between the six surviving members of blues' first family: Cray, King, Guy, Clapton, Raitt and, finally, Vaughan.

With the summit meeting actually, finally, over, the emotions everyone had struggled for two days to contain poured forth. Hugs and handshakes broke out all over the stage. Jimmie went right for B.B., and the blues patriarch wrapped the bereaved brother in a giant bear hug at center stage as everyone crowded around, joining in on a communal embrace. The evening was over, tribute had been paid. It was not hard to picture Stevie Ray Vaughan, somewhere, tipping his hat in thanks.

Taken from the GutarWorld.com. I hope that those guys don't mind, although "This story © 1997 by Harris Publications, Inc." This is posted here purely for the enjoyment of Stevie Ray Vaughan fans and is NOT to be Downloaded or Reprinted. If you are the owner of a this article and object to it being placed here e-mail me, and your rights will be honored immediately.