Missing Link

Rock's Shadowman finally gets the credit he deserves

by John O'Neill

Check out the review or liner notes of any retrospective album by any artist considered even remotely influential in his or her genre and chances are pretty good you'll find the words "ahead of its time" tacked on somewhere. It's a phrase that gets tossed around in the world of music like a beat-up football at junior-high recess.

That said, let it be known that Link Wray was, well, ahead of his time. Like the Great Gazoo traveling back in time to Bedrock to mess with the silly primitives, Wray was so far ahead of the curve he had to invent what technology couldn't provide. Pete Townsend, Jeff Beck, Neil Young, even Jimi Hendrix each owe a debt to Wray's pioneering brilliance. Arguments can also be made that he is the true founding father for both punk rock and heavy metal. But there can be no argument that Wray changed the face of rock by redefining the role of the guitar. Through 40 years, he has produced some of the toughest, raunchiest recordings in the history of music.

Born on May 2, 1929 in North Carolina, Wray cut his teeth playing country music in his brother Vernon's many bands before taking control of the combo (re-christened the Raymen) and grabbing on to the new rock-and-roll beat.

Working local clubs and record hops in the DC and Virginia area, the Raymen quickly made a name for themselves as a top-flight instrumental combo. By miking his Sears and Roebuck amp at gigs, an unheard of practice at the time, Wray was able to make a huge, distorted noise that pushed the guitar out front.

The sound triggered a million seller by sheer luck one night when someone on the dancefloor requested a stroll. Wray didn't know one so, in a flash of brilliance, he made one up on the spot. That was "Rumble," a savage, three-cord monster, recorded in 1958, with a menacing sound Wray created by poking holes in his speaker with a pencil. The record was banned on some radio stations for being "too suggestive" -- a remarkable accomplishment for an instrumental.

Wray would move on to Epic records and record such seminal instrumentals as "Raw-Hide," "Commanche" and a whacked-out vocal, "Ain't That Lovin' You Babe," that must be heard to be believed.

When he left Epic, Wray recorded independently, experimenting with new sounds at brother Vernon's recording studio. In 1963, when Wray's "Jack the Ripper" started getting local airplay, he signed with Philadelphia's Swan Records, where the Raymen cut their best work -- "The Black Widow," "Run Chicken Run," "Branded," and "Ace of Spades," all later to become classics of instrumental rock.

Rock acts like Wray's were lost in the shuffle or discarded in the wake of the British Invasion, but the Raymen continued to perform their raucous brand of skull-smashing rock well into the mid-'60s. In 1971, Wray signed with Polydor, shifted gears, and countrified his catalogue. He would also appear on two well-received albums with rockabilly revivalist Robert Gordon in the late '70s before moving to Europe and into semi-retirement.

Wray was reintroduced to the masses along with surf great Dick Dale when "Ace of Spades" and "Rumble" turned up on the soundtrack of Quentin Tarantino's 1994 Pulp Fiction, (and later in various TV ads.)

Back again in the public eye, Wray has since cut Shadowman (Ace), an incredibly cohesive and raw piece of work that demonstrates what all the fuss was about 40 years ago when concerned parents burned rock albums. Wray still tosses out harsh, abrasive guitar noise. Listening to Shadowman is the aural equivalent of playing chicken with an oncoming freight train. From the throwbacks -- "Geronimo" and "Timewarp" (actually modified versions of earlier classics) -- to a check-out-cause-it's-burning-down cover of "Heartbreak Hotel," to creating, at age 67, one of the great punk tunes of all-time, "It Was So Easy," Wray slashes, bashes, and snarls with such brute honesty that other rock guitarists must stand aside as pretenders to the throne.

Link Wray's impact on rock is almost immeasurable. In terms of studio production, Wray, like Phil Spector and Brian Wilson after him, consistently broke down walls by pushing past the technology at hand, even as he was devolving sound to the most primitive possible forms. As an influence, he stands toe to toe with Elvis and the Beatles. His songs are recorded regularly by garage bands worldwide, and after decades in undeserved obscurity, the world finally seems to be waking up to the truth. Link Wray is rock's greatest guitarist.