Link's legend

Rock's original guitarist still unleashes a powerful chord

by David Ritchie

On September 14, 1981, the Rolling Stones overwhelmed Worcester by appearing at Sir Morgan's Cove. For the remainder of its existence, the Cove overwhelmed Worcester with its tiring reminder

of the incident. Exactly eighteen years later (Tuesday, September 14, at the reopened Lucky Dog Music Hall), none other than Link Wray will grace the same stage, along with garage gods the Lyres and the Odds. Link Wray rocks harder than the Stones ever did. He invented guitar distortion. He invented the power chord. Link is an icon to other guitarists -- in the words of Pete Townsend, "He is the King. If it hadn't been for Link Wray, I'd have never picked up a guitar."

His first hit, "Rumble," took the market by storm in 1958, eventually selling 4 million records. The song is a masterpiece (the first of several in his career), two minutes and fifteen seconds of pure joy -- or, more realistically, the most unpure record yet recorded in 1957.

But if you don't know Link by name, you know his songs -- John Travolta and Uma Thurman grooved to the great Link Wray in Pulp Fiction. If you're dismayed by the disappearance of rock and roll, be advised to plant yourself in front of the stage, where the 70-year-old Link will coax a barrage of chords and unforgettable melodies from his screamin' red guitar (distortion, tremolo, and feedback thrown in for good measure). Also on stage will be Link's ever present wife, Olive Julie, along with Adam Ellis on bass, Jay Dillon on drums, and, in a new twist, a photographer. Director Robert Rodriguez (El Mariachi, Desperado) has sent Tommy Nixs to get documentary footage (Link's song, "Jack the Ripper," was featured in Desperado).

I reached Link Wray at his hotel in Georgia the morning after a recent gig. He was extremely animated, though he began with an apology: "I'm a bit hoarse from hollerin' and singin' last night." Link sounds like an excited kid when he describes the tour and the fans who flock to hear his tunes. "Oh yeah, these little `50s bands, man, they come out with their hairdos and their `50s garb, and they jump on stage and welcome Link Wray. . . . givin' me the bear hug, bringin' their guitars out for me to sign. It's really lovely." He laughs, something he does quite a bit. "I love playin' in America to you beautiful kids, man."

As much as Link enjoys the `50s kids, he's no tired retro act. He's no tired anything -- he's living, breathing rock and roll. Some call him the father of punk and heavy metal. He's a youngster on stage, plowing through hits like "Rumble," "Run Chicken Run," "Branded," a collection of Elvis and Hank Williams songs, and whatever new instrumentals he's accumulated along the way.

"The kids probably don't even know if [the song] is old or new. . . . They just come out with rock and roll, man."

Link Wray played guitar (pronounced GIT-ar) from an early age, forming country and western bands with his brothers Vernon and Doug. In 1949, he was called into the Korean War, but soon contracted tuberculosis. After his discharge, he reformed the band, but, in 1956, he was again hospitalized with TB, which, this time, cost him a lung. That resulted in the somewhat fortuitous medical advice not to sing -- so he worked up original instrumental material instead.

In 1957, with the country in the thick of a new craze, Link Wray and the Raymen appeared: Link on lead guitar, his brother Ray as road manager, Doug on drums, and his cousin, Shorty Horton, on string bass. "All you had was jazz and Top 40 and you had your Hank Williams country. . . . Elvis sorta opened the door for everybody. And it was very wild back in those days because it was brand new and it was rebellious against the Moms and Dads." (laughs) "They hated Elvis. And so the kids. . . . it was just like a tornado hittin' the country, called rock and roll. I just happened to be part of that scene."

The Raymen were playing record hops to audiences of thousands of kids. They would play live music until around 11:00 p.m., when the DJ would bring out stars like Jerry Lee Lewis to lip-synch to their records. On one particular night at a classic hot-rod house in Fredricksburg, Virginia, the DJ asked Link to play a new dance called the Stroll. "I said, `I don't know it.' And my brother says, `I know one,' so he just started playing the drums, y'know, a stroll beat. And then that. . . . uh. . . . uh. . . . " For a moment, Link is uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "My Jesus God, man, just zapped `Rumble' right in my head and I just started playing `Dooow. . . . Ndooow. . . . Ndooow.' And all of a sudden, my brother Ray, he just takes the singing mike and stuck it down into my amplifier, y'know, so it would pulsate all over the place." Bands today mike everything -- amps and drums. "Back in those days, everything was sorta quiet. I had an old Premier amplifier and it was like 50 watts. . . . and my guitar, I had it wide open, right? So every time I hit the strings it would make the singing mike speakers rattle." The audience went nuts.

"And then when I went to the studio, I tried to get that same sound, and the studio was so clean, y'know. Everything was so stinking clean in there. . . . I said, `This ain't the way I heard it at the hop.' And the engineer said, `Well ain't nothin' I can do about that Link. I'm not gonna destroy my mikes.' So I took off the head of my old Premier amplifier, right, and I had two tweeters on the amp, it was like 10" speakers in the top, and then I had one big 15" on the bottom. And so the engineer stuck a mike on each tweeter, and then put one on the clean 15", right? And on the tweeters I just took a pencil and stuck holes in the speakers on the tweeters so I could get that distorted rattling sound while I was playing."

The funny thing about this story is how much pleasure Link Wray seems to have telling it -- he finishes off in a fit of diabolical laughter. He must have told this story hundreds of times since 1957, but it's such a pleasure to hear him talk about the song. When I suggest that his desire for distortion changed musical history, he becomes somewhat reticent. "Well, y'know, I mean, I was just tryin' for a sound, y'know?"

So it's up to people like Townsend and Neil Young to put Link's work into context. Young has said, "If I could go back in time and see any band, it would be Link Wray and the Raymen."

Link soon began to appreciate the dirty sound of a cheap guitar. "That's why I got away from Gibsons and started playing the Danelectro in 1959 when I did `Rawhide.'" The years following saw a move from Epic to Swan records, where Link cut some of his most daring and influential sides. Link and his family had moved into a farmhouse in Accokeek, Maryland, and set up a three-track basement recording studio. With unlimited studio time and a little space between them and the neighbors, the Raymen were unstoppable, recording one gritty tune after another, from amazing originals like "Ace of Spades" and "Jack the Ripper" to truly inspired covers like Howlin' Wolf's "Hidden Charms."

With the death of Swan Records (which had given Link complete creative control), he took a series of hiatuses from music, returning, in 1971, with a more acoustic, country sound, and, in the late `70s, backing up rockabilly revivalist Robert Gordon before settling in Denmark in 1983. Then in 1997, with renewed attention from the movie soundtracks (including Independence Day), he came back with a vengeance on Shadowman, a CD on Ace Records that saw him at the top of his primordial form.

But it's always been the live shows where Link showed his stuff and, thanks to the hard work of Lucky Dog affiliates, Worcester is on Link's itinerary. So turn off the classic-hits radio station, bypass the pseudo-retro `50s club, and come out to the Lucky Dog to see how it's really done.

Link Wray, the Lyres, and the Odds play the Lucky Dog Music Hall, Tuesday, September 14. Tickets are $13, available at the club or by calling (800) 477-6849.