Like his Sun Records label mate, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis had a primitive, idiosyncratic style that was instantly identifiable. And, like that of The Man In Black, somehow The Killer’s narrow style held up over a huge volume of recordings without wearing out its welcome.
I saw Jerry Lee perform at The Palomino several times. His energetic shows were always superb. However, my favorite recollection was of a time I was in Houston during the 70s for an oil and gas law seminar.
After one of the interminable sessions, I went out with a group of fellow students to a nearby music club to see a local performer whose name escapes me. The guy was pretty good, but after his first set, he peered it out into the audience and “happened” to spot The Killer at a table with some younger guys nursing a scotch straight up.
When he asked Lewis if he would favor the audience with a song, Jerry Lee stood up and strutted onto the stage, where there just happened to be an unused piano. The other guys at the table went up with him, two of whom were carrying guitars, and the other, drumsticks. They proceeded to tear off a two hour set, full of his legendary stool jumping histrionics. The songs owed more to his early rock ‘n roll days than his later country hits, but by the time he ended with a six minute version of “Great Balls of Fire”, we were all happily exhausted. This was one of the two or three most unforgettable shows I’ve ever seen.
For a whole host of societal and musical reasons, there will never be another Jerry Lee Lewis. RIP.
www.rollingstone.com
www.knkx.org
www.npr.org
musicrow.com