by Alan Paul
In December 1986, during a short break from the road, Stevie met Janna in Florence, Italy, where she was studying on an exchange program. He toured the sites in a full-length fur coat, wearing his trademark black hat and carrying a black walking stick.
“It was something I had planned during the time he quit calling and I was moving on,” says Lapidus. “He called and asked if he could meet me there. I was in an exchange program and got in some trouble for blowing off the itinerary as we took off on our own and stayed in hotels. It was amazing. I came home and repacked before heading to Dallas. We just knew we were going to be together.”
Stevie filed for divorce from Lenny, from whom he had been estranged, on January 13, 1987, and Lapidus, who was not yet eighteen, moved to Dallas shortly after.
SHANNON: It was a very painful time for Stevie. He and Lenny had a drug-inflicted relationship, which caused extreme behavior, but they truly loved each other, though I think they both knew it was over. They hadn’t resembled a married couple for a while, but it took a long time to get resolved. They both knew that it was the best thing, but the process was painful for him. The damage had been done.
LAPIDUS: It was just gut-wrenching to watch him go through this. He’d come back from proceedings heartbroken and disgruntled and shocked that money was being fought over so much. He didn’t have much money and was just starting to understand more about it. He cared about people; he cared about his crew and band and keeping anyone he could on retainer, and his naïveté about money was being turned on him.
Janna and Stevie moved in with his mother at 2557 Glenfield Avenue, staying in his childhood room, before renting a house in Dallas together and moving in on May 3.
LAPIDUS: We stayed in his old room for a few months, and it was a great, sweet time. Having that opportunity to be there together, to experience his life and his relationship with his mother as they got closer was amazing. It was part of why he moved to Dallas, along with seeing who his real friends were.
CIDNEY COOK AYOTTE: Stevie was crazy about his mom. He bought her a telephone that had a little picture screen on it so they could do video calls, which was the latest, greatest technology. She was so proud of it. He was very affectionate, a really loving, caring son. He was that way towards my dad, too.
LAPIDUS: He also got one of those video phones for my parents. He loved that thing and all gadgets! At the same time, he was going through grueling divorce proceedings and talking to Alex, saying, “My schedule needs to be calmer. I need days off on the road.” He was saying, “I need to do this my way more.” As much as he was on the road, he also needed to be alive.
RICKERT: Stevie developed a life. He was living, not just waiting to go back on tour or into the studio as he had before and as so many musicians do. He had a girlfriend that he was very happy with. He would spend his off time doing things. As the years went by, he became happier and happier and had more and more of a full life.
SUBLETT: He seemed to be crazy about Janna, really smitten. It seemed to me that for the first time in his life, he had a healthy relationship, that he wasn’t always in pain and agony over doubting the situation, that he finally had a mature relationship, where two people were equally crazy about each other and wanted to be together. I just know he wanted to be with her, and they were making arrangements for the future.
WYNANS: I really had the sense that he was all in with Janna. Their romance grew quickly, he loved being around her, and they would have long conversations on the phone.
CONNIE VAUGHAN: When Stevie fell in love, he fell hard. He was a romantic, and he wanted one person in his life.
JORDAN: I was walking down Park Ave in New York and I saw Stevie in a hotel restaurant, and we waved and I went in. He was with [Janna], and he was so sweet. We had a cool, little mellow meeting, and it was so chill. He was reinventing himself, and it was just great to see and left me feeling so hopeful. I remember thinking, “He’s not gonna burn out. We’re going to have him for a while.”
BENSON: I was running through the DFW airport when I heard someone call my name, and there was Stevie standing with his beautiful gal. He introduced me to Janna, and they seemed so happy. Lenny and him had become such a mess because of the dope, and to see him radiating a feeling of serenity and happiness was just great. I ran off to catch my plane feeling so good about where he was.
BRAMHALL II: When Stevie was living in Dallas, his house was close to Poor David’s, a little blues club, and when he was home, he’d go over there and jam with my dad or a friend like Anson Funderburgh and invite me to join him. It would just be informal, fun jamming.
SRV: Sometimes I’ll go to a small club and jam with Doyle Senior and Doyle Junior. I love to say, “On drums, Doyle Bramhall … on guitar, Doyle Bramhall!”
BRAMHALL II: He liked to get me onstage and say my name as often as possible, which was part of him taking me under his wing. He did the same for Colin James and some others. He was always looking to shine a light and help people.
RAY WYLIE HUBBARD, acclaimed Texas singer/songwriter, best known for “Up Against the Wall, Redneck Mother”: In November ’87, I was a blackout drunk who thought cocaine was the answer to my drinking problem. It just gave my booze legs so I could go on longer. I was a garbage head who would put anything in my body. A girl I was going with finally got me to go to an AA meeting, and there was Stevie. Afterwards, I sat with him and his sponsor and we talked, and he did what he was supposed to do: he shared experience, strength, and hope. Everyone else I knew who got sober ended up on The 700 Club [Christian-faith television show], and I thought of myself as an edgy guy. Stevie was the first cat who got sober and was still cool!
Doyle and Stevie at Mama’s Pizza, Fort Worth, 12-20-1987, at a surprise party for Doyle’s stepson, Chris Hunter. (Logan Hunter Thompson)
LAPIDUS: Stevie always had that open heart. Rehab and the program gave him language and lingo to use to express what he always felt, and it gave him something to hold on to. Very importantly, it also gave him strength in numbers, knowing he was not alone, knowing he was taking baby steps and feeling every day, “I can do this.”
HUBBARD: The thought of going an hour without a beer was unbearable, much less a day, much less the rest of my life. I asked Stevie, “What happens? What goes on when you’re sober?” He said after about five or six months, it was like he took off a pair of boxing gloves that had always been on his hands and he could finally play guitar. I told him that he had always been great, and he said, “No, once I got sober, there was nothing between me and my music.” That was the first thing that gave me hope and it finally clicked, and I started going to meetings and got a sponsor. I thought my life was over: “If I can’t drink a beer, I’m doomed.” I had no way of knowing that it was just beginning. I’m not sure anyone other than Stevie could have put me on that road.
RONNIE EARL: Stevie came in and sat in with me whenever he could, which was a blessing and an honor itself, but there was one night at Lupo’s in Providence, Rhode Island, that changed my life. I was high and pretty messed up when Stevie walked in, and I noticed a sticker on his guitar case that said, “Say No to Drugs.” Those simple words hit me like a ton of bricks—because it was Stevie, not someone preaching. It was a signpost on my road to getting sober, which I finally did six months later. Stevie didn’t say a word to me about this, but he showed me the way. He had gotten sober, and I took note of the fact that he was still playing so beautifully, with just as much power but even more focus and clarity. What a beautiful man.
SCOTT PHARES: Stevie was a huge, positive influence on my getting sober. He spoke at several AA meetings I attended. He was a role model for sobriety just as he had been as a musician and guitarist when we were teenagers.
LAYTON: Stevie was frustrated, because he felt he couldn’t meet people as “Stevie Ray, regular guy.” It was always, “Oh, Stevie Ray Vaughan!” He’d say, “I’d like to meet someone that has no idea who I am or what I do so I can just talk to them and they won’t be faw
ning all over me.” Now that he was sober, it was really important for him to be able to speak to people just as a human being without all the trappings of his fame.
Stevie with Otis Rush, one of his heroes, backstage at Antone’s, 1988. (J.P. Whitefield)
SHANNON: He refused to sign autographs at meetings. He didn’t think it was appropriate. He’d say, “Not here.” One of the cool things about getting sober was that he now had a fellowship of people who simply saw him as a human being. He was surrounded by more people like that, and he got more honest feedback. The things we talked about in meetings were very deep, personal things. You could say anything that you wanted in there. He regained a lot of that innocence, as it were, and that made him very happy.
On November 22, 1987, U2 played the Frank Erwin Center as part of their massive Joshua Tree tour. Afterward, Bono and the Edge came to Antone’s and joined Stevie and Jimmie onstage. They were nearing the end of an eight-month tour that had sold over two million tickets, and Antone’s was packed in anticipation of the world’s largest rock stars joining the city’s brightest lights.
LAYTON: The place was packed, and they came in the side fire door; it had all been arranged beforehand. They came up onstage, and the cameras were there. They filmed the entire jam, because they were making their documentary, Rattle and Hum.
ANDREW LONG, photographer: Truth be told, Stevie and Jimmie were ripping it up prior to Bono and the Edge joining. I love U2, but they were so far out of their element, I couldn’t wait for them to get offstage.
LAYTON: Bono was up there singing the blues and improvising the lyrics, like, “I’m down here at Antone’s, and I got the blues, and I walked in the door.” Just a bunch of whatever. It was really cheesy. We did a twelve-bar blues, and he was singing with his foot up on the monitor—real rock-star, posturing stuff. After there had been enough solos and verses, he goes, “All right! All right! Let’s go!” and I thought he was ending the song. I did this big ending hit on the drums, and everyone else stopped, too. Bono yelled, “Hey, c’mon, let’s keep goin’! I didn’t really want to stop!” Then he just dropped the mic and walked out the door, and their whole entourage split.
22
IN STEP
Throughout the summer and fall of 1988, Stevie and Double Trouble were preparing to record their first studio album since 1985’s Soul to Soul, after releasing three in just over two years to launch their career. It would be Vaughan’s first sober effort, and he had to overcome some of the same fears that had haunted him before performing his first clean shows.
“It took four years,” Vaughan said in 1989. “I guess the world had to turn around a few times, and so did I.”
“It took a little time for him build up the confidence to go in sober, and to earn a little money to right the financial ship,” says Hodges. “I also think he was a little hesitant about writing and didn’t have a songbook of stuff ready to go. We had all exhausted a lot of energy on this fresh start and on the live album. It took a while to be ready.”
Vaughan was searching for a producer, and Carlos Santana recommended Jim Gaines, a veteran engineer who had also worked with Van Morrison, Steve Miller, Huey Lewis, and Albert King. “I flew down to LA to meet the band, and one of the first things Stevie asked me was whether I was willing to try and record ten amps at once,” says Gaines. “That is, of course, an engineering nightmare, but I told him I used six with Ronnie Montrose and three or four with Santana and that ten sounded like a fun challenge.”
Gaines and Vaughan visited many studios, sometimes joined by Hodges, Layton, and Shannon, including Allman Brothers’ drummer Butch Trucks’s brand-new Pegasus in Tallahassee, Florida, but none of them seemed quite right. They finally booked six weeks at New York’s Power Station. By the time they arrived there to start sessions in January 1989, Stevie and Doyle had met for a few songwriting sessions, and it was clear that the intense process of getting sober and immersing themselves in the twelve-step program would be reflected in the album’s songs.
BRAMHALL: Stevie and I got together to write songs and did what we always did: spend a few days just hanging out talking and catching up, which would point us in the direction we were going to head. We had both sobered up and knew that was something we had to deal with. It was important for us to write about our experiences with addiction. We wanted to directly confront the issues that surrounded our drug-and-alcohol days, which led to songs like “Wall of Denial” and “Tightrope.”
BRAMHALL II: Stevie and my dad became even closer; they became partners in life with their sobriety. I think that a lot of people wanted something from Stevie, and it was really nice for him to have someone he could confide in and trust absolutely. He knew that my dad loved him, and they could bond in sobriety. Stevie had looked up to my dad since they first met, someone who was his mentor in the same way that Stevie was my mentor when I was younger. I think they felt safe with each other to confront difficult personal life topics and use that to inspire other people.
HODGES: “Wall of Denial” and “Tightrope” are really program songs.
SRV: “Tightrope” and “Wall of Denial” are a lot different musically, but lyrically, they are almost the same song, but just different phases of it. I really don’t want to sound preachy, and I was afraid that I’d turn people off, but somewhere along the way, that quit mattering. It seems real important to me to write about that stuff. I spent so long with this image of “I’m cooler than so-and-so because I get higher than he does.” I really believed it for a long time, but it’s just not true. And I’d just as soon spend the rest of these years making it clear that it’s not true.
LAPIDUS: Stevie was undergoing a big evolution. He was digging deep, struggling to figure out just what he wanted to say. He went, “Who am I now? I’m different from who I was, but I’m still me, and musically, I’m still true to what I feel in my heart.”
Guitar World cover shoot, Colgate University, April, 1988. (Jonnie Miles)
BRAMHALL: It never was a situation where I went in with all the words or he came in with all the music. I play very little guitar, but I would have ideas or a riff and sometimes Stevie would have some words, and we’d put them together. We’d always just take a few days to talk about what was going with us, then we would get together and write for five days, ten or twelve hours at a time. It got to the point where we grew confident that something good would happen.
SRV: I went back and forth between feeling really strongly about it and wondering if anybody really wants to hear this shit or not. With what I was trying to say, if they got turned off, it’d only be for a temporary time. I’ve been there before, when somebody would try to tell me that I had a problem. I’d go, “Of course I do! Goddamn it, don’t you think I know that?” I just had to come to grips with it.
WYNANS: Chris and Tommy and I would get together and try to write songs, and we got Bill Carter and his wife, Ruth [Ellsworth], who had written “Willie the Wimp,” to come over and play guitar because Stevie was out writing with Doyle. We were a little frustrated because he didn’t really want to write with us. “Crossfire” started off with a bass riff Tommy had come up with, thinking it would be a Sam-and-Dave-type soul song.
BILL CARTER, guitarist/singer/songwriter/cowriter of “Crossfire”: We just started jamming on Tommy’s riff, with me playing guitar and muttering a vocal melody. Ruth sat there with a tape recorder, then went home and wrote the lyrics. They just happened to fit with the themes Stevie and Doyle were also writing about.
WYNANS: Ruth is an incredible lyricist. I don’t think Stevie really wanted to do it, but he worked it up, and the response the first couple of times we played it was great. I was so happy that we had actually put something together that Stevie liked and that it worked so well.
CARTER: I did a run of shows opening for them in spring 1988, and we had just written the song. Stevie didn’t know the words yet, so he called me out to sing it a few times.
HODGES: Stevie worked to make “Crossfire” what
it became. I mentioned he could take a writing credit, too, and he said, “It’s their song. I helped make it as good as I can, and they help me make my songs as good as they can.”
CARTER: It wasn’t changed much other than adding Stevie’s incredible guitar playing, which made it great. I was, of course, happy that he liked it and recorded it and proud that it became his only number one hit. [“Crossfire” went to the top of the mainstream rock charts.]
JIM GAINES, In Step producer: Stevie was very nervous, wondering, “Can I do this without a little enhancement?” I have never done drugs, which probably helped me get the job; they didn’t want anyone around who could be a distraction or temptation in that regard.
We went to New York planning to record at the Power Station, but it just didn’t work out. Stevie and I didn’t like the sounds, and the iso room was too small to take the amps Stevie wanted to run. We were booked there for six weeks, and they were not happy about us leaving after three days of rehearsal. We moved to Kiva Studios in Memphis.
LAYTON: It was very tedious at first. There was some trepidation because we knew it was our proving ground, that we had to show that we could make good records without anyone being high. Stevie felt the doubt and spent endless hours getting sounds.
SRV: It was kind of a difficult record to make. We had fun, but we started and stopped a lot of times because of the amp problems I was having. There were amps that I had to send back and forth to California to get worked on, because we couldn’t get ahold of the right schematics for them. I had to go through a lot of speakers to find some that I really liked [EVs], and we ended up spraying every amp with these speakers.
GAINES: I was the first outsider to produce him, and we didn’t know what our roles were going to be, so there was a little tension feeling each other out. And this whole record was a step away from what he had been doing. It wasn’t easy. I view my role as enhancing what an artist does, not making demands to change, and I tried to push him to his best performances.