by Alan Paul
RICKERT: To use a current term, Stevie was always present. The guy wasn’t a phony in any regard. I’ve worked with people who are all show; they are entertainers. Stevie was a guitar player, and everything he did had his heart, guts, and soul in it. That’s what made it so powerful. He was very attuned to every song being like a snowflake, always different and reflecting the moment.
SHANNON: There are a lot of very technically advanced musicians who are not inspired enough to live as if there is no other time. Stevie always played as if there was no tomorrow. He was always right in the moment. And he went real deep into the moment.
LAYTON: People could identify with Stevie’s connection between his feelings and his means of expression. They heard his music, and they knew him. Most people would love to be able to express their innermost feelings, but it’s a hard thing to do. Stevie epitomized someone that was able to do that.
RUSS KUNKEL: He had a perfect balance of confidence and vulnerability. The sound he was making and the commitment in his singing was powerful and confident. But when you looked at him, you saw that he was vulnerable. There was a softness underneath the power, and that combination was very appealing.
RICKERT: When he was playing, he was like an open door, and emotion came through him and out his fingers. It was just absolutely breathtaking to be around every day.
LAYTON: He touched people in such a way that it was irrelevant that he played the guitar, that he played a Stratocaster, that he played the blues. It had nothing to do with any of that. Stevie was able to grab on to something that people struggle to express in their own lives and do it for them. That connection was there, even if they couldn’t identify what it was about it that moved them so much.
SHANNON: Playing music afforded Stevie the opportunity to communicate on a deep spiritual level. When I was living with Stevie and Lenny out in Volente, we’d been up all night and were sitting out on the back patio as the sun came up. We were looking out over the lake and the hills, and the birds were singing and there were flowers all around. We had been talking about spiritual things all night, and he was in a real deep state of gratification, feeling grateful to God for everything in his life.
He was playing an acoustic guitar, drifting off into the moment; his eyes were like a child’s, looking around at the beauty of nature around him, and he wasn’t thinking at all about what he was playing. For about thirty seconds, he played the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. It was unearthly. I said, “Stevie, what was that?” He went, “Huh? Which part?” “What you just played!” And he had no idea; he just went on playing. I’d give anything in the world to have heard that again, because it was so profound. It felt like the sky opened up and this light shined down on him. It was incredible.
LAYTON: Stevie’s yardstick was his emotional relationship to music: where he was, spiritually and emotionally, in regard to his playing. He kept very close tabs on his emotional connection, minute by minute. That didn’t include yesterday or the day before; that meant right now.
SHANNON: When you tap into that, it’s like something is playing through you. You are just watching it, and it’s going through your hands and out of the instrument. You find yourself doing things that you’d never come up with in your own imagination. But you have to be totally immersed in the moment for that to happen. It’s like that moment is infinite. It’s about tapping into a universal energy.
LAYTON: That’s what made it music. It’s an intangible thing, but it’s the most important thing of all. The best playing experiences are when I feel like I’m right there in that very minute, and I don’t have one single thought, consciously or subconsciously, about anything else. When you feel that you are right there, the whole thing gets deep, and it just opens up this feeling of being totally locked into the music. It’s all about going past the ego.
SHANNON: Stevie used to describe that feeling by saying, “It’s like going home.” It’s wonderful.
DR. JOHN: Whatever he gave to the world is something that will live on forever, but most people know the music but they don’t know the musician. And that’s the part that I miss—knowing the person.
SHANNON: Stevie came into my life from out of left field, and though I was a lot older than he was, he opened me up to so many things. I’m blessed to have had that.
BRAMHALL: We were always taking writing breaks and going to a store close to his house to get these frozen fruit bars, and within a minute, people would be surrounding Stevie. I would kind of back off and watch, and he’d look over at me with a big wonderful smile on his face. He loved that he could touch someone in a positive way, and he loved the interactions.
RICKERT: He embraced everyone, and when they invariably told him how great his music was, he’d respond, “Thank you so much. I’m doing my best.” His fans hugged and kissed him and took photographs. Everyone would be asleep on the bus, and we’re all waiting for Stevie because he would sign every autograph. Every single one! Always.
BRAMHALL: He’d be the last one at a festival, standing there signing autographs, and had to be dragged away so the bus could leave. I’ve never met anyone who met Stevie who wasn’t touched in a positive way. They didn’t have to understand or even like the music that much. He loved life, he cared about people and art, and he was just a very compassionate person.
RICKERT: He and Doyle were both naturally kind. When we went fishing in Alaska, I caught a fifty-three-pound salmon, and he was so excited for me. His joy was the same as if he had caught the fish. Being on the road with bands, you see the good and bad, and I never saw Stevie be mean or angry. In five years of touring together, a lot of things go wrong—buses are late, flights are delayed—and he always rolled with the punches. Once our bus broke down driving from Rome to Naples on a two-lane highway with no shoulders. We were blocking travel to Rome, with long lines of blaring horns, Stevie was smiling. We lined up eight cabs to get us to the gig.
LAYTON: A flower that dies on the vine just falls off and is dead. This was a dying flower that came back to life and had blossomed into something more beautiful than ever. Then suddenly … pow! It’s just gone, and all that we had together, an active, living thing, is not there. We had been through so much together, and we were all in acknowledgment of how good we felt about playing together and creating music together in the future. We were ready to turn the next corner, which was going to be a great big superhighway. That made his passing even more poignant.
WYNANS: One of the things I had to deal with after Stevie’s death is I didn’t feel like playing music anymore.
LICKONA: For many years, I couldn’t watch his last appearance on Austin City Limits. For him to come back and give such an incredible performance, then die so soon after, was way beyond poignant. He was really Austin’s hometown pride and joy; to this day, no one’s impact compares to Stevie Ray. His death was a shock wave to the city.
In 1994 a bronze statue of Stevie was erected in downtown Austin on the bank of Lady Bird Lake, next to Auditorium Shores, where he had performed many memorable shows, including his final Austin performance on May 4, 1990.
LAYTON: Stevie’s tragic death only punctuates his greatness and puts a mark on his legacy, akin to Buddy Holly, Otis Redding, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Duane Allman. It’s like something has been stolen and you can only wonder what might have come next.
HODGES: The fact that he had been sober for four years made it a different level of shock. He was in such good shape, and it felt like he would be around and creative and healthy for decades to come. His career, his life, his spirituality, and his happiness were becoming so whole.
Stevie’s last Austin show, 5/4/90. (Tracy Anne Hart)
BENSON: A lot of people loved Stevie because he was a genius on the guitar, but if you knew him as a person, he was the sweetest guy.
LAYTON: Since Stevie’s death, some people have come to think of him as a pristine, Christ-type figure, and anybody that ever had a rub with him as evil.
SHANNON: That’s
just not true.
LAYTON: There were times when Stevie was no picnic. Everyone is like that. He was not a saint. He was a human being.
FREEMAN: Since Stevie died, he’s been elevated to sainthood. It’s strange, and I actually think it diminishes him, because Stevie was a person, and he had faults. But he was sweet and funny and a wonderful guy to hang with, in addition to being an exceptional talent. And I just miss him.
SHANNON: Stevie gave himself to the world, which was something beautiful.
LAYTON: “Good luck to everybody.” That’s what Stevie used to say all of the time. Good luck to everybody, everywhere, all of the time.
JIMMIE VAUGHAN: The world misses his music, but I miss my brother.
EPILOGUE
Jimmie Vaughan Reflects on His Brother
Stevie’s story is about growing up in Texas and the South— America—a place that is not perfect, but it’s one that gives you the freedom to discover what you like, what you think is cool, and to connect with it and become a part of it. It’s about finding yourself and expressing who you are. It’s about the love of music—Slim Harpo, Muddy Waters, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Jimmy Reed, and Jimi Hendrix. It’s about falling in love with music and discovering the way to express your true nature through music.
People express themselves through painting or writing or music because they have to. Many of the people we grew up with in Oak Cliff are dead or in jail, and I’m not sure Stevie or I would have been any different if we hadn’t found the guitar.
The guitar was Stevie’s instrument of liberation, his magic sword. I can’t even fathom Stevie without a guitar. It meant everything to him. It took Stevie around the world. It introduced him to his heroes. It allowed him to express himself so he could speak, so he could have an identity. So he could find out who he was. When Stevie played, his guitar talked and told his story. If you listen, you can hear it. You can hear him speaking through his guitar. I know I can.
When he was playing his best, it was like a religious experience, almost. I know what he’s going through, because I’ve been there. I know what it feels like to get hooked up to the “direct link” to whatever it is. I know it sounds deep, but for guitar players, it is deep. When you are inspired like that—when the temperature is right or whatever it is—everybody knows. When other people hear somebody on that wavelength, they get it, too. Because it’s real. And if it ain’t real, you know it, too. You can’t fool the audience.
Brothers (Courtesy Jimmie Vaughan)
Stevie’s personality comes through in his playing, and that’s what drew people to him. It’s just straight feeling; it’s all from the heart. If you could take your emotions and put them on the table, and let everybody come and pick them up, that’s what it would be.
Stevie worked very hard at what he did, but his main thing was that he just loved to play the guitar, and it showed. It was a completely natural thing. He got the chance to express who he was through his instrument, and he took it. And that’s why Stevie got over with so many people.
I’m still amazed at the impact Stevie had and is still having to this day. I believe it’s because of the purity and simplicity of his message: find out what you love, and do it. That’s the message he was sending out into the world.
AFTERWORD
It is so hard to capture in words what my relationship with Stevie Ray Vaughan means to me. He came into my life twice, both at times when I needed him most, though it wasn’t so obvious to me the first time.
That was in the spring of 1970, just after I left Johnny Winter. As I was walking into a club in Dallas, I heard this guitar playing, and I knew from those very first few notes that I was hearing something truly great. The spirit Stevie poured into it shined right through—that distinct, one-of-a-kind inner dynamic. I soon discovered that along with his incredible playing ability, he was also a very humble and sweet person.
Our friendship grew as we began playing together in Blackbird and Krackerjack, but when the latter split up, we went our separate ways. My addiction to drugs destroyed my life. For five years, I was completely lost. As I was finally making my way back to playing music, I happened to see Stevie at a Houston club and I had an epiphany. I knew I belonged onstage with him, which I told him that night. By the first week of January 1981, we were back together, and over the next ten years, Stevie became the closest friend I’ve ever had.
Playing with Stevie night after night was such an inspiration. He always played like he was pouring his life out, finding that one spot inside himself to draw the energy from every show. There is a timeless quality to all of the best music, which I think is undeniable in Stevie’s playing. Every time we walked onstage to play, everyone was expected to give it everything they had. We always let the music be our guide; you listen, and you follow where it’s taking you. We knew that if we did that, we could do no wrong. So often, Stevie showed us the way, and we followed.
Playing with Stevie in Double Trouble was the height of my musical life. The chemistry we had as a band made it feel like one plus one equals five. It was all about the underlying attitude and the feeling that drove all of that, which was the love for the music, the love for each other, and the common goal that we shared. We were all reaching for the same level of musical fulfillment. Playing music is a spiritual experience, which should be approached with reverence. It validates my very existence. And very often, we got to that place, which was the most beautiful feeling I ever could have imagined.
Stevie approached sobriety with the same intensity, passion, and dedication. He struggled for so long, but when he finally made a change, he changed completely, with every ounce of energy and unerring dedication. By working so hard to pull himself up—to give himself the love and attention he needed to heal himself—he also was able to turn that love toward so many others that were in need. He set an example for living a sober life on the highest level, just as he did for playing music, and for being a compassionate, caring human being toward his fellow man.
Stevie showed all of us what it was to reach down into one’s heart and soul—into one’s life—and communicate the feeling of love through the guitar on a deep, spiritual level. Reaching people and sending them blessings was really what he was after, and he was successful in his goal. He spoke to and inspired millions of people with his music and continues to do so today. Everything Stevie did turned to gold. I thank God every day for sending me Stevie Ray Vaughan.
—Tommy Shannon, Double Trouble bassist Austin, Texas
Five-month-old Stevie and four-year-old Jimmie with their grandmother, Ruth Cook. (Courtesy Gary Wiley)
The boys with their mother, Martha. (Courtesy Jimmie Vaughan)
Jimmie, Stevie, and Martha in front of their Oak Cliff home. (Courtesy Joe Allen Cook Family Collection)
Stevie, Big Jim, and Jimmie, 1963. (Courtesy Jimmie Vaughan)
Family Style: Stevie on his first guitar, playing with Jimmie in the living room. (Courtesy Jimmie Vaughan)
Vaughan family portrait. (Courtesy Jimmie Vaughan)
Jimmie performing with his first band, the Swinging Pendulums. (Courtesy Jimmie Vaughan)
Stevie at ten, performing with his first band, the Chantones, at the Cockrell Hill Jubilee, June 26, 1965. (Courtesy Gary Wiley)
Stevie sits in with his big brother’s band, 1965. (Courtesy Joe Allen Cook Family Collection)
Stevie’s high school band, Liberation. (Photo by Connie Foerster/Courtesy Larry Chapman)
Stevie’s school portrait. (Courtesy Jimmie Vaughan)
Stevie at twenty-two, on Christmas day, 1976. Left to right: Cousin Mark Wiley, Uncle Joe Cook, Stevie, Big Jim. (Courtesy Gary Wiley)
A teenage Stevie beams in the back seat. (Courtesy Joe Allen Cook Family Collection)
Performing with Paul Ray and the Cobras. (Mary Beth Greenwood)
With the Cobras in 1975. (Watt M. Casey Jr./www.wattcasey.com)
Original Larry Davis “Texas Flood” 45, borrowed by Stevie from Denny Freeman to learn the guit
ar licks and returned with a chip. (Courtesy Denny Freeman)
Stevie, April, 1978. Photo shoot for the Austin Sun cover story. (© Ken Hoge/www.kenhoge.com)
Stevie and Jimmie, April, 1978. Photo shoot for the Austin Sun cover story. (© Ken Hoge/www.kenhoge.com)
Triple Threat Revue singer Lou Ann Barton and Stevie, 1978. (© Ken Hoge/www.kenhoge.com)
Triple Threat Revue, late 1977. Left to right: Stevie, W. C. Clark, Lou Ann Barton. (© Ken Hoge/www.kenhoge.com)
Stevie and Lou Ann in California, backstage at the San Francisco Blues Festival, August 12, 1979. (Mark Weber)
Stevie songwriting in the van, California, 1979, Kools and Hendrix bio at the ready. “He did this all time,” says Lou Ann Barton. (Courtesy Lou Ann Barton)
Double Trouble drummer Chris “Whipper” Layton and Stevie getting ready to take a dip. The chest tattoo was brand-new. (Courtesy Diana Ray)
Double Trouble in California, August, 1979. (Courtesy Lou Ann Barton)
Stevie promo portrait, June, 1980. (Daniel Schaefer)