House of Hits: The Story of Houston's Gold Star/SugarHill Recording Studios (Brad and Michele Moore Roots Music)
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Brady says. “And these guys were really happy, jolly, drunken guys. . . . It was a kind of loose session that lasted a long time.”
closer to home, new orleans pianist and vocalist Mac Rebennack (b.
1940), better known by his stage name Dr. John, also cut an album at SugarHill during this phase of operations. This blues, funk, and R&B arranger, producer, and musician had been a friend of Meaux’s since the early 1960s. In 1973
Dr. John had achieved major pop stardom with the Allen Toussaint–produced LP In the Right Place. However, by the later ’70s his career was stalled. During this time he came to Houston and recorded, perhaps adding to older unreleased tracks Meaux already had on tape. Ultimately at least seventeen tracks were completed at SugarHill Studios by 1977, engineered by Moody.
They evidently all remained unreleased until the Edsel label (England) issued Dr. John: The Crazy Cajun Recordings in 1999. Then in 2000 the same tracks were licensed also to Demon Music Group (England), which reissued them under the title Hoodoo: The Collection.
Along with Dr. John on piano and vocals, these recordings also featured late-Seventies SugarHill Studios mainstays such as keyboardist Leo O’Neil, drummer Dahrell Norris, bassist Ira Wilkes, three diff erent guitarists (including Moody), and backing vocals by the Merlene Singers. O’Neil adds, “I would write arrangements for Mac [Dr. John]. Huey and Mac were good friends, and t h e l at e r ’ 7 0 s a n d e a r ly ’ 8 0 s
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Huey had him record all kinds of songs on piano and vocal, and then bass, drums, and other instruments were added later.”
Pop singer and former teen actor Rick Nelson (1940–1985) was also a Meaux acquaintance and reportedly performed anonymously on guitar on numerous SugarHill Studios sessions in the late 1970s. He was part of a behind-the-scenes crew of top-rate players that Meaux sometimes hired.
So was James Burton—famous for his guitar work on recordings by Elvis Presley, Merle Haggard, and others. Moody recalls, “Ricky was a good friend of Huey’s, as was James. Ricky did a lot of recording of his own music, and we used him as a guitar player and backup singer. James played in Ricky’s band and would do sessions for us whenever he was in Houston.”
It was an exceptionally busy time at SugarHill Studios. Musician Gordon Payne even recalls Waylon Jennings, with whom he was touring, coming there to do “voice-overs for The Dukes of Hazzard TV show.”
By the late 1970s Meaux had raised the profi le of SugarHill Studios in a way that attracted many nonlocal stars and new types of business.
nevertheless, the renaissance at SugarHill Studios also impacted the local music scene profoundly. For one, it provided a place of employment for songwriters, arrangers, and session musicians. Also, it hosted recording sessions for various artists living in the area at the time—including future star Lucinda Williams.
Latimer describes the SugarHill environment in those days:
While the hits were being cut in Studio B, a group of musicians and songwriters and I were busy in the gold star room cutting demos of all the songs that had been written by the staff writers. Musicians on the demo sessions were Billy Block or Robbie Parrish on drums, Rick Robertson on bass, the various songwriters playing guitar, and Leo on keyboards. Huey paid us twenty-fi ve dollars a day to come in and record demos. One day we would record all of the songs I had written recently. The next day we would do Danny Epps’s songs, and then the next day it would be Oscar Perry’s, and so on.
The building was absolutely hopping, and it was wild times. It was a real free time. We would go in and cut and play songs all day long.
Guitarist Kenny Cordray adds, “I remember coming in one morning at 10 a.m. and—literally did twelve to fi fteen songs’ worth of guitar tracks and solos—not leaving until well after dark.” He also opines that engaging in this expedited process, though exhausting, was good training. He points out,
“Gaylan was one of the better writers in Houston and benefi ted by having all of this recording done.”
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However, Houston-based musicians such as Latimer and Cordray also used SugarHill Studios to record some of their own projects. By 1978 they had re-formed the group called Heather Black with some new members. They then recorded what Latimer calls a “rock ’n’ roll album with a jazz infl uence,”
but it never got released. “We had horn players like Kirk Whalum and Larry Slazak on the record. Huey wouldn’t have anything to do with it; he didn’t like it, or understand it,” Latimer says. “It wasn’t rock-pop with verse, hook, and out. It was complex music, and Huey didn’t get off to that stuff .”
During this time, Latimer introduced Meaux to a Texas singer (born Chris Geppert, 1951) who would go on to achieve major pop stardom under his stage name, winning fi ve Grammy Awards for his 1979 debut album on a major label. Latimer reports,
Quite a few members of Heather Black eventually left and joined up with Chris Geppert and formed the Christopher Cross Band. I brought Chris to Huey as a possible artist for Huey’s label, and Huey authorized a demo session in 1977. . . . Huey decided not to sign Christopher Cross, and just shortly after this session, the band signed with Warner Brothers Records, and “Sail Away” took Chris to a hit record.
Given the amount of traffi
c through the studio doors in those days, it is no
wonder that Meaux might have erred occasionally in evaluating a prospect.
They were plentiful and often impressive. Brady recalls,
Jerry Jeff Walker would come in with a friend named Big John Stuckey. John owned a tattoo parlor and was a big ol’ Texas boy, huge guy. . . . We never formally recorded him, but I always put two mics on him, one on guitar and one on vocal. I recorded him straight through the board and went to the two-track machine. . . . He would do songs that would literally bring tears to our eyes because they were so tender.
Brady also speaks highly of a local country-rock group he recorded, called Dogtooth Violet. “This was a great band and I severely loved these guys: Bob Oldrieve, Joe Lindley, and Marty Smith,” he says. “This was some of the best folk-rock that I had ever heard.” Band cofounder Oldrieve tells how they came to record at SugarHill:
We were playing at a club on Main Street called Papa Feelgood’s. Huey P.
Meaux came out to see us and heard us. He liked the band and wanted us to come in the studio and do some demos. . . . Shortly after doing this session, he approached us with a record deal. We thought about signing with him, t h e l at e r ’ 7 0 s a n d e a r ly ’ 8 0 s
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and we knew that anybody who had success from Houston had gone through him. But we turned him down.
Oldrieve goes on to express his regrets at declining Meaux’s off er to produce a real record, and within a few years the group had disbanded to pursue other projects.
As the 1970s were ending, one of the hottest folk-rock groups in the region was called St. Elmo’s Fire. One of the singers was Connie Mims. “Everybody told us that we should make a record. I think we came to SugarHill because it was SugarHill. The studio was having hit records, and everybody knew that,”
she says. Craig Calvert, St. Elmo’s Fire singer-songwriter-guitarist, adds,
“SugarHill came with a great rep, and already had a lot of success under its belt. . . . We wanted to entice record companies into signing us, and we needed something on tape to do that.”
In 1977 Crazy Cajun Records issued a Meaux-produced album by Doak Snead called Think of Me Sometime (#1096). But Meaux was simultaneously looking to exploit the Tejano music scene in some fashion. In 1977 he recorded the Latin Breed, breaking ground in the San Antonio–based vanguard of the highly produced, modernized Tejano sound. The resulting album on the BGO label, A
New Horizon (#1143), was coproduced by Meaux and bandleader/saxophonist Gilbert Escobedo. The lead singer of the group, Adalberto Gallegos (b. 1956), also recorded a solo album at SugarHill during the same time. Called La Voz de Adalberto Gallegos, it was released on the GCP label (#144) and coproduced by Meaux and Gallegos. Moody engineered both projects.
But of all the area artists who recorded at SugarHill Studios in this era, perhaps the most noteworthy was the singer-songwriter Lucinda Williams, an intermittent resident of Houston during much of the 1970s and early ’80s.
In 1980 she went to SugarHill to record the eleven tracks for Happy Woman Blues, her fi rst album of original material.
Years later, following the Grammy Award for her 1998 album Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, Williams became a major star on the alternative country scene. By 2001, Time magazine even declared her “America’s best songwriter.”
But in the late ’70s Williams was relatively unknown beyond the nurturing environs of places like the Houston acoustic folk music club called Anderson Fair. In 1978, after sending a demo tape to Moses Asch of Folkways Records in New York City, she had gone to Jackson, Mississippi, to record her fi rst album, which comprised covers of folk and blues standards. In 1979 it was released to little notice on the Folkways imprint.
Back in Houston, Williams next worked at SugarHill on Happy Woman Blues, her debut recording as a songwriter. During April, May, and June of 2 1 0
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1980, she coproduced it with Mickey White, while Moody engineered. The supporting cast of musicians includes White and Moody, plus Rex Bell, Andre Matthews, Ira Wilkes, and Malcolm Smith. The album was originally released on a Folkways LP (#31067) later that year, and then reissued on CD
by Smithsonian Folkways in 1990.
As Steve Huey writes for Allmusic.com, “As her fi rst album of original compositions, it was an important step forward, and although it was much more bound by the dictates of tradition than her genre-hopping later work, her talent was already in evidence.” Former Houston Press music editor John Nova Lomax notes, however, that “the languid, drawling voice” for which Williams is famous was already present, as were “the poetic and geographical imagery and memorable melodies, the keen eye for telling details, the chronicles of the faulty attempts lovers make to meld minds as well as bodies.” Nonetheless, the album sold poorly, and Williams would remain relatively obscure for a while.
As with the public’s general indiff erence to Happy Woman Blues in 1980, the legacy of SugarHill Studios has frequently been overlooked in the annals of music history. But in retrospect we see that greatness sometimes takes time and perspective to appreciate.
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20
Meaux’s Final Phase
y 1984 the flow of profits from Huey Meaux–produced hits had slackened to a trickle. Most members of the engineering
staff , including the recently added Lonnie Wright, were gone or professionally engaged only sporadically at SugarHill Studios.
The recording equipment there had not been updated since the 1970s, and poor maintenance had caused quality control to decline. Moreover, the building had yet to recover fully from the major damage it had sustained from Hurricane Alicia in August 1983.
That storm had spawned numerous tornadoes, one of which ripped a huge hole in the roof of Studio B. Insurance coverage eventually provided funds to replace the roof—but not before the studio and control room had been thoroughly soaked and exposed to weeks of extreme humidity. Numerous valuable microphones and the piano were badly damaged. The burlap walls were drenched and eventually covered in funky mildew. The fl ood line, approximately six to eight inches high, indicated that equipment on the fl oor had sat in dirty water. Consequently, even after the roof was repaired, the room was eff ectively closed because of technical issues and the stench of rotting burlap and carpet.
Unfortunately, there was not a lot of activity going on in the other studio room either. Most of Meaux’s original client base had left, and he was no longer producing many recordings. By then Meaux was perhaps out of touch with music trends, and the prospects for him fi nding another hit-maker were bleak.
So in 1984 Meaux decided to put the studio complex up for sale, a move that would bring me to the front entrance of SugarHill Studios (which then faced Brock Street) and into a new and major phase of my professional life.
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By late 1984 I had resigned my position at ACA Studios. My ACA mentor and boss, Bill Holford, was retiring, a decision triggered by the pending expiration of a sweetheart lease he had negotiated upon selling the building back in 1978. Having not previously been told of his plans, I was shocked—and suddenly found myself looking for employment at other recording facilities in Houston.
When I had learned that Meaux was selling his studio company, I proposed instead to take over all recording operations and let him remain as owner. Particularly because I was in a position to transfer my ACA client base, Meaux was receptive to the idea. We reached an agreement, and in October 1984 I moved my gear and offi
ce to SugarHill Studios.
After my quick orientation to the historic complex, SugarHill resumed recording in what was now Studio A, the old room with the gold star embed-ded in the fl oor. The larger, newer studio and control room were initially off -
limits because of the fl ood damage and lingering aftereff ects. However, it soon became apparent that the smaller studio was insuffi
cient for certain
sessions. Many of the tube mics and vintage gear that were catalogued on the studio inventory were missing. Some Pulteq tube equalizers and Teletronix LA-2A compressors did later emerge, having been stashed clumsily in the warehouse, coated with dust and debris. But it would take extensive rewiring to prepare the studio for the anticipated infl ux of new clients.
Fortunately, one of the rock bands that made the transition with me from ACA to SugarHill included guys with construction expertise. So we traded their labor and skills for future studio time and went to work to restore Studio B. Over a period of three months we resealed the walls, dismantled two of the small booths, recarpeted the fl oor, and replaced or tested the wiring. We reequipped and rewired the reverb chambers with speakers and amps found stored in the warehouse. We hung the main set of large control-room monitors, Altec 604Es, from beams in the ceiling, which improved the listening quality for the engineers and provided a full view of the studio through the wide window. We removed all excess gear and furniture from the control room and enhanced the lighting.
Meanwhile, the piano, Hammond B3 organ, Fender Rhodes, and other keyboards were all moved back into Studio B, along with all the best outboard gear and machines. At that point, we shut down Studio A except for dubbing and rehearsals.
As the rebirth of SugarHill Studios proceeded, mixing was done on an Auditronics 501 console. The multitrack deck was an MCI JH-16 series sixteen-track machine that ran two-inch tape. I discovered Dolby A racks in both studios for the multitrack and mixing decks and upgraded them with DBX
cards. Mix-down decks were one-quarter-inch MCI JH-110 two-track ma-m e a u x ’ s f i n a l p h a s e
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chines. Along with the rewired and reequipped acoustic reverb chambers in the hallway, the EMT plates and Lexicon digital processors provided reverb.
I also installed racks of personal eff ects units. Monitoring was done on Altec 604E speakers utilizing the Auratone sound cubes.
In addition to physically restoring the facility, I brought with me clients who would help to reenergize the place. Among them in particular were many of the alternative-rock bands from the local scene, including Rea
lly Red, the Mydolls, the Recipients, and Culturcide (which featured Dan Workman on guitar). There were a number of power-pop or pop-rock groups too, such as Rick Tangle and the Squares, the Voices, and Private Numbers.
Workman, my future business partner, was introduced to the new era at SugarHill via an editing project for Culturcide’s Tacky Souvenirs LP. “All of the songs were carefully edited on one-quarter-inch analog tape, long before Pro-Tools or any digital editing systems,” he says. “All these little pieces of tape
[were] hanging carefully along the sides of the MCI tape deck.”
Working often with bands on projects such as these, the studio company soon regained its equilibrium. Yet the roster of clients remained somewhat diverse.
For instance, country singer Johnny Bush recalls a 1985 SugarHill session timed to coincide with, celebrate, and—most obviously—profi t from the Texas sesquicentennial anniversary in 1986. Bush says,
Huey Meaux and Don Daily produced an album [packaged] in the shape of Texas, with some memorabilia [depicted] on the cover—like Travis’ last letter from the Alamo and other important documents. The record featured Bob Wills, Willie [Nelson], myself, Tanya Tucker, Billy Walker, Freddy Fender, and several others. The tracks were already cut, and all I had to do was sing. I did two songs that were real nice western swing arrangements. . . . “A Little Bit of Everything in Texas,” originally by Ernest Tubb, and . . . “I Got Texas in My Soul.”
In addition to the occasional country music project, SugarHill regained its groove as a choice locale for blues recordings. One of the mainstays in the 1980s was the Gulf Coast guitarist and singer Bert Wills. Though grounded in Texas blues, Wills has also mastered styles such as country, rock, and in particular the surf-rock subgenre—and led regionally popular bands such as the Cryin’ Shames and the Country Cadillacs. Wills, who would record several albums at SugarHill, describes his earliest memories of the place: I do remember coming into the studios when Huey owned it back in the 1970s. I didn’t know him real well, and he was a very high-profi le businessman back in the day. The engineer I worked with was Mickey Moody, and 2 1 4