Randy Bachman

by Randy Bachman's Vinyl Tap Stories

  The Guess Who were booked to play with the Stampeders somewhere near Niagara Falls, Ontario. We were coming back from the States and crossed the border without any problems, but our equipment truck was held up and searched. We didn’t know until we got to the gig that we had no equipment. This was in the years before cell phones. So the Stampeders are up onstage rocking the place, and as their set ends Rich Dodson announces, “Thanks everyone. Now here’s the Guess Who!” So we walked out onstage with no instruments or amplifiers. I told Rich what had happened and he took off his guitar and handed it to me. Then Ronnie handed over his bass and we proceeded to play using their gear. The problem for me was that Rich Dodson played a big double-neck guitar like Jimmy Page in Led Zeppelin—a six-string and a twelve-string—and it was so heavy that my shoulder hurt throughout the set. But we made it through thanks to our friends the Stampeders.

  MOE KAUFMAN AND HAGOOD HARDY

  In the 1960s, radio was great because the hit parade was very eclectic. You could have the Beatles’ latest record followed by Frank Sinatra, Simon & Garfunkel, Bobby Goldsboro, the Doors, and the Tijuana Brass. It wasn’t “narrowcasting” to a specific demographic like it is today. It was all just music. It was the same with the players in town: jazz and country guys mixed with rock ’n’ rollers.

  When we went to Toronto in the fall of 1967 to record in a proper studio, we encountered a bunch of musicians, big studio cats and CBC players, who were classically trained. Plus they were all serious jazz musicians. Here we were, a bunch of prairie punks, rock ’n’ roll kids. Even though we’d had music lessons as kids—Burton Cummings has grade 12 piano, I had grade 7 or 8 violin, Garry Peterson had been taking drum lessons since he was three and had played in the Winnipeg Junior Symphony—we were kind of ostracized from these players. They were elitists and we were hicks. But two of those guys did become friendly, and talked with us like we were “cats” just like them. One of these guys was Hagood Hardy; the other was Moe Kaufman of “Swingin’ Shepherd Blues” fame. That was a very cool song, basically just a blues song on flute. Moe was a very sweet guy. I remember, as a kid seeing him on TV playing three saxes at the same time.

  When Hagood Hardy introduced himself to us, Burton and I said, “Wow, is that your real name?” We used to collect odd names. We’d be in hotels in some city or town late at night after the TV had gone off air, and we’d read through the phone book for weird-sounding names. Hagood told us that his name was real and explained its origin.

  We came home after the sessions and then got asked to do an album with Jack Richardson, who’d produced the earlier sessions in Toronto. Burton and I both wrote a song about Hagood Hardy. Burton’s was better than mine, so when we went back to Toronto we recorded it. The chorus went, “Heygoode Hardy.” That appeared on an album called A Wild Pair, which was one side by us, all original material, and the other side by Ottawa’s Staccatos, who later became the Five Man Electrical Band. But we became friends with Hagood Hardy, and every time we went to Toronto we’d hang out with him and Moe Kaufman. Who knows, maybe in their younger years they played rock ’n’ roll, so they were able to relate to us.

  Hagood went on to write and record his own music. He wrote a commercial for Salada Tea called “The Homecoming” that went on to become the theme of a movie of the same name and a big hit. I was at the Juno Awards in the mid 70s when BTO were winning all sorts of awards, and it was really cool to see Hagood also winning awards for his own songwriting.

  CHET ATKINS

  When the Guess Who recorded our Wheatfield Soul album in New York and signed with RCA, the label had this thing they did, and I’m sure all the record labels did this in the 60s. They would sit you down and ask you a bunch of questions, likes and dislikes, favourite this and that. All sorts of questions like that for their promo bios they would put together and send out to radio stations or teen magazines. “What’s your favourite colour? What’s your favourite food? Your favourite car? Who are your musical influences?” That kind of stuff.

  It was 1968, and so most guys would say their musical influences were Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles, or the Stones. But when it came time for my question-and-answer session and I was asked who my musical influences were, I replied, “Hank B. Marvin, Lenny Breau, and Chet Atkins.” Lo and behold, who should I meet soon after in the RCA building but the man himself, Chet Atkins, who thanked me for mentioning his name in my bio. He was an executive with RCA and so he knew about our signing with the label. I said that it was an honour to meet him, that I wouldn’t be the guitar player I was without having learned from his records and from Lenny Breau, and that I even had a Gretsch Chet Atkins 6120 guitar like his. We also talked about Lenny Breau, since Chet had already heard Lenny play.

  Back in Winnipeg I’d sort of become the go-to guy for other guitar players who wanted to learn to play Chet Atkins–style. I’d learned it from spending almost every day at Lenny’s house watching him. But Lenny was too busy to teach anyone, so I would take what I learned from him and teach other guys. I had five or six students who used to come to my house on Luxton Avenue one at a time and take lessons. But my biggest regret was lending these guitar players my Chet Atkins albums because I never got them all back. They were gone and were all out of print by then. This was long before CDs. So I mentioned that to Chet in passing, then thanked him for meeting me and influencing me, and went home. That was it.

  Not long after that, packages started arriving, one a week for months and months. They were Chet Atkins albums from all over the world. Brand new, still sealed in shrink wrap. He’d gotten every one of his albums where he could find them around the world through RCA’s various distributors and sent them to me. I still have them, all unopened, still sealed. Forty or fifty albums. He’s a great guy and truly the country gentleman.

  When my original orange Gretsch 6120 guitar was stolen in Toronto in the mid 70s and I was desperate to find it, I got a call from Chet Atkins asking me if it was the same guitar I’d shown him years before. I told him it was. He asked for my address and a few weeks later a Gretsch “Atkins Axe Special” model arrived at my house. What a generous man! A few weeks after that, Chet was playing a concert with the Vancouver Symphony and I took the guitar down to the show and had photos taken of him and me with that guitar. He was a very special man.

  GORDON LIGHTFOOT

  Sometime in the fall of 1967 the Guess Who were playing Montreal and we had a night off. It was a Tuesday night, and we heard that Gordon Lightfoot was playing a small club. We’d seen him once before at the Riverboat club in Toronto, but this was a bit more intimate. So Burton Cummings and I were there at a table in this tiny club when Lightfoot comes out. There was hardly anyone in the audience because it was a Tuesday night. He was backed by Red Shea on guitar and John Stockfish on bass, just the three of them, and they proceeded to play three solid hours of original material, like “Pussy Willows Cattails,” “Canadian Railroad Trilogy,” “Did She Mention My Name,” “Early Morning Rain”—all his great songs. Burton and I sat there, stunned. The most amazing songs and incredible lyrics, hit after hit and non-hit album tracks, too. We just looked at each other and said, “Wow. If this guy from Orillia can write this many great original songs, we can certainly write our own original songs.”

  That experience prompted Burton and me to go home to Winnipeg and start writing the songs that became the hits for the Guess Who and made us such a successful songwriting team. We even wrote a song about Gordon called “Lightfoot.” But the inspiration came from Canada’s greatest songwriter, Gordon Lightfoot.

  JUNIOR WALKER AND THE ALL STARS

  In late 1969, Junior Walker and the All Stars, a Motown group, recorded a soulful cover version of “These Eyes,” adding a lot of saxophone and a whole new texture to our song. And besides giving a great R&B feel to the song, it actually saved Burton and me from a likely beating or worse. We were in Chicago for a gig, and afterwards I went to collect the money. As usual I had a bagful of small bills, thre
e or four thousand dollars in ones, fives, and tens. I always figured it was safer carrying it in a grocery bag because it was less conspicuous than an attaché case. Those were like a neon sign saying “Money.” At about three in the morning, I got a phone call in my hotel room that Burton needed to be picked up somewhere. So I picked him up in the station wagon we’d rented. The bag of money had been stuffed under the seat until I could get to a bank the next morning.

  I got lost on the way back to our hotel. We were in the black part of town. People were out in the streets drinking and partying, doors open, music blaring out. I drove around for a while and realized we were the only white people in the area. Being innocent Canadians, Burton and I entered a juke joint to ask directions back to the hotel. There was a party going on as we entered and sought out the bartender. Before we could locate him, though, several large black gentlemen accosted us.

  “What are you doing here, Whitey?!”

  Realizing we were in the wrong place, we tried to back out but were immediately encircled. Suddenly Junior Walker’s version of “These Eyes” came on the jukebox.

  “What are you guys doing in here?!”

  “We’re lost,” I stammered. “We’re the Guess Who from Canada. We wrote that song.”

  “No, you didn’t. Man, that’s a black group.”

  “No, really, we wrote it.” At that point one guy goes over to the jukebox and looks at the record label.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Randy Bachman.”

  “And what’s your name?” he turned to Burton and asked.

  “Burton Cummings.”

  He looked at the label again.

  “You wrote that song for Junior? Do you know Junior Walker?!”

  “Yes,” we replied in unison, terrified.

  “Okay, well, you go out here, turn right, go down Cicero and that’ll get you back downtown.”

  We thanked them and beat a hasty retreat, managing to find our way back to our hotel. Thank you, Junior Walker.

  STEVE CROPPER

  Our album Wheatfield Soul was out, “These Eyes” was a hit, and we were still on the radio with “Laughing” and “Undun.” Junior Walker’s version of “These Eyes” was out and we were booked to play in Memphis, Tennessee. The other guys were seriously getting into partying by then, but I’d get up in the mornings and do things. When we arrived in Memphis we passed the famous Stax-Volt studios on the way to the hotel. It looked more like a restaurant or grocery store than a recording studio. In fact, it had once been a movie house because it still had that marquee sign out front that said “Stax” in big black letters. So I asked the guys if they wanted to go with me the following day to visit the studio. They weren’t interested, so the next morning I got up early to take care of the deposit from the night before and decided to try visiting Stax-Volt studios.

  It was ten in the morning, so I phoned the studio, told them who I was and mentioned some of our hits, and received an invita-tion to come by. When I got there the front door was locked; it was too early. I peeked through the round windows into the lobby of the theatre, now a studio, and saw a janitor sweeping up. I introduced myself and he let me in. He told me his name: Rufus Thomas. It was a Saturday so I figured nothing would be going on, but I asked if I could look around anyway. He said sure, then told me that there was a session starting in about an hour with Booker T. and the MGs. I thought, “Wow! ‘Green Onions’ and all those great instrumentals.” The guitar player in the MGs was Steve Cropper and I loved his playing.

  Steve Cropper arrived not long after and introduced himself. He knew of our records and asked me about some of the chords in “These Eyes.” He wasn’t familiar with some of the major seventh chords we’d used. So here I am showing the one and only Steve Cropper the chords for “These Eyes.” That was an experience I’ll never forget. He expressed interest in recording “A Wednesday in Your Garden” with the Staple Singers. I was thrilled with that. He was the man behind the funky Memphis soul sound of Booker T. and the MGs, Sam and Dave, Otis Redding, and so many more. Steve Cropper is a unique guitar player with an immediately identifiable sound that has influenced everyone from Pete Townshend to rock/jazz fusion guitarist Jeff Beck, and me, too.

  CHUCK BERRY AND JERRY LEE LEWIS

  It was July 27, 1969, outside of Seattle in Woodinville, Washington. It was called the Seattle Pop Festival and I was with the Guess Who. “These Eyes” had already been a gold record and “Laughing” was on its way to the same. We hadn’t recorded “American Woman” yet. The Seattle Pop Festival was three glorious days of sunshine and music, way, way better than Woodstock, but it wasn’t filmed like Woodstock was. On the bill were the Byrds, the Flying Burrito Brothers, Ten Years After, the Doors, Ike and Tina Turner, Led Zeppelin, Santana, Bo Diddley, us, and many more. It was an amazing weekend that I’ll never forget.

  We did more festivals down the West Coast, and at one of them the founding fathers of rock ’n’ roll were booked to perform: Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis. On the afternoon of the final day, two Cadillacs pull up backstage. Chuck Berry is in one and Jerry Lee Lewis in the other. The doors to these Cadillacs are wide open and the two start drinking. In those days the headliner appeared last, so they start arguing back and forth from their Cadillacs over who’s going to close the show. Each is claiming to be the father of rock ’n’ roll. They’re arguing back and forth, and then their managers start arguing with each other. It’s crazy.

  Finally they decide to flip a coin. Jerry Lee Lewis loses the coin toss, so Chuck Berry will close the show. The implication was that Chuck, not Jerry Lee, was the king of rock ’n’ roll. So the time comes for Jerry Lee to go onstage and he just goes crazy, pounding the keys of the grand piano like a wild man with his hair flying around. He’s playing like crazy. Then, while his band plays on, he goes offstage and comes back with an axe and starts chopping the piano up. Splinters of wood and ivory are flying everywhere. He then pulls out a cigarette lighter and lighter fluid and proceeds to set the remains of the piano on fire. The crowd is going insane by this point. Before he walks offstage, Jerry Lee walks up to the microphone and says: “Nobody follows the Killer.” True to those words, Chuck Berry gets in his Cadillac and drives away without performing. Who could follow that anyway?

  JOHN FOGERTY

  In late 1969, the Guess Who played with Creedence Clearwater Revival at the Los Angeles Forum at a sold-out show. In the Top 10 in L.A. that week Creedence had four songs and the Guess Who had three. How amazing was that?! The two bands rocked the Forum that night.

  In the dressing room before the show, I was noodling around playing my jazzy Lenny Breau licks. John Fogerty heard me playing and said, “Very cool stuff. Just don’t play it on your records.” I’ve always remembered that. I always play a solo a fourteen-year-old kid thinks he can play when he hears it on the radio. He’ll go out and buy the record and learn it. If it’s all this weird complicated stuff, something way out or jazzy, he’ll never buy that record. I always sing a solo first and then I play it. I make my solos very melodic. If someone else can sing it, they can play it. I always think about that when writing and recording.

  Lenny Breau taught me that the spaces are as important as the notes in a solo. Leave some holes and make people anticipate the next note. B.B. King told me that, too. What I learned from Lenny was a playing etiquette—not to go berserk with a barrage of notes. I took that approach on my JazzThing album.

  My Picks

  “BE-BOP-A-LULA” by Gene Vincent and the Blue Caps

  “BORIS THE SPIDER” by the Who (featuring John Entwistle)

  “BROWN-EYED GIRL” by Van Morrison

  “CALL ANY VEGETABLE” by the Mothers of Invention

  “CROSSFIRE” by Johnny and the Hurricanes

  “DA DO RON RON” by the Crystals

  “EARLY MORNING RAIN” by Gordon Lightfoot

  “FORTUNATE SON” by Creedence Clearwater Revival

  “FORTUNE TELLER” by Bobby Curtola<
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  “GREAT BALLS OF FIRE” by Jerry Lee Lewis

  “HEYGOODE HARDY” by the Guess Who

  “HITCH HIKER” by Bobby Curtola

  “HOW HIGH THE MOON” by Les Paul and Mary Ford

  “JOHNNY B. GOODE” by Chuck Berry

  “LET IT RIDE” by BTO

  “LIGHTFOOT” by the Guess Who

  “LOTTA LOVIN’” by Gene Vincent and the Blue Caps

  “OH BY JINGO” by Chet Atkins

  “RED RIVER ROCK” by Johnny and the Hurricanes

  “RUNAROUND SUE” by Dion and the Belmonts

  “STONE FREE” by Jimi Hendrix

  “SUMMERTIME” by Randy Bachman with Lenny Breau

  “SWINGIN’ SHEPHERD BLUES” by Moe Kaufman

  “TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS” by BTO

  “THESE EYES” by Junior Walker and the All Stars

  “A WEDNESDAY IN YOUR GARDEN” by the Staple Singers

  “WHEN FRIENDS FALL OUT” by the Guess Who

  “WHITE RABBIT” by Jefferson Airplane

  “WILD EYES” by the Stampeders

  “YOU AIN’T SEEN NOTHING YET” by BTO

  Shadows and Reflections

  The first time I heard the distinctive melodic instrumental music of the Shadows I was instantly smitten. It was the beginning of a lifelong admiration for the group’s intricate, guitar-driven sound. The U.K. quartet became my mentors, with Shadows lead guitarist Hank Marvin serving as my very own hero.

  The story of how I fell in love with the Shadows starts with how I joined Allan and the Silvertones. Allan and the Silvertones were a popular group from the other side of the Red River in East Kildonan whose reputation had spread around the city. I first heard about them in around 1961. They needed a rhythm guitar player because the guy they had, Johnny Glowa, had quit to go back to school. He’d even sold his orange Gretsch 6120 guitar to Neil Young. So I was asked to audition on rhythm guitar; I guess they knew of me from the Velvetones. Allan Kowbel was playing lead guitar at the time. The group’s repertoire consisted largely of material from England’s Cliff Richard and the Shadows, whose guitar player was Hank Marvin. I’d never heard the Shadows until I met Allan. He gave me a couple of their EPs to learn from, which, I think, had “Kon Tiki,” “Man of Mystery,” “FBI,” and songs like that. They gave me a few days to learn the songs before my audition. Learning the chords was no problem, and the melodies were a piece of cake for me, so I learned them too just for fun. With my background in melody from years of violin, moving on to the Shadows seemed natural.