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http://www.usatoday.com/life/music/news/2002-12-03-fats-domino_x.htm
Fats Domino is 'Walking,' yes indeed, and talking
By Edna Gundersen, USA TODAY
NEW ORLEANS ? Fats Domino, a primary taproot of rock 'n' roll, recounts his own roots with none of the mythology, divine inspiration or burning ambition that embellishes most legendary biographies.
"Like every other house in the neighborhood, we had an old upright piano," he says in his half-mumbled Louisiana drawl. "My brother-in-law, he's the one who taught me to play. I just kept at it."
For seven decades and counting.
Antoine "Fats" Domino made his debut with The Fat Man, arguably the first rock 'n' roll record, in 1949. He was 21. Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Bonnie Raitt, Gene Simmons and all three members of ZZ Top were newborns soon to be weaned on the rollicking boogie-woogie tunes that helped launch a cultural revolution.
Domino's heyday is newly encapsulated in Walking to New Orleans (Imperial/Capitol, $59.98), a four-CD rock 'n' roll primer spanning 1949 to 1962, during which time he sold 65 million records.
The 100-track set has all 40 top-10 R&B hits, including 10 that shot to No. 1. Selections range from signatures Blueberry Hill and Blue Monday (Domino's personal favorite) and covers of Hank Williams' Jambalaya and Your Cheatin' Heart to rock blueprints Ain't That a Shame and I Hear You Knocking. (Related item: Listen to Fats Domino career highlights.)
On the rare occasion that Domino takes the stage nowadays, he delivers a rollicking hit parade with pounding energy and confidence. Offstage, one of rock's tallest legends turns timid and humble, hiding from acclaim and ducking the press with a persistence that even his closest associates find perplexing. While Little Richard still loudly proclaims himself the architect of rock 'n' roll, Domino, 74, would rather privately play piano than toot his own horn.
"I don't want to talk too much about myself," he warns gently as he settles in for an exclusive interview that has been warily coordinated by manager Reggie Hall, longtime friend Haydee Ellis and Quint Davis, honcho of the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. It follows a Jazzfest benefit gala starring Domino and his veteran band (featuring five saxophone players; a sixth died after the concert was booked).
Domino's assessment: "I wasn't up to par, but I did pretty good."
The stout and squat singer, sitting in a hotel room packed with musicians and pals, is impeccably attired in a pale blue shirt, white slacks and shoes, and his fashion trademark, the bulky diamond-encrusted rings that never seem to impede his fleet playing.
"I'm used to it," he says, inching his chair away from the tape recorder for the third time in 20 minutes. "Sometimes when I'm playing I sweat, and they turn around on me. I don't care for jewelry like I used to, but I wear it because people are used to seeing me with it. I haven't worn nothing new for years."
Many would say the same of Domino's music, a fixture on oldies stations but invisible in current pop culture. Credited for forging a crucial link between R&B and rock 'n' roll, he triggered a Domino effect that informed the '60s rock explosion and shaped everyone from Pat Boone and Chubby Checker (who named himself in honor of Fats) to The Beatles and Sheryl Crow. He racked up more hits than any '50s-era rocker except Elvis Presley.
Yet new tunes by the unsigned Domino no longer augment his growing catalog of reissues, compilations and live albums. And ain't that a shame, say insiders who have heard the tightly guarded demos of Domino's freshly written songs ? compositions that Domino reluctantly acknowledges after much prodding.
"Yeah, I got a nice song or two," he says. "I got a good song for people who like to hear something that makes sense. Rap people sell a lot of records, and good for them. Ain't nothing wrong with that. Myself, I just don't like the words.
"I got one song called I'm Going to Love You Till the Day I Die. I got another one called I'm Alive and Kicking, for all those people who are saying, 'Where's Fats? How come we don't see him no more?' It has a real good beat to it. I'd like to get it out, but I'm going to wait awhile, till the time is right. I guess I've got to hurry up before I grow too old."
He smiles broadly and confesses, "I got a song like that, too." And then he's singing a 1960 B-side:
I'm going to go out dancing every night.
I'm going to see the light.
I've got to do everything that I've been told,
But I've got to hurry up before I grow too old.
"Fats would like to make a record, but his life is not built around being on that treadmill," says Jazzfest's Davis, who accompanied Domino on overseas tours years ago. "His focus isn't on it. Maybe the right producer and deal will come along. The first trick is to get him playing again, while he still has it.
"This is a non-renewable resource. He's one of the defining voices in rock history, right up there with Chuck Berry. Fats put his beat and his rhymes into a synthesis of barrelhouse music and sounds floating around New Orleans. Every song he did clicked. He traveled where nobody speaks English, and yet everyone knew the words to his songs."
These days, Davis lures Domino out of hiding every couple of years for a Jazzfest engagement. The gala this year followed a gig canceled after Domino got pneumonia.
"Last time I was supposed to perform, I took sick and had to go to the hospital on the last day of rehearsing," Domino says. "I had a fever of 104. I spent my birthday in the hospital.
"I like playing in my hometown, and folks here seem real proud of that," says Domino, who toured abroad lugging jambalaya ingredients and a broken hotplate held together by a paper clip.
"I traveled all over for about 50 years. I love a lot of places, and I've been to a lot of places, but I just don't care to leave home. (He lives next door to his wife, Rosemary, in New Orleans' poor and gritty Lower Ninth Ward, his lifelong neighborhood.) I was born and raised here, and I never lived anywhere else. I played so much in Las Vegas, six months out of the year, that people thought I lived there. I went to play the Flamingo for two weeks, and I stayed for 15 years. I ain't particularly good about flying now."
Inspired by Professor Longhair, Fats Waller, Amos Milburn, Roy Brown and Louis Jordan, Domino was drawing crowds to the Hideaway when Imperial Records discovered him.
"I was doing everybody else's records because I didn't have my own songs then," he says. "I was singing their records pretty good, so they say. Every time I heard a new record come out, I'd remember every note and play it. I had good ears for music. So the fella from Imperial was coming around looking for talent, and he found me."
The Fat Man sold 1 million copies. The rock pioneer bonded with Imperial arranger/composer Dave Bartholomew, who produced and co-wrote multiple Domino classics.
Domino's first crossover hit, 1955's Ain't It a Shame (better known as Ain't That a Shame), reached No. 10 on the pop chart. Pat Boone's antiseptic version went to No. 1 the same year.
Domino's long ride on the charts is remarkable considering his inflexible sound and a genial persona that fell outside the trendy categories of sex symbols and rebels. Lacking menace or flamboyance, Domino's catchy and durable songs sold on the basis of musical merits.
"They're plain, not fancy," he says. Interrupted by a pounding on his hotel door, Domino bellows, "I hear you knocking, but you can't come in!" The entourage howls.
"That number was wrote in my car," Domino says. "Some just pop in your head, like Ain't That a Shame. You just hear something someone says or you pay attention to how they say it, and it sticks. I'm Walkin' was just a simple idea."
Domino says he would perform more often if players would quit dying.
"I tried to keep all my musicians, but they all passed away. They had bad luck, and their time was up. I didn't fire anybody too often, even if I wasn't too satisfied with how they played. It's hard to find good musicians now."
Davis, who orchestrated Professor Longhair's comeback, says, "Fats could certainly get gigs, but it doesn't suit his lifestyle. Working in the entertainment industry requires dedication and aggression. You have to be consumed by it. You have to travel and do interviews."
New Orleans music author Ben Sandmel, drummer for veteran Cajun band the Hackberry Ramblers, says Domino's gifts have not deteriorated.
"What's amazing about Fats is he still sounds like he did on his old records, at absolute full strength," Sandmel says. "It's incredible to see someone who made so much history still playing in peak form. He's very much beloved and respected, but attention makes him very ill at ease. In a world of publicity hounds, he'd rather stay home and cook gumbo. People are always trying to get an interview or do a film, but it would be an ordeal for him. It's an odd thing for someone so popular to be so self-effacing."
"Fats does have a sense of his place in history," Davis says. "When he pulls out a picture of himself hanging out with Elvis, he knows what that means. But it's hard to engage him on what he's meant to music. He changes the subject. He'd rather talk about how he cooks his pigs' feet."
Presley, his chief competition in the '50s, was never a rival, Domino insists as he plucks a black-and-white photo of the pair from his suitcase.
"Elvis came to see me before he got a record deal," Domino says. "I liked him. I liked to hear him sing. He was just starting out, almost. He wasn't dressing up. Matter of fact, he had plain boots on. He wasn't wearing all those fancy clothes. He told me he flopped the first time he came to Las Vegas. I loved his music. He could sing anything. And he was a nice fellow, shy. His face was so pretty, so soft. I'm glad we took this picture."
While Domino regards Presley as an indisputable icon, he is less concerned with his own chapter in rock's textbook.
"I ain't particular with that," he says, squirming. "Whenever I play my music, all I want to do is sound good. My biggest ambition is to keep the Ten Commandments. I'm doing the best I can."
Fats Domino is 'Walking,' yes indeed, and talking
By Edna Gundersen, USA TODAY
NEW ORLEANS ? Fats Domino, a primary taproot of rock 'n' roll, recounts his own roots with none of the mythology, divine inspiration or burning ambition that embellishes most legendary biographies.
"Like every other house in the neighborhood, we had an old upright piano," he says in his half-mumbled Louisiana drawl. "My brother-in-law, he's the one who taught me to play. I just kept at it."
For seven decades and counting.
Antoine "Fats" Domino made his debut with The Fat Man, arguably the first rock 'n' roll record, in 1949. He was 21. Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Bonnie Raitt, Gene Simmons and all three members of ZZ Top were newborns soon to be weaned on the rollicking boogie-woogie tunes that helped launch a cultural revolution.
Domino's heyday is newly encapsulated in Walking to New Orleans (Imperial/Capitol, $59.98), a four-CD rock 'n' roll primer spanning 1949 to 1962, during which time he sold 65 million records.
The 100-track set has all 40 top-10 R&B hits, including 10 that shot to No. 1. Selections range from signatures Blueberry Hill and Blue Monday (Domino's personal favorite) and covers of Hank Williams' Jambalaya and Your Cheatin' Heart to rock blueprints Ain't That a Shame and I Hear You Knocking. (Related item: Listen to Fats Domino career highlights.)
On the rare occasion that Domino takes the stage nowadays, he delivers a rollicking hit parade with pounding energy and confidence. Offstage, one of rock's tallest legends turns timid and humble, hiding from acclaim and ducking the press with a persistence that even his closest associates find perplexing. While Little Richard still loudly proclaims himself the architect of rock 'n' roll, Domino, 74, would rather privately play piano than toot his own horn.
"I don't want to talk too much about myself," he warns gently as he settles in for an exclusive interview that has been warily coordinated by manager Reggie Hall, longtime friend Haydee Ellis and Quint Davis, honcho of the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. It follows a Jazzfest benefit gala starring Domino and his veteran band (featuring five saxophone players; a sixth died after the concert was booked).
Domino's assessment: "I wasn't up to par, but I did pretty good."
The stout and squat singer, sitting in a hotel room packed with musicians and pals, is impeccably attired in a pale blue shirt, white slacks and shoes, and his fashion trademark, the bulky diamond-encrusted rings that never seem to impede his fleet playing.
"I'm used to it," he says, inching his chair away from the tape recorder for the third time in 20 minutes. "Sometimes when I'm playing I sweat, and they turn around on me. I don't care for jewelry like I used to, but I wear it because people are used to seeing me with it. I haven't worn nothing new for years."
Many would say the same of Domino's music, a fixture on oldies stations but invisible in current pop culture. Credited for forging a crucial link between R&B and rock 'n' roll, he triggered a Domino effect that informed the '60s rock explosion and shaped everyone from Pat Boone and Chubby Checker (who named himself in honor of Fats) to The Beatles and Sheryl Crow. He racked up more hits than any '50s-era rocker except Elvis Presley.
Yet new tunes by the unsigned Domino no longer augment his growing catalog of reissues, compilations and live albums. And ain't that a shame, say insiders who have heard the tightly guarded demos of Domino's freshly written songs ? compositions that Domino reluctantly acknowledges after much prodding.
"Yeah, I got a nice song or two," he says. "I got a good song for people who like to hear something that makes sense. Rap people sell a lot of records, and good for them. Ain't nothing wrong with that. Myself, I just don't like the words.
"I got one song called I'm Going to Love You Till the Day I Die. I got another one called I'm Alive and Kicking, for all those people who are saying, 'Where's Fats? How come we don't see him no more?' It has a real good beat to it. I'd like to get it out, but I'm going to wait awhile, till the time is right. I guess I've got to hurry up before I grow too old."
He smiles broadly and confesses, "I got a song like that, too." And then he's singing a 1960 B-side:
I'm going to go out dancing every night.
I'm going to see the light.
I've got to do everything that I've been told,
But I've got to hurry up before I grow too old.
"Fats would like to make a record, but his life is not built around being on that treadmill," says Jazzfest's Davis, who accompanied Domino on overseas tours years ago. "His focus isn't on it. Maybe the right producer and deal will come along. The first trick is to get him playing again, while he still has it.
"This is a non-renewable resource. He's one of the defining voices in rock history, right up there with Chuck Berry. Fats put his beat and his rhymes into a synthesis of barrelhouse music and sounds floating around New Orleans. Every song he did clicked. He traveled where nobody speaks English, and yet everyone knew the words to his songs."
These days, Davis lures Domino out of hiding every couple of years for a Jazzfest engagement. The gala this year followed a gig canceled after Domino got pneumonia.
"Last time I was supposed to perform, I took sick and had to go to the hospital on the last day of rehearsing," Domino says. "I had a fever of 104. I spent my birthday in the hospital.
"I like playing in my hometown, and folks here seem real proud of that," says Domino, who toured abroad lugging jambalaya ingredients and a broken hotplate held together by a paper clip.
"I traveled all over for about 50 years. I love a lot of places, and I've been to a lot of places, but I just don't care to leave home. (He lives next door to his wife, Rosemary, in New Orleans' poor and gritty Lower Ninth Ward, his lifelong neighborhood.) I was born and raised here, and I never lived anywhere else. I played so much in Las Vegas, six months out of the year, that people thought I lived there. I went to play the Flamingo for two weeks, and I stayed for 15 years. I ain't particularly good about flying now."
Inspired by Professor Longhair, Fats Waller, Amos Milburn, Roy Brown and Louis Jordan, Domino was drawing crowds to the Hideaway when Imperial Records discovered him.
"I was doing everybody else's records because I didn't have my own songs then," he says. "I was singing their records pretty good, so they say. Every time I heard a new record come out, I'd remember every note and play it. I had good ears for music. So the fella from Imperial was coming around looking for talent, and he found me."
The Fat Man sold 1 million copies. The rock pioneer bonded with Imperial arranger/composer Dave Bartholomew, who produced and co-wrote multiple Domino classics.
Domino's first crossover hit, 1955's Ain't It a Shame (better known as Ain't That a Shame), reached No. 10 on the pop chart. Pat Boone's antiseptic version went to No. 1 the same year.
Domino's long ride on the charts is remarkable considering his inflexible sound and a genial persona that fell outside the trendy categories of sex symbols and rebels. Lacking menace or flamboyance, Domino's catchy and durable songs sold on the basis of musical merits.
"They're plain, not fancy," he says. Interrupted by a pounding on his hotel door, Domino bellows, "I hear you knocking, but you can't come in!" The entourage howls.
"That number was wrote in my car," Domino says. "Some just pop in your head, like Ain't That a Shame. You just hear something someone says or you pay attention to how they say it, and it sticks. I'm Walkin' was just a simple idea."
Domino says he would perform more often if players would quit dying.
"I tried to keep all my musicians, but they all passed away. They had bad luck, and their time was up. I didn't fire anybody too often, even if I wasn't too satisfied with how they played. It's hard to find good musicians now."
Davis, who orchestrated Professor Longhair's comeback, says, "Fats could certainly get gigs, but it doesn't suit his lifestyle. Working in the entertainment industry requires dedication and aggression. You have to be consumed by it. You have to travel and do interviews."
New Orleans music author Ben Sandmel, drummer for veteran Cajun band the Hackberry Ramblers, says Domino's gifts have not deteriorated.
"What's amazing about Fats is he still sounds like he did on his old records, at absolute full strength," Sandmel says. "It's incredible to see someone who made so much history still playing in peak form. He's very much beloved and respected, but attention makes him very ill at ease. In a world of publicity hounds, he'd rather stay home and cook gumbo. People are always trying to get an interview or do a film, but it would be an ordeal for him. It's an odd thing for someone so popular to be so self-effacing."
"Fats does have a sense of his place in history," Davis says. "When he pulls out a picture of himself hanging out with Elvis, he knows what that means. But it's hard to engage him on what he's meant to music. He changes the subject. He'd rather talk about how he cooks his pigs' feet."
Presley, his chief competition in the '50s, was never a rival, Domino insists as he plucks a black-and-white photo of the pair from his suitcase.
"Elvis came to see me before he got a record deal," Domino says. "I liked him. I liked to hear him sing. He was just starting out, almost. He wasn't dressing up. Matter of fact, he had plain boots on. He wasn't wearing all those fancy clothes. He told me he flopped the first time he came to Las Vegas. I loved his music. He could sing anything. And he was a nice fellow, shy. His face was so pretty, so soft. I'm glad we took this picture."
While Domino regards Presley as an indisputable icon, he is less concerned with his own chapter in rock's textbook.
"I ain't particular with that," he says, squirming. "Whenever I play my music, all I want to do is sound good. My biggest ambition is to keep the Ten Commandments. I'm doing the best I can."