Country Song Roundup
March 1980
by: Gail Buchalter
Willie Nelson finally landed on the sofa in his dressing room — it has taken him an hour to get there. People clustered in groups, constantly moving and changing direction as the Messiah of Music wound his way through the backstage area at Harrah’s, Lake Tahoe. Each formation had its own request — an autograph, a photograph, a kiss, or a simple thank you — but Willie was the common denominator. And he had time for everybody because he’s a nice guy. “I know it’s not easy to get backstage; you need a lot of patience and a good story. So if someone is willing to go through all that ttouble, of course, I’ll take the time to talk to them,” says Willie, leaning back against the cushions and wiggling his toes in his bright-blue Nikes, as he rests his feet on the coffee table.
This is the same wily Willie who breaks through police lines when he thinks he’s being overprotected, thus causing his fans to become underprivileged. Nelson’s phenomenal success apparently hasn’t changed him and his music. There are just more of them. Also, life changes very little from what’s visible on stage to what happens once the curtain is dropped.
Once again that evening, the Nelson humor comes to the fore. A man in the audience shouted out his 40th-birthday request, “Hey, Willie, would ya sing ‘Johnny B. Goode?’” “This man is gonna need all the help he can get,” commiserates the 46-year-old singer, “But I don’t know that song. Jody Payne over here, on guiter does,” announces Willie, as the spotlight follows his pointing hand.
Nelson retrieves a bottle of Cuervo Gold that had been passed up to him from the audience, walks back to his amp, and tips the bottle to his lips. The moment lasts a bit too long and sends Willie hurrying back to his mike after missing the first couple of lines of the chorus. The smile-lines deepen around his eyes as he sings back-up harmony to Payne’s lead vocals.
“Willie doesn’t drink like he used to,” explains drummer Paul English. “In fact, the only time you see him with a bottle these days is when he’s on stage.” A few sips of beer did manage to wet Nelson’s throat while he waited for the next show.
This is all a part of Nelson’s new plan of making it through the night and the next night, etc. Willie’s traded in his cowboy boots for jogging shoes, and his nylon-mesh running shirt that he wears on stage is more than an apparel affectation. “I run five miles a day. It doesn’t matter whether we’re working Vegas in the summer, or filming in Hollywood during the winter,” he adds, looking lean from healthful activities.
Willie’s taking good care of himself these days — just the way he’s always taken care of his Family; an elite group that includes only his band and the road crew.
Bobbie Nelson, Willie’s older sister, is literally family. They have ben playing together, on and off, since adolescence, though there is now talk of Bobbie’s possible road retirement. Paul English might as well be Family, since he’s been with Willie for 25 years. Nelson’s song, “Me and Paul,” details their travels and tribulations, and Willie dedicated his album Troublemaker to the memory of Paul’s wife, Carlene English, who initially worked for no money, earned $150,000 in 1978, as one of Willie’s two drummers. The other drummer, Rex Ludwig, has been with the Family for five years. The newest member of the band is Chris Ethridge, who joined two years ago.
Bee Spears had been playing bass for Willie for ten years when he left for personal reaons. Ethridge, whose credits begin with the Flying Burrito Brothers, and includes Delaney & Bonnie and thousands of hours of session work, replaced him. When Spears wanted to return to the fold, he was immediately welcomed back. The band recognized that this wasn’t a fireable offense as far as Chris was concerned, so now he and Bee share the bass lines. Mickey Raphael, another veteran of the studios took his harmonica on the road with Willie eight years ago and has been touring with him every since.
“This organization runs best on confusion,” comments Paul. “Nobody has a title. Everybody is too busy helping everybody.” But somehow things seem to work out.
“One thing we’ve all learned from Willie is, very few decisions have to be made immediately. If you just let things slide, they will usually sort themselves out. Another Willie-tenet is, as long as it’s fun we’ll do it, and when it stops being fun, we won’t do it,” adds Snake, Willie’s… well, in any group he would be titled road manager, but at Harrahs he was registered as “confidant.” Of course, in any other band someone would know his Christian name. The same holds true for “Beast.”
An ex-Army cook and supervisor of food services at the University of Iowa, h is in charge of the Chuck Wagon, one of three Silver Eagle buses that bear the Nelson logo. “This way, everybody gets one hot well-balanced meal a day,” says the portly part-time caterer. “Willie’s favorite foods are Southern dishes so I cook a lot of hamhocks and different kinds of greens.”
Not only does Willie make sure his band gets a hot meal a day, he also guarantees them a $10,000 bonus on each album they record with him. And as quick and casual as Willie is about recording (Willie and Leon boasted an unprecedented 100 songs in six days of session work. “I don’t know what’s so special about that,” Willie laughs. “The Lord made the world in six days.”), these bonuses plus studio scale go a long way towards putting each member of the band in the six figure salary range.
First-class accommmodations are provided for the band and the crew while they are on the road or in the air. Even when the band is ensconced in the luxury of being a top act, Willie can still be founds sleeping on a berth in the bus.
As good as things are now, there was a time when things were even better. It took a severe manager to tell Willie he had to stop paying the Family’s laundry, dry cleaning, and long-distance phone bills while they were on the road. Though he listened, he no longer has a manager.
There are times when it appears that Willie’s Family extends to include all of his fans. When he’s in the supermarket, he’ll return the waves and smiles of the ‘Hey, Willie’ bunch. “They’re never a problem,” he says, “it’s the ones who don’t recognize me. I run up to them, pull them on their shirt sleeps, and break into a chorus of ‘Whiskey River, take my mind…’”
