Link Wray & His Ray-men – White Lightning: Lost Cadence Sessions ’58
Link Wray was in the Army in 1952 when middle-aged, bespectacled Archie Bleyer, bandleader for Arthur Godfrey’s CBS TV shows, founded Cadence Records to capitalize on the growing fame of young Godfrey crooner Julius LaRosa. Several LaRosa hits followed. In 1953, days after canning LaRosa on the air (later claiming he “lacked humility”), the petulant, insecure Godfrey, miffed that Cadence recorded poetry read by a minor-league rival, axed Bleyer as well.
Bleyer did just fine. By 1957 Cadence was a powerhouse with adult pop successes from the all-female Chordettes and Andy Williams, plus colossal rock hits, recorded in Nashville, from the Everly Brothers. Bleyer loathed rock’s rawness but felt that with careful control — Chet Atkins leading the studio band and quality tunes from Felice & Boudleaux Bryant — the Everlys could deliver quality rock. He was correct. They became Cadence’s most enduring act.
Wray would be another matter. Cadence released his raw, primal guitar instrumental “Rumble” in 1957, motivated mainly by Bleyer’s daughter’s enthusiasm for Wray and the record (and a shot at a quick buck). The guitarist received a one-year contract, allowing “Rumble” to run its course while Wray and the Ray-Men recorded an LP’s worth of material in Nashville in 1958.
After hearing Wray’s tapes — fourteen tracks of dark, bluesy, visceral guitar — Bleyer, convinced such primitive fare threatened truth, justice and the American way (and having made money on “Rumble”), summarily booted Wray off Cadence. Unable to countenance changing musical tastes, Bleyer sold Cadence — minus Wray’s tapes — to Andy Williams. Britain’s Rollercoaster records acquired the material from a Bleyer friend who purchased them from his widow. They’ve previously been issued in Europe; this marks their first U.S. release.
Anyone familiar with “Rumble” will find more of the same here: The fourteen exhilarating performances (and four alternate takes) all pulse with spontaneity, attitude and energy. Among them are “Raw-Hide” and unique, Wrayesque renditions of “White Lightning” and “Heartbreak Hotel”, a twangless spin on Duane Eddy’s “Rebel Rouser”, and a biting reinvention of bandleader Perez Prado’s then-current pop fluff instrumental “Patricia”.
One can understand why such irreverent, uninhibited wildness troubled Bleyer. To him, it simply wasn’t adult; Wray and crew were untamed punks needing discipline. That, of course, was the beauty of it. And Bleyer, who died in 1988, would never comprehend that Wray’s music would endure in a different but no less profound way than that of the Everlys.