or How to Get to Be Alone
with a Dozen Mexican Girls and a Stack of Fats Domino 45s
The Farmers have just finished their last set and the
Downtown Café in El Cajon is starting to empty. A middle-aged guy who's been
gyrating in front of the stage all night, screaming proclamations that no one
could hear because of the music, suddenly has his chance. In the fading din and
quiet shuffle of midnight, he yells out, uninterrupted: "Who ever knew the
greatest band in the world came from El Cajon?" He's wearing a Beat Farmers
shirt that, like him, has seen better days. Certainly, the objective observer
might take this boast by a partisan fan in context, especially considering the
fan's well-oiled state at this weary hour. But, his claim that the greatest
band in the world came from El Cajon should not be dismissed without further
contemplation. Why, you ask? Because it's true!
Sure, one
may point to those other groups like
the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, but their fame was also buoyed by lucky
timing. There is no way John Lennon or Mick Jagger would've become who they
were if it weren't for the fact that they broke right as the '60s generation
was itself breaking free. The pop-pop-pop of the JFK assassination set in
motion a series of cataclysmic social events that made the young musical talent
of that generation matter a lot more than usual.
Conversely,
the Beat Farmers received the historical luck (yes, I'm being sarcastic) of
riding the wave of Reagan's "I've got mine" generation in which everything
human was turned into a corporation and the media was consolidated to the point
at which Larry King and Judas Priest were pitted against each other for the
same ad dollars.
But, a band
shouldn't be judged by its generation. That is a matter of chance. So, let me
repeat, "The greatest band in the world came from El Cajon."
San Diego
County has always pitched a healthy ante into the world music scene: the
Bostonia Ballroom, the Kingston Trio, the Cascades, Gary Puckett and the Union
Gap, Iron Butterfly (whose name was twisted a bit by the ever-derivative Jimmy
Page - Iron to Lead - Bug to Blimp, etc. - to arrive at Led Zeppelin), and more
recently Blink-182 and (you thought I'd forget, huh?) Adam Lambert. But, it was
the Beat Farmers that won not only international fame but, more important and
with decisive ubiquity, the hearts and minds of the local music scene at the
same time.
Again, the
greatest band in the world came from El Cajon. However, this article really
isn't about the Beat Farmers. So, I'm not sure why I led you around the page
with this tangent. This article is really about Jerry Raney. Co-founder of the
Beat Farmers, sure. But, also a local legend before his most famous, aforementioned
tenure.
Raney was
born in 1951 in El Centro. And the dueling beauty of El Centro and El Cajon
continues to weave its way through Jerry's musical tapestry. It's important to
note the year Raney was born, not because rock musicians are always forthcoming
about their age, but because his birth coincides with the dawning of rock ‘n'
roll itself.
"Our family
was poor," Jerry confirms, "and we didn't have a TV." Listening to the radio
then was the cheap fix that connected the young Raney to the outside world.
And, the radio of the 1950s was increasingly dominated by rock ‘n' roll, by
Elvis of course, Ritchie Valens, Buddy Holly, and Chuck Berry. The latter had a
powerful sway on the young boy while his mom became a big Elvis fan. Never
short of things to do in cosmopolitan El Centro, Jerry soon joined a Fats
Domino fan club. Still only eight or nine years old, he was the only boy
surrounded by a dozen teenage Mexican girls. "We'd sit around in this room,
listen to Fats Domino records, and dance." Being the only boy, Jerry got his
dance card punched regularly.
An avid
music listener (and dancer) at a young age, Raney and the family moved to El
Cajon in 1964, just when the Beatles were shattering the charts. He was in 8th
grade and that same year made friends with two classmates who would themselves
have formidable careers of their own: Jack Butler of the Bratz and Private
Domain and the great, late rock critic Lester Bangs.
Two years
later at 15, Jerry picked up the guitar while attending El Cajon High. He remembers
a friend had an acoustic guitar and a Beatles book. The idea of both singing
and playing soon took hold. Within the year, he started his first band - the
Persuaders. "We were a dance band and got a few gigs around the school," Raney
remembers.
Over the
next two years, Jerry studied his craft, weaving through bands including Thee
Jesters before finding a permanent place on the roster of the Dark Ages. The
Dark Ages regularly played the Hi-Ho Club where the Boardwalk at El Cajon's
Parkway Bowl is now located. The Hi-Ho Club seated 800 people. Plus, there was
a chain of them with clubs in Riverside, Yuma, Oceanside, and Jerry's hometown
of El Centro. The Dark Ages would "tour" the five clubs, playing current hits
from the edgier side of popular music. It's also important to note that El
Cajon was not London or L.A. or the Haight in 1968. So, when the stage manager
of the Hi-Ho Club dimmed the lights, hit the strobe, and the Dark Ages played
Love's Da Capo album in its entirety
or "live" Yardbird's songs with extended, improvised solos and interludes, the
800 ticket holders were left hypnotized by these first plunges into
psychedelia. Besides Jerry, the Dark Ages included his good friend Jack Butler
on bass and, occasionally, the third musketeer Lester Bangs on harmonica who
would sit in and blow harp on some of the elongated blues jams.
By 1969,
the Dark Ages morphed and fused into Raney's second most famous band: the local
super group Glory. Jerry and Jack Butler, who had now switched to rhythm
guitar, joined forces with Iron Butterfly's original rhythm section - Jack
Pinney on drums and Greg Willis on bass - and singer/percussionist Mike Millsap
to lead the San Diego music scene through its post-Cream blues rock/hard rock/
muscle rock era.
Glory's
five-piece configuration - akin to the Stones, Yardbirds, and company -
relieved Jerry of any singing responsibilities and he went through his
self-described "gunslinger" phase as the band's fast-fingered lead guitarist.
"There was a rivalry going on between Allen Green of the Drones, Danny Weis
(also from El Cajon and formerly from Iron Butterfly), and me." There was even
a period that Jerry was wooed away from the band to take his own shot at
stardom. He auditioned in Los Angeles and won the job as Norman Greenbaum's
touring guitarist following Greenbaum's release of the double-gold "Spirit in
the Sky." Unfortunately, the life of a superstar soon wore thin. The band was
cloistered on Greenbaum's farm in rural Petaluma, California, while Greenbaum
fed goats, avoided practice, and soaked up his instant fame. Bored and
disillusioned, Raney headed back to San Diego before Greenbaum hit the road.
Fortunately, Glory's first guitarist chair was still waiting for him.
Not long
after this short-lived stint, Glory played a gig that would later prove pivotal
in Jerry's career: In 1972, the ASB vice president at Grossmont High School was
a fellow musician and self-proclaimed malcontent named Dan McLain, who was
organizing a "music festival" at the high school. Glory was booked to headline.
As so often occurred at Glory shows, the crowd got a little too wild and the
idea of an annual Woodstock festival on the Grossmont campus was never
discussed again. But, Dan and Jerry met each other for the first, but not the
last, time.
Glory
recorded a live album - On the Air
(1970) - at the then "underground" KPRI studios as well as many demos and
singles. They headlined locally for 10 years, opened for Steely Dan and ZZ Top,
but were never able to secure that elusive recording contract. At one point,
the five-piece even became a sextet, adding Bruce Morse as a second drummer. By
the mid-1970s, singer Mike Millsap left the group and Jerry found himself in
the singer/guitarist role, something he had first enjoyed as far back as his
teens. The group reincarnated as a quartet, sometimes a trio, before finally
breaking up around 1978 at a time when early-'70s strut-rock was being
challenged by punk, reggae, retro-rock, and rockabilly.
Following
Glory's demise Jerry, Jack Pinney, and Greg Willis dove back into their
pre-Glory, pre-Butterfly youth, starting the roots trio the Shames. Playing
what in 1978 were considered older songs, the Shames put their journeymen's
treatment on a set list that included everything from Elvis to Ray Charles. They
played the top clubs in San Diego - My Rich Uncles, the Bacchanal, and Jerry
Herrera's Spirit Club (then still the Palace). Their goal was definitely to get
signed and Raney began writing many new songs including future Beat Farmer hits
such as "Selfish Heart" and "Buy Me a Car." The trio became a local success and
gigged regularly for four years before finally calling it quits in 1982.
The rest is
the Jerry Raney history that has become public knowledge. Jerry happened to run
into the former ASB VP from Grossmont High School, now a veteran of the
Penetrators, the Crawdaddys, and the Snuggle Bunnies. In 1983, they formed a
band first called the Mobile Musical Pleasure Unit then Dude Raunch before
settling on their final name. They picked up a couple guys from the Rockin'
Roulettes, started playing the Spring Valley Inn, then, as the fan base grew,
took over Bodies near SDSU.
"Everything
happened naturally," Jerry says of this time, so naturally, that he admits,
"The next 12 years are kind of a blur."
Then, in
1995, the whirlwind ride of endless touring, recording, MTV videos, CMA and
David Letterman appearances, and haggling with record execs came to a sudden
stop when Grossmont High's former ASB vice president died at his drum kit in
Canada.
After Country
Dick's death, Jerry formed Raney-Blue with Beat Farmer Buddy Blue, Powerthud
with Beat Farmer Joey Harris, then the Flying Putos again with Buddy Blue,
which finally evolved into the Farmers.
The Farmers
were three quarters of the Beat Farmers for a while until Blue involuntarily
quit to go gig with Country Dick. BF bassist Rolle Love simply quit and stayed
above ground to pursue new life adventures after 25 years with the band. The
Farmers, in addition to Jerry Raney, are now Joel "Bongo" Kmak on drums, Chris
Sullivan on bass, and long-time friend Corbin Turner on vocals and percussion.
In a way, they still are the Beat Farmers given that all of the members come
from the Beat Farmers' extended family. Bongo grew up with Dan McLain/Country
Dick; Chris Sullivan played bass with Dan/Dick in the Penetrators; Corbin
Turner has somehow managed to cross the divide into the netherworld and bring
Dick's voice back from the grave. And, of course, you have founding Beat Farmer
Jerry Raney. At the same time, the Farmers are not the Beat Farmers (see CD
review in this issue).
This is a
new phase of Jerry Raney's 40-year career. When a middle aged guy yells out
that the greatest band in the world came from El Cajon, he's probably flashing
back to the Beat Farmers of 1985. But, Jerry was there too in 1985, in 1975, in
1968, and here now in 2009. So, if the greatest rock ‘n' roll band in the world
came from El Cajon, where in the who's-who of rock ‘n' roll does that put that
band's founder?