Luke Clarkston signed his first record contract in 1972, when he was twenty-two years old. He'd been writing songs since he was twelve, joined his first band at fifteen, played gigs since high school. Making a record was exactly what he wanted next.
First stop after leaving the record company's office was to find a pay phone and call his best friend Eddie to share the news. Eddie had his own band and played guitar better than Luke; they were always each other's first sounding boards.
"Wow," Eddie said, impressed. "Where are you? Let's celebrate, man."
They met up at their usual spot near Gray's Ferry, bought some beer and headed toward the river. In those days, neither of them had enough money to drink in bars.
"I can't believe I did it," Luke kept repeating. "I mean, I just walked in there with a guitar and played my songs and they bought it!"
Eddie wanted to know all about the contract terms and conditions, but Luke could barely remember the details. "I dunno, man, Jerry took care of all that. He said it was good and I should sign so I signed." Jerry was his manager, a middle-aged man who also ran the local skateboard store, which was how Luke met him.
"Well, what about the money? What kind of advance you get?" Eddie, tall and lithe and always a sharp dresser, fastidiously avoided the mud as they followed dirt paths toward the rail yard on the river's edge.
"Nothin' yet but they say I'll get enough to make the first album. Shit, I can't believe I get to make a record! They're booking me into this studio in North Philly in, like, two weeks."
"Are you doing the singer-songwriter thing? Or with a band?"
"A band, man! I'm making a rock and roll record."
"Who you gonna bring with you?"
"Jerry wants to approve everyone. But you're comin' for sure." Luke had grown up with piano lessons and was teaching himself guitar but he wasn't confident in his playing; he wasn't even really confident in his singing. The only thing he was completely sure of was his song-writing.
"What, you want me to play on your record?" Eddie smirked, pretending surprise.
"Well obviously. And the usual guys I guess - Pete and Leo. Petey's a bit loco but he does a solid bass, and he knows all my songs by now."
A chain link fence surrounded the rail yard. They reached the section where a hole had been made through the links and Luke, who was smaller and scrawnier and never thought about his clothes, slipped through it, then paused and waited for Eddie.
"And Gord Cortez," Luke went on, watching as Eddie carefully pushed back all the broken wires and gingerly stepped through. "Hope he's free. You know I write those piano parts but I can't play 'em."
"He's cool. Classical training I think."
"He's got this jazzy edge, he really knows what I like."
"You think that advance'll be enough to pay everyone?"
"Better be, it's all I got."
Another short path through a few bushes led them to their favourite spot at the edge of the murky grey river, and Luke threw himself down under a tree on the bank. Eddie perched on a stone beside him, handed out the beer, and started rolling a joint.
"You wanna check out Harlow's later?" Eddie asked. "I heard they got a new house band."
"I dunno, I told Sheryl I'd hang around with her tonight," Luke said, still thinking about the upcoming recording session. "Wish I could find some kind of horn player - a sax or trumpet or something." He leaned back on his elbows and stared upwards, trying to catch a glimpse of the city behind them. "Just for a few tracks."
"I can ask around, pretty sure some of those R&B cover bands have horn sections."
"I don't want just anyone though," Luke said. "I gotta have the best for this."
"Sure." Eddie handed the joint to Luke and smiled down at him suddenly. "Remember when we used to sleep out here, when we didn't want to go home?"
"Like I could forget." Luke chuckled. "It's way better havin' my own pad now. Least there's a bed."
"It wasn't very comfortable," Eddie agreed. "But kinda fun. Anyway..." He leaned over to throw an arm around Luke and kiss his cheek. "Congratulations, man. This is pretty cool."
Luke grinned up at him and clinked his beer bottle against Eddie's. "Thanks. Your turn next."
As they sat in silence, looking out over the water, Luke took stock mentally. He had a guitar, a bunch of songs, a record contract, a girlfriend, a place of his own. All he needed now was that horn player, and his life would be complete.
***
The first album came out at the end of 1972. Luke learned a lot about production and engineering, and everything took much longer than he planned, but he ended up with the record he wanted. Unfortunately, no one else seemed to want it much. Jerry insisted that the record company release one of the tracks as a single, but it got no airplay and disappeared into oblivion.
Luke didn't let that get him down. He put together a small band - just Leo, Pete and Gordon; Eddie was busy with his own projects - and launched a haphazard east coast tour. Jerry helped him book some gigs and they got a bit more money out of the company, which Luke used to buy a second-hand car that just barely fit the band and their equipment. His friend Art - an older man who'd helped him get into clubs when he was under-aged and acted as a bit of a mentor - came along to wrangle equipment and help out, while Jerry stayed back to run the store.
The tour expanded slightly toward the mid-west, with shows at bars in Buffalo, Cleveland and a few smaller towns in between, but by the spring of 1973 Luke was back in Philadelphia and feeling a bit lost. His contract with the record company was for three albums, but he wasn't sure he wanted to start work on the next one just yet. By this time Sheryl had long since tired of waiting for him, and Eddie had taken a gig out in Chicago. Even Luke's own apartment was gone - given up during the tour - and he was crashing in a back room behind the skateboard store, which Jerry loaned him in exchange for occasional help up front.
Summer rolled around, and nothing much had changed. Luke was trying to fix some teenager's long-board and mentally running through the local bars he might be able to hit up for a gig when his old friends Ray and José came into the store.
"My man, my man," Ray greeted him enthusiastically. "We heard you was back in town. What's new with you?"
Luke stopped working to hug and slap hands and catch them up on his current situation. Ray and José were part of the old crowd he and Eddie had hung with since high school, both of them now working in theatre lighting or costumes or set design - something like that, Luke wasn't quite sure.
"Well, if you're free tonight you should come by the Artemis," José said. "We'll be there and man, the place is jiving these days."
"There a cover? Cuz I ain't ..."
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José waved dismissively, cutting him off. "You're on the list. C'mon, we might even have a surprise for you there." He and Ray exchanged looks that slightly intrigued Luke.
"Well, if I can make it, I will," Luke promised.
That evening he put on a clean pair of jeans and a close-fitting white tank, borrowed $5 from Jerry, and took the SEPTA over to Sansom St. He knew he was early - the club wouldn't really fill up till closer to midnight - so he dropped into a few bars, trying to negotiate paid sets for the following weeks. Even without airplay, a released record gave him enough cachet that he was able to book a few shows, which lifted his spirits a bit.
When he'd finished making his way through most of the strip, Luke headed over to the Artemis, the hip local disco, and found José had kept his word about getting him on the guest list. Inside, the lights pulsed, the speakers blasted funky Philly soul, and the dance floor was just starting to fill up.
As he walked through the room looking for his friends, Luke felt the usual interested gazes on him. He'd hung around with Ray and José and the rest of their gang long enough to understand this scene, and that being a skinny 23-year-old with long hair and still boyish features would draw attention from the mostly male crowd. It was kind of flattering, really.
The O'Jays were calling on people to start a love train when Luke eventually located José in a booth at the back of the room.
"Hey!" Luke yelled over the music. "You workin' here?"
"You made it," José cried in delight, coming out to peck Luke's cheek. "Honey, you're a sight for sore eyes."
Luke looked around. "What about Ray, he working too?"
"He's supposed to be helping me, but I think he spends most of his time hanging out in the DJ booth."
"So what is this, you doin' lights for these guys?"
"This and that," José said airily. He glanced across the room and gave a little nod; Luke followed his gaze to see Ray waving at them from a box housing the DJ and sound system. As James Brown took over from the O'Jays, José flagged down a passing waiter to order drinks and introduced Luke to a couple of other people standing nearby. Luke chatted amiably for a few minutes until Ray appeared, greeted him with a kiss, and shot a quick conspiratorial glance at José.
"What is it, man?" Luke asked, smiling curiously. "You two look like you got some kinda secret you don't mean to share."
Ray smiled back and shook his head. The drinks arrived and Luke picked his up, then paused with the bottle half-way to his mouth. He turned toward the speakers with a slight frown, hearing a growing chord progression that sounded both intimately familiar and wildly out of place. "Hang on now, that sounds like - wait - is that...?"
José and Ray were crowing openly now, delighted with their success.
"But..." Luke stared at them. "My music don't fit in here! It's rock and roll, not disco. There's gonna be some kinda riot, everyone's gonna walk off the dance floor!"
"No way." Ray shook his head. "Drag queens fit in every disco, my man."
For a moment Luke had forgotten that. This song was actually one of the quieter ones on his album, not a ballad exactly - he didn't do ballads, not then - but a kind of jazz-inflected narrative poem about a performer he'd met once who'd been all glamour and stardust and charm. He held his breath and watched the crowd on the dancefloor as they slowed down, swayed a bit, and adjusted to the new beat. It wasn't a disco beat, it was a lot closer to rock than disco, but they didn't leave, they found a new groove for it, and in a minute the whole crowd was undulating to the rhythm of his own music.
The next morning Luke walked out of the back room, found Jerry, and told him he wanted to start working on his next album.
***
Before they contacted the record company to set up studio time, Luke called Eddie in Chicago to find out when he'd be back. Fortunately, the contract was wrapping up and Eddie promised to be in town and available to help by late August. Jerry negotiated for two weeks at the studio in mid-September, and in the meantime Luke set up rehearsal time with Pete, Leo, Gordon, and the instrument tech, Art.
Once again, Luke had a stockpile of songs to choose from. At this time he was always writing new material, sitting in his little room behind the store at night with his acoustic guitar, coming up with an outline or riff or fragment of lyrics. He'd take it to the guys to flesh out when they rehearsed next, then work out the bumps during their frequent local bar shows. Now he just had to decide which selections to commit to tape during the upcoming sessions. Last time they had recorded seventeen or eighteen songs, of which only ten made it on to the album.
Working with the band on his latest embryonic creation, Luke remembered one of his frustrations during the last recording session.
"It needs more," he said, stopping abruptly and pushing aside his guitar. "More than what we got."
The others looked at him, nonplussed. "More what?" Leo asked.
"I dunno - percussion? Horns? I want, like...a deeper rhythm track. That Phil Spector sound." Luke ran his hands through his hair. "And I want...a different sound for the solos. Gordon, your stuff is - it's excellent, I love your work. It just don't quite add up. I need something ... fuller."
He was pacing around the small space now, the garage Gordon's mom let them rehearse in. Leo and Gordon watched him; Art leaned against the back wall and lit a cigarette.
"It'll sound fuller when Eddie's here," Leo suggested.
"That ain't exactly it. I don't just want more guitar."
"Didn't you bring in some other guys when we made the last record?" Gordon asked.
Luke shook his head. "Yeah, that's the thing. Me and Jerry kept finding these guys to add a bit a' this and a bit a' that but they never really...I mean, I wanna work with someone now, when we're figuring out the songs."
"So..." Pete slapped a restless hand against his bass. "What kind of player you looking for exactly?"
"I think I want horns the most. Something to fatten the rhythm, and then break out once in a while. Anyone know anyone?"
"Hey, I used to work with this guy..." Leo brightened suddenly. "He played trumpet and maybe something else, I forget...he had a great sound, kinda bluesy, but he could play anything, R&B, jazz...big guy, real nice, worked hard. You'd like him, I think."
Luke stared at him. "Why ain't ya ever tell me this before! Where is he now, you know how to find him?"
It took some hunting down and a bit of time, but eventually Leo confirmed that the trumpet player he remembered was currently in a band backing up a singer Luke vaguely knew, a white guy named Mel who covered R&B songs mostly for the college crowd. That band had a weekly gig at a bar out near University City, where Leo and Luke agreed to meet one Friday night.
Luke arrived first and could hear the band playing already so he went inside and found a table near the front. He nodded at Mel and took in the scene. The mostly young white crowd was either up front dancing or back at the bar drinking. The band was mixed and numerous, with a swinging rhythm section that included multiple sax, trombone and trumpet players, as well as back up singers and other assorted musicians.
Even with the number of people onstage, Luke had no trouble picking out the trumpet player Leo had mentioned. Though he was at the back with the rest of the horns, this man stood out. Leo had said he was large and he was - a mountain of a man, both tall and muscular, with massive arms, and shoulders that took up space when he raised his trumpet. His playing wasn't showy; he worked in harmony with the other horns and didn't try to upstage anyone. But Luke thought he would have noticed the man even if he hadn't been in the market for a trumpet player.
Leo arrived shortly after Luke and joined him at the table. After a rousing first set the band took a break, and Luke went over to say hello to Mel while Leo headed off to find his old band mate. When Luke returned to the table, Leo was sitting with the trumpet player.
"Hey Luke, this is the guy I was telling you about - Emmett Evans. Emmett, this is Luke."
Emmett put out his hand. "Pleasure, man...I've been hearing a lot about you lately, it's great to meet you."
"Well, I wish they woulda told me about you before," Luke said. His hand looked pale and tiny inside Emmett's large, dark one. "I'da come by earlier."
Leo said something about getting drinks and left them alone at the table. It occurred to Luke that Emmett was quite a bit older than him, perhaps closer to 30, which, along with his size, was a bit intimidating. "You guys sound great up there," Luke said, covering up with a compliment. "You been with Mel for a while?"
"About a year now," Emmett said. He seemed friendly, guileless, like he was happy to chat without wondering too much about Luke's agenda. "The band's just starting to get tight, you know - it's hard with such a big sound, so many players."
"You do mainly R&B covers?"
"Well, that's Mel's thing. Myself, I do a little bit of everything, but in this band I just try to keep the rhythm going."
"And you play trumpet, cornet...? Leo thought maybe somethin' else as well?"
Emmet laughed easily. "Oh, I've tried a few things but it's mostly trumpet and harp."
"Really - harmonica?"
"Yeah, not in this band, you know, it doesn't really fit in. But I grew up playing blues and gospel mostly, a bit of jazz, so I just play whatever fits in best."
Despite his imposing size and age, there was something in the way Emmett spoke that made Luke feel safe and comfortable around him. Leo returned with beers and passed them around. Hopefully those came free for the band, otherwise Leo would be wanting to be paid back. The three of them clinked bottles lightly and Luke wondered how to ask Emmett if he'd consider leaving his current productive employment and dedicating himself to a scrawny song-writer with lots of ideas and not much money.
Fortunately, Emmett turned the conversation around politely. "I heard you got a record contract, is that right?"
"Yeah, we put out the first album last year. Two more to go." Was this the moment to ask?
"Congratulations, man! That's cool." Emmett's smile was sunny and sincere. "Have you been touring?"
"We done a bit last year, but not lately. I - we..."
"You write all your own songs?"
"Yeah, yeah, I write, we only do originals."
"I can't write, but I really prefer original music." Emmett lifted his beer and finished half of it in a gulp. "You have any gigs in town? I'd love to see you guys play, maybe I could even sit in sometime."
Luke stared into Emmett's frank, open face, and rolled the dice. "How about tomorrow?"