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NEWS : STORIES
Rock often rewards its splashiest instrumentalists, and hot-shot guitarists in particular have long enjoyed their fair share of acclaim. That's not changing with the mainstream arrival of Doyle Bramhall II. Having done time in a feisty little outfit
Bramhall grew up in the shadow of his string-slinging dad, absorbing the nuances of the blues vernacular that was spoken around his Texas stomping grounds. His pals have been heavy: Stevie Ray and Jimmie Vaughan were part of his axis growing up, and after that Thunderbirds stint, he formed the Arc Angels with his longtime pal Charlie Sexton. VH1 spoke with Bramhall in early July, a few days after Smokestack tore apart New York's Village Underground club with an evening of atomic rock 'n' roll. Here he is talking about influences, why it's best to stay unconscious when soloing, and how you can converse with your cohorts through music. VH1: So what is it about Texas and guitar slingers? You've got more than Chicago for God's sake. Doyle Bramhall II: I think there were a lot of Texas blues players that were still living and playing in clubs down there … You could go see the real blues cats in a club. I think that drew a lot of young guitar players to come down and learn from them. VH1: You could have firsthand experience with the true masters. Bramhall: Right. The guys coming out of Chicago were getting a lot of international success. The Texas artists stayed domestically, and you could just go check them out for nothing. VH1: Who are you thinking of when you say that? Bramhall: Lightnin' Hopkins, Albert Collins, Bobby Bland, Freddie King, Little Son Jackson, Mance Lipscomb, Johnny "Guitar" Watson. And not only that, but we got a lot of overflow from Louisiana, too. So we got to see Clifton Chenier, Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown, and all that stuff, too. It was pretty closely related, stylistically. VH1: Were you dazzled with that as a kid? Did they have to woo you into the blues, or did you come running? Bramhall: No, no. I felt like it was a part of me. If a kid grows up working in a boot shop, chances are he's going to be a boot-maker. If he's around that all the time, he learns it. They say you pick up everything - all your tools - by the time you're 5 years old. It just rubs off. It wasn't anything that I had to learn. It was just inside, stuff I took in and absorbed. VH1: What's one of your vivid memories of the jam sessions you used to go to with your dad? Were they cutting contests, where the guitarists tried to outdo one another? Bramhall: Not where I came from, because everybody was pretty respectful of all the other guitar players. Everybody was getting things from other players down there. It was a real close-knit musical family. Stevie [Ray Vaughan]'s biggest influence was his brother Jimmie. Jimmie learned from Denny Freeman, who was a guy that knew a lot more about the structure of songs and the theory of music. He could play a million chords and do it in a way that was almost a real raw way. So everybody was learning from each other. I'm sure there was some cutting competition, too. But it was almost like Stevie rose to the top because of his passion. I've never known anybody with that kind of passion for what he did. He dedicated his life to the guitar and he's a guy who mastered his craft. VH1: Can you learn something about associates or friends or strangers by playing with them that you don't learn through conversing with them? Bramhall: I try and learn from every experience. For example, when I first got together with Clapton, I learned a lot by talking to him. But it was more on a personal level, and it also gave me some insight into what he thought about music - the things that he liked. But then when we got on the floor and started playing together, I learned a lot about how he works as an artist and a musician and a bandleader - stuff I didn't know just by talking to him. I try to take everything in, because you only live once and there aren't too many experiences I've come across that are as unique of an opportunity as I've had in the last couple of years. VH1: Can associates still surprise you? Were things you didn't know about Clapton revealed to you onstage while trading solos? Bramhall: Oh yeah. There was one night in particular that I was watching him at the Albert Hall and he started playing a blues song and in the middle of it I was saying to myself, "I didn't realize there were that many frets on a guitar." It seemed like he went to a different place than I would have ever thought. It just seemed impossible to me and it was almost like he reached out for a second and showed you, "I'm still a bad motherf*cker, and I can just pull it out at any time." I always get blown away by people that I respect. B.B. King, too. He just sounds good. He sings great. He's just the most honest singer that there ever was. VH1: When you were a kid or teenager, was playing a guitar equated with being a lead player? Was it all about stepping out and crafting a solo? Bramhall: Not for me. I never really thought about that. I just thought about guitar playing. Guitar playing to me is rhythm and lead - you've got to get everything in there. A lot of players out there now are just learning to be a great soloist, and my favorite guitar players are in my opinion the best rhythm players, too. Hendrix was such an amazing rhythm player… VH1: And Jimmie is too, right? Bramhall: Who, Jimmie Vaughan? Oh yeah. That was his thing. If you have a foundation in rhythm, then you listen to the other musicians, and you play off the drums and the bass, you can sort of have a conversation. Where does it all start? Rhythm. VH1: Where does your head go when you're improvising? Playing can be so visceral, but improvising has to be thought through. You have to know where you're going… Bramhall: Actually, I don't. VH1: Do you try to be conscious or unconscious? Bramhall: I try to be unconscious. The more I think about it, the less it flows, because I'm trying to direct it. Usually if I just let the feeling take over, it's almost like an emotion. Just letting that emotion take you over. It's almost like riding a wave. If you can ride it, that's fine. But you can't direct the wave. My whole thing is just try to stay on the wave and get a perfect 10. VH1: You worked hard to make Welcome a song-oriented record - lots of craft went into it. But there's also a vibe of immediacy that's undeniable. How did you find a way to have both? Bramhall: I think because everything came together. The band that I was in was Smokestack. I think Susannah writing a lot of the lyrics with me … I was in a great time in my life, with my songwriting. I was writing a lot for Eric at the time. It was just coming out. We ended up going in the studio for seven weeks rehearsing, so we got as tight as we possibly could before we even set foot in the studio. The great records - the timeless stuff like the first Hendrix records, the first Zeppelin records, the Stones records, even the Beatles for that matter and even Bob Marley - all had one thing in common. Those guys just went in a room with no baffles and put some mikes up and sang and played and recorded that moment in time. There's a real unique sound to that, something that's missing now because everything's so isolated and so separated that you can't really hear the track breathe. VH1: Are you a vinyl collector? Bramhall: I used to be. But I actually lost all my record collection. VH1: What, a fire? Bramhall: I only have one record now. One album. Donny Hathaway's Live. VH1: Left over from your original collection? Bramhall: No, something I bought after. But I did have that one originally, too. I lost everything. I pawned off everything I have. But I do love the whole experience. I do miss that experience you have, the ritualistic experience of going to the store and deciding on a record. It was almost like a relationship that you had with an album and vinyl and the cover. You don't get that with a CD. VH1: So even on the road you don't have your eyes open for a particular title? Bramhall: You mean in a record store? Yeah, I'm always looking for records that are out of print, that you can't find on CD. But the things I like are pretty pimp. I'll look for Johnny "Guitar" Watson's A Real Mother for Ya. Or some Bobby Womack.
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