Review: Wanda Jackson - Rockin' With Wanda (1960)

Tracks: 1) Rock Your Baby; 2) Fujiyama Mama; 3) You’re The One For Me; 4) Did You Miss Me?; 5) Cool Love; 6) Honey Bop; 7) Hot Dog! That Made Him Mad; 8) Baby Loves Him; 9) Mean Mean Man; 10) You’ve Turned To A Stranger; 11) Don’a Wan’a; 12) I Gotta Know; 13*) (Everytime They Play) Our Song; 14*) Sinful Heart; 15*) Savin’ My Love; 16*) A Date With Jerry; 17*) Reaching; 18*) I’d Rather Have You.

REVIEW

Richie Unterberger, one of the leading experts on «golden oldies», cautiously named Rockin’ With Wanda «a leading candidate for the best female rock & roll album of the 1950s». And even if, technically, the LP itself only came out in 1960, and branding it an ‘album’ is a bit of a cheat since it mainly just compiles her singles from 1956 to 1959, I would still like, if possible, to clinch that vote and turn it into the best female rock & roll album of the 1950s, period. Which, on its own, is perhaps still not saying that much, given how few female rock & roll albums there were in the 1950s in general — in fact, Wanda hardly had any other serious competitors than Brenda Lee and a couple of somewhat unjustly forgotten rockabilly ladies like Janis Martin — but let’s rather put it this way: Rockin’ With Wanda would most certainly make my own Top 10 list of «Essential Rockabilly Albums», male, female, or any other gender you could think of in the 1950s, when there was so much less choice than in our modern era of total availability.

Unlike the self-titled debut, which was more of a country album with a few nods to the rockabilly genre, Rockin’ With Wanda pushes the envelope in the other direction — it really does put together the absolute majority of A-sides from mid-1956 to early 1959, and pretty much all of them were rock (with a natural tinge of country) rather than country. This may not actually give a completely accurate portrait of Wanda, to whom rockabilly was really second nature after country, but it does give a breathtakingly cool portrait of Wanda, which, in this particular case, matters much more than accuracy. Just to get this out of the way quickly, let us mention that 1957’s ‘Did You Miss Me?’, a doo-wop-country hybrid, suffers from excess sentimentality which is not one of Wanda’s fortes — but 1959’s ‘You’ve Turned To A Stranger’ is one of the best Hank Williams tributes I’ve ever heard (not that I’ve heard too many), and its lyrics and vocal intonations are perfectly consistent with the half-wicked, half-tortured psychologism of Wanda’s rocking material. That’s about it for the country aspects of this record, now let’s rock’n’roll!

Although first things first, let us cool down our expectations. Wanda Jackson’s original dream never really included rocking the house down; she herself admits that she was actually pushed to embrace rockabilly by Elvis while touring with him and briefly dating him some time around 1955-56. When that finally happened, she began accepting rockabilly-styled songs from outside songwriters as well as composing some of her own material, but none of those songs genuinely pushed forward the boundaries of the genre or anything; for just about any of them, you can easily find an earlier prototype from Elvis, Carl Perkins or somebody else. And while Wanda’s backing band from that period, The Poe Kats, were inarguably professional and energetic (some of those lead guitar parts by Vernon Sandusky could proudly stand next to Scotty Moore’s solos — well, second-rate Scotty Moore’s solos), I couldn’t say that they had any striking individual identity; as in, I could easily take delight in a purely instrumental rendition of something like Elvis’ ‘Good Rockin’ Tonight’, but The Poe Kats were just doing a strict job of backing Wanda Jackson, and who could blame them for that?

Where there was striking individual identity was in the spirit of the songs that Wanda’s songwriters and Wanda herself came up with — and in their delivery by Wanda herself. The very first tune that put her on the rock’n’roll map was ‘I Gotta Know’, occupying the honorable «grand finale» position on Rockin’ With Wanda — incidentally, credited not to Wanda herself, but to little-remembered country artist Thelma Blackmon, mother of Vicki Countryman, who was a school friend of Wanda’s and would also follow in her mother’s footsteps. Apparently, judging by the tiniest amount of musical legacy left behind by Thelma, she was a fan of genre-bending — on ‘I Wanta Waltz’ (sic!), for instance, she plays off the contrast between rock’n’roll and country waltzing in a funny musical battle of attitudes. However, the release of that single actually post-dates ‘I Gotta Know’, so it is possible that she was simply fueled by Wanda’s success to try and do something in the same vein for her own self this time — and failed, because writing songs is one thing, and making them come alive on record is another... and, alas, some people are simply more fit to be songwriters for others.

That particular other, as late as the fall of 1955, was still performing and tentatively writing melancholic country ballads, clearly worshipping at the altar of Hank Williams — and actually doing a pretty good job at winning the coveted title of «Miss Hank Williams» at least technically (on songs like ‘Don’t Do The Things He’d Do’, she nails Hank’s sustained nasal drawl pretty good). The problem is, there was just not enough genuine melancholy and heartbreak in those vocals; it’s clear that she loved Hank, but she wasn’t Hank — she was somebody else altogether. And for all of Elvis’ alleged sexism and «toxic masculinity», the man should be commended for being able to see through that: he must have sensed that somebody with Wanda’s character was actually more suited to singing rebellious rock’n’roll than plaintive country, and that little push he gave her to build up the confidence to do it was quite a fine act of psychotherapy.

Anyway, while I am not sure how exactly ‘I Gotta Know’ sounded like in Thelma Blackmon’s original vision, Wanda’s arrangement is clearly inspired by Elvis’ own playful-teasing genre-bending on early Sun singles such as ‘I’ll Never Let You Go’ or ‘Blue Moon Of Kentucky’. Ideology-wise, it’s actually a little «conservative»: its rocking part is sort of presented from the male perspective ("all you ever do is dance dance dance, so we boppity bop the whole night long"), while the lady keeps bringing the tempo down to slow country waltz in the chorus ("if our love’s the real thing, where is my wedding ring?"). From that point of view, you might even say that the song (much like Thelma’s own follow-up with ‘I Wanta Waltz’) is a mockery of the rock’n’roll lifestyle — the rockabilly-lovin’ guy is up to no good, whereas the steady and stable country-waltz girl is the one advocating wholesome values — but what makes it so much more complicated (and fun!) is the utmost dedication and excitement with which Wanda delivers the rock’n’rolling parts. It’s as if the verse is at the same time symbolizing the vapid party attitude of the guy and the fiery determination of the girl to bring him up to speed. That transition from the strict, clenched-teeth "one thing I gotta know, I gotta know..." to the plaintive waltz of the chorus is one of the smoothest and most original mood changes in Fifties’ pop music, and the resulting rock-country hybrid is just screaming for a complex psychoanalytical approach.

The best news about it is that ‘I Gotta Know’ put Wanda back on the country charts again, for the first time since her early debut single with Billy Gray (‘You Can’t Have My Love’, from way back in 1954), and confirmed that this was just the right direction for her to take... at least while the going was good. For her second single, she chose a song with a rather compli­cated history. Originally, it was written around 1938 by New Orleanian guitarist Danny Barker and performed by his spouse, Louisa "Blue Lu" Barker, as ‘That Made Him Mad’ — a song about a no-good girl who just likes cheating on her husband for no apparent reason, very Boccaccio-like. Fifteen years later, it was revived by the Page Cavanaugh trio, with a significantly different set of lyrics by Don Raye, and reinvented as ‘Hot Dawg That Made Her Mad’ — this time, it is the guy who is a cheater, but he only cheats on his girl because "she takes me for granted all of the time", so "to teach her a lesson, make her mad, I went out on a date with the best friend she had". That felt rather assholish, and just one year later the song was re-appropriated once again — this time, by Betty Hutton, who left in the new lyrics but reversed the genres once again, releasing the song under the orthographically and pronominally finalized spelling of ‘Hot Dog! That Made Him Mad’ and setting things straight: "he takes me for granted all of the time... to teach him a lesson, make him mad, I went out on a date with the best friend he had". That’s pretty much the way it’s been ever since — whenever there is a serious battle of the sexes, women tend to come out as winners even back in the patriarchal Fifties.

Anyway, because of Betty Hutton’s version, we cannot really say that Wanda’s take on it is revolutionary — but what she did is take a light big-band vocal jazz number and turn it into a bona fide rock’n’roll classic. The melody here, with its little stop-and-start bits, is more than a bit reminiscent of Carl Perkins’ ‘Everybody’s Trying To Be My Baby’, which is a bit odd given that at the time of ‘Hot Dog!’s release (October 1956), the Perkins tune had already been recorded but not yet published, so maybe it’s just a coincidence — in any case, what really matters is the vibe, and above all the amazing versatility in Wanda’s voice, which is by now able to make each line come alive in a different way. Just the opening itself is telling: watch the change of intonation from "I got a guy..." (problem!) to "I like him fine..." (cooing! not so serious a problem!) and then back to "but he takes me for granted..." (big problem!). Very naturally, and perhaps not even realizing it herself, she gives a dynamic, dramatic performance that somehow manages to walk that very thin line between rebelliousness and acceptance symbolizing «feminism without fanaticism» — and introduces way more nuances than Hutton’s strong, but lumbering delivery. Also, Joe Maphis plays a cool guitar solo (watch out for those funny bass zoops! along the way). They could really rock the house down with that thing live, too.

Wanda’s next single was mostly important for being the first rockabilly song she wrote herself — it feels obvious that ‘Baby Loves Him’ is rather a beginner’s take on the genre, being musically derivative of the boogie pattern going all the way back to ‘Drinkin’ Wine Spo-Dee-Oo-Dee’, lyrically simplistic (no signs of the feminist approach here, just an ‘Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da’-type happy love story), and naïvely priding itself on just how many rock’n’roll clichés it can fit inside its two minutes (blue suede shoes, pink Cadillacs, solid beats, jukeboxes, etc.; this may have been the first mention of "peroxide hair" in a rock’n’roll song, though!). But that’s not to say it isn’t thoroughly enjoyable — a blast of tough, positive energy that makes Carl Perkins sound like a wimp in comparison and actually rushes all the way to the top to fight it out with the likes of Gene Vincent (and you can actually make out the words that Wanda is singing — she don’t go for that slurring thing, or for putting a shitload of reverb on her vocals. She can still sing like a damn fine cavewoman even without the cave!).

Then, just to show there is no such thing as a 100% guarantee for lack of taste, out of the blue comes the ugly duckling of this record — not a rockabilly song, not a country song, but rather a random «homage» to the calypso craze, contributed by none other than Boudleaux Briant, who wrote so much great stuff for the Everly Brothers but whose only gift to Wanda Jackson ended up being this comical number on which she impersonates a tough Caribbean chick with a terrible mock-Caribbean accent. I don’t give a damn about the thing being «offensive» or «appropriative»; I just feel that the poorly imitated accent makes Wanda sound not so much «different» as just a tad cuckoo. Together with things like Chuck Berry’s ‘Havana Moon’ and ‘Pedro’, ‘Dona’a Wan’a’ remains one of those dated, unhappy ethnic jokes which date very quickly just because they weren’t particularly funny in the first place (which is not to say there aren’t, or weren’t, ethnic jokes that were genuinely funny — it’s just that you should never force an ethnic joke on a person who’s never done one before).

Luckily, Wanda quickly returned to form with ‘Cool Love’ (August ’57), co-written with her abovementioned friend Vicki Countryman — a steady, midtempo rocker with fine guitar and piano solos on which Miss Jackson continues educating her man about what it really means to love a demanding lady like her ("this ain’t no ice cube that you are with tonight!"). Lyrically, this was her most provocative number to date, and the final vocal twist, when she suddenly changes her stern and gruff "see you tomorrow night" to a wink-wink sexy-kitten "see ya!" with the guys on the backing vocals letting out a sigh of relief ("yeah!"), is hilariously unforgettable.

For the next single, it seemed necessary to step up the game. There’s been a veritable boatload of texts written about ‘Fujiyama Mama’ over the years — here’s a huge essay on the subject by Leah Branstetter, specializing in the «Women In Early Rock’n’Roll» subject — so I don’t really want to stuff this text with yet another retelling of the song’s history (if you are interested in it, I do suggest checking out Annisteen Allen’s original version as well as Eileen Barton’s first cover), but I do want to stress that it was for this song, quite specifically, that Wanda came up with her famous growling voice, which some people love (I know I do) and some hate in a nails-on-chalkboard kind of way. One thing’s for certain: the growling voice makes a lot more sense than the Caribbean voice. Also, the fact that the Japanese people sent a song with lyrics like "I’ve been to Nagasaki, Hiroshima too / The same I did to them baby I can do to you" to the top of the charts (unlike those stuffy Americans) simply mean that the Japanese people know a good metaphor when they see one, without trying to find offense where none was truly intended. After all, the song is about female orgasm, not atomic warfare — "and when I start erupting, ain’t nobody gonna make me stop" is Wanda’s equivalent of Muddy’s "I’m drinking TNT, smoking dynamite, I hope some screwball start a fight".

Unfortunately, while ‘Fujiyama Mama’ really made Wanda big in Japan, nothing much changed in her still unreceptive homeland, despite the continuing string of classic rockabilly hits. ‘Honey Bop’ (March ’58) was another one in the style of Carl Perkins, a bit more old-fashioned than ‘Fujiyama Mama’ (no growling and plenty of the old-school rockabilly reverb on the vocals) but every bit as fun and energy-packed as everything that came before it. ‘Mean Mean Man’ (August ’58), Wanda’s own unabashed re-write of ‘Mean Woman Blues’, brings back the ‘Fujiyama’ growl and paints a cool picture of toughness and submissiveness at the same time, precisely what Elvis did with ‘Mean Woman Blues’, but from a female perspective. Finally, ‘Rock Your Baby’ is arguably the single best song Wanda ever wrote by herself — the "rock your baby, all night long!" hook is clearly borrowed from "train kept a-rollin’ all night long", but she finds a new way to emphasize it, with each word descending like a whiplash, and the alternation of lighter, whee!-style intonations in the verses with the all-out attack in the chorus creates an almost delirious effect. (Here’s a fortunately-surviving live version, taken at a slightly slower tempo than the studio recording, but with even more rasp on the vocals — how this insane chord shredding had not taken out her voice in over half a century is one of the universe’s unexplained mysteries).

Still, commercial success did not come — not only was this kind of music unwelcome from a lady singer, but the golden days of rock’n’roll themselves seemed to be coming to an end by late 1958 — and so it is no secret, perhaps, that in desperation Wanda turned back to country. I forgot to mention that most of the B-sides to all those rockabilly classics were country tunes, as Wanda was trying to placate both her old and new fans at the same time; in 1959, however, for a brief period she once again switched to country exclusively, which could sometimes be a good thing (as I already said, ‘You’ve Turned To A Stranger’ is quite beautiful in its melancholy) and sometimes questionable (Cindy Walker’s ‘A Date With Jerry’ is almost unbearably corny — what in the world is Wanda Jackson doing, singing a dippy sacchariny ditty about dating "the key of the school" "at the prom in my dreams"? And who the heck is Jerry? Are they referring to Jerry Lee Lewis? Is this a veiled metaphor at the mistreatment of the Killer after his infamous marriage?).

Even after the belated release of ‘Let’s Have A Party’ and its unpredictable and unprecedented commercial success showed everybody that under certain conditions, the public would be willing to accept Wanda Jackson as a rock performer rather than a country one, it was already a bit too late for that — the classic stretch of her rocking singles from ‘I Gotta Know’ to ‘Rock Your Baby’ would never be repeated. That particular stretch, however, can still be honored, admired, and freely enjoyed on all sort of levels with as much gusto as any similar stretch from Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Elvis, Buddy Holly, or any other black or white male rocker from the 1950s. It’s just about the most perfect combination of early feminism, down-to-earth rootsiness, musical professionalism, catchiness, and unpretentious fun one could theoretically imagine.

• Only Solitaire Reviews: Wanda Jackson