I love Link Wray. I am hopelessly, unceasingly, pulse pounding in my throat, head over heels in love with Link Wray well, with his music, anyway.
For years, my knowledge of the guitar virtuoso had been limited to his biggest hit, 1958s Rumble, a gritty, slinky tune filled with frantic bursts from Wrays guitar and band mate Shorty Hortons walking bass line. The song always conjured images of leather clad, switchblade wielding, James Dean-styled juvenile delinquents circling one another on some desolate, rain-soaked street. Rumble peaked at number 16 on Billboards Hot 100 singles chart, and surely would have climbed higher, had it not been banned from rotation in several radio markets, including New York City. Apparently, Wrays Rumble was too sexy; too suggestive for music consumers to hear, reasoning that seems laughable by todays relaxed music standards. Logic made all the more ridiculous by the fact that Rumble had no lyrics; it was entirely instrumental.
Listening to Rumble, included on several rockabilly compilation albums that I owned, moved me to obtain more of Wrays work. I picked up a greatest hits CD from an area record shop, unsure of what to expect. Link Wray and the Wraymen or Raymen, after a minor name change were, primarily, an instrumental group; I feared that their catalog would be filled with formulaic tunes that would make me regret plunking down 15 of my hard-earned dollars.
My apprehension was unfounded, as I heard a collection of one innovative, brow raising track after another. When it came to creating music, Link Wray was a master. I delighted in rediscovering Wrays 1959 Rumble follow-up, Raw-Hide, a bouncy romp steamrolled along by older brother Vernons pumping piano and the aforementioned Hortons thumping bass. In an effort to capitalize on the success of competing guitar instrumentalist, Duane Eddy and to smooth out their charges nonconformist edges Epic Records encouraged Wray to record some less boisterous music. One result was Dixie-Doodle, a mashup of the Confederate anthem Dixie and Yankee Doodle, and the B-side to Raw-Hide. Raw-Hide not be confused with the television show of the same name became a hit, peaking at number 23, somewhat of a vindication for Wray.
There was a version of the oft-covered Ace of Spades, one of several recorded by Wray and the Raymen, and the Doug Wray drum heavy Deuces Wild, a rowdy foot stomper which quickly earned a place amongst my most favorite tunes. Link Wray had become as familiar and welcoming to me as an old friend you know, the one your parents didnt like because he was a little too wild.
Wray was a rock n roll pioneer, utilizing techniques and sounds that were generally foreign to rock music at the time. He made the power chord a rock n roll standard, and laid the foundation for the music of Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin and the countless rockers that followed. He punched pencil holes into the speakers of his amplifier to achieve the double tracked fuzzy effect on Rumble. Wray attained the echo tone heard on Jack the Ripper a galloping number named not for the famed serial killer, but for a racy dance by recording his amp at the end of a staircase.
But it was his occasional foray into singing that made Link Wrays talent and influence all the more prevalent. 1960s bluesy Aint That Lovin You Babe, a cover of the Jimmy Reed tune, dripped with raunch, as if Wrays voice had been immersed in sin, wrung out, then soaked again, for added measure. Wrays 1965 version of Good Rockin Tonight became a staple in my car stereo, while his rollicking rendition of Willie Dixons Hidden Charms was the perfect head bopping, hip swaying, raucous antidote to whatever ailed me. I began to wonder why Wrays instrumental songs far outnumbered his vocal ones. Yes, his voice was rough, as if hed gargled with gravel, but it was the 1960s. If Mick Jagger and Bob Dylan could make careers out of singing, why couldnt Link Wray?
The answer was an unexpected one: Wray had only one lung. A tuberculosis infection, contracted sometime during the early 1950s while serving a two-year Army stint in Germany and Korea, went undetected until it was too late. Wrays destroyed lung was removed, and he was instructed to leave the singing to someone else. Thankfully, Wray gave a halfhearted listen to the advice, and his single lung-powered voice became a second instrument, as ragged and nuanced as his guitar playing.
Wray was the embodiment of cool; a guitar wizard steeped in blues thanks to an African-American man named Hambone, who taught Wray how to play.
His music is timeless, as fresh-sounding and exhilarating today as it was 50 some years ago. He was ahead of his time, too, playing surf music prior to the Ventures, and punk before the Ramones and body piercings were cool. He developed an independent musicians ethos, and frequently released singles and albums on homegrown or smallish record labels. He often declined interview requests, lending an aura of mystery to his defiant image. Although Wrays manager, Milt Grant, frequently received a co-writer credit as did, oddly enough, Links father, Fred Link composed much of his own material. His skills as a musician have earned him a place alongside influential guitar gods Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry Pete Townshend of the Who credits Wrays Rumble with inspiring him to pick up a guitar. He recorded with numerous notables, including rockabilly musician Robert Gordon and the Grateful Deads Jerry Garcia, and eventually moved to Denmark. Wray continued to tour and record music, and released his final album, Barbed Wire, a mix of unreleased tracks and live performances, in 2000 at the age of 71 and no, thats not a typo.
Link Wray passed away on Nov. 5, 2005, and, while Link Wray, the person, may be gone, his lengthy list of contributions to music continues to impact rock n roll today. You can hear it in the use of every power chord and in each reworking of Ace of Spades. So, why does Link Wrays extensive resume continue to be overlooked? Why hasnt he been inducted into Clevelands Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? Why does the Rock Hall continue to ignore him?
Maybe thats the way Link Wray would have liked it. After all, he was a rebel.
