To fans of primal rock, Sun Studios is like an opiate. Mention its name and visions of Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, and a whole mess of other rockabilly cats fill their heads. Especially Elvis. Sun and the man who became America’s most popular entertainer are forever entwined, even if Presley cut the vast majority of his defining hits for RCA.

That’s because the tiny carport-sized room where Sun recorded its artists made more than records. There’s a kind of audible and distinctly American magic in the grooves of Elvis’s "That’s All Right" and "Mystery Train," Jerry Lee’s "Whole Lot of Shakin’ Going On" and "Great Balls of Fire," Perkins’s "Blue Suede Shoes," and Cash’s "I Walk the Line." Those records are the sound of black and white culture’s common chords, of strong voices emerging from beneath the poverty line, and of the heartbeat of popular music for the 20 years that followed.

Sun founder Sam Phillips is responsible for capturing that magic. "If I check out tonight, I ain’t got one damn thing to complain about," the affable 77-year-old says today. "I have absolutely been blessed and hope that I have given the world something that will last a long time." So far Phillips’s contributions have endured for a half-century and counting. And they’re being celebrated now with the just-released tribute album Good Rockin’ Tonight — The Legacy of Sun Records (Sire) and a two-hour PBS TV documentary of the same name that makes its American Masters series premiere this Wednesday. The 16-cut CD embraces all the genres that Phillips recorded in Memphis, from country to rockabilly to hardcore blues. Despite its glitzy pedigree — produced by Atlantic Records founder Ahmet Ertegun, packed with big stars, marketed by a major label — it’s quite good. The highlights include Paul McCartney doing his familiar Elvis impersonation on "That’s All Right," Jimmy Page & Robert Plant doing "My Bucket’s Got a Hole in It," Elton John’s "Whole Lot of Shakin’ Going On," Jeff Beck and Chrissie Hynde teamed for "Mystery Train," Brian Ferry’s "Don’t Be Cruel," and Dylan performing "Red Cadillac & a Black Moustache." The documentary is rewarding and comprehensive, providing plenty of rare photos and footage from Sun’s early years and direct testimony from Phillips, his stars, and lesser Sun lights like Billy Lee Riley and Sonny Burgess. "I’m especially pleased that the film recognizes a lot of the old-timers who weren’t big sellers for us but were very, very important to Sun Records and what we did," he observes.

Both the CD and film are being promoted as 50th-anniversary tributes to Sun. But Phillips actually opened his Memphis Recording Service in January 1950 in a former radiator shop at 706 Union Avenue, where it remains today as a museum and working studio. Phillips started the Sun Records label in January 1952, and he renamed his studio Sun, but by then he had already begun his legacy by making recordings — licensed to various imprints, including Chess, RPM, and Modern — with great African-American artists. Howlin’ Wolf, B.B. King, and Junior Parker were among them. He had recorded Jackie Brenston’s "Rocket 88," which is widely considered the first rock-and-roll record, and Rufus Thomas’s first Sun hit, "Bear Cat," before Elvis even entered the building.

Over the phone from his Memphis home, Phillips discusses the personal chemistry that set him on the path to a life in music and to the early, formative days running Sun. He also recalls working with his favorite star, the bluesman Howlin’ Wolf. He begins his story after his birth in the fields of Florence, Alabama:

"I was a very sickly child, the youngest of eight, and during the Depression I was raised on the farm with both black and white people. And being sickly as I was, I was really observant of people and what they did, how they did it. That was because I really didn’t think I’d be able to be much of an athlete, going back to four, five, six years old. Growing up in that environment made me a better person and made me understand and appreciate things more than I would have otherwise.

"I started in radio when I was still in high school, part-time, in Florence. I knew I couldn’t be a criminal-defense lawyer because I was lucky to get to the 11th grade, but I knew that sound was going to be my life. It always fascinated me. I was the world’s worst radio announcer, probably. I took an extension course in radio engineering and went to recording from there.

"When I landed up in Memphis with Beale Street and the great big mighty untamed Muddy and the rows of cotton about a mile long and straight as an arrow, I just could not have been in a better place to do what I did with black and white combinations of poor, untried, unproven people. I felt this was the spot where I was supposed to be. I don’t think Sun could have happened anywhere else. You see, Memphis is made up of country people. It was a gathering spot for people from rural areas then, and it still is. There’s a heavy black population here that I love so much; the black churches are so active. Their sound and old-time country music were the heartbeat of what we did. That was the major thing that had to do with me being in the right place and the right time.

"A lot of people probably have difficulty transposing themselves back 50 years to what the conditions were. When I opened the studio at 706, I knew there was gonna be a lot of black people coming in and out, or at least I hoped so, and I went to all the white merchants who had been there for years and told them we would be dealing with black people, or negroes.

"It wound up where people from the different stores and from Miss Taylor’s Restaurant next door, which is now the Sun restaurant, really enjoyed being around and walking in and listening. I had a little speaker up in the office so they could come in and see artists work. It was one of the best things I did early on to get where there wasn’t any discomfort with the people there and what we were doin’.

"It was tough enough for the black people just to audition, because any audition is the toughest thing anybody can do, so you needed all the positives you could have going for you. You had to let them know you were proud in the projects you and them were doing together — that it wasn’t some white guy behind the glass saying, ‘What can I get out of this nigger?’

"I never did have a guy I enjoyed working with more than Chester Burnett — the Howlin’ Wolf. That’s all there is to it! I just loved him to death. Losing him to Leonard and Phil Chess upset me even more than when Johnny Cash [Sun’s biggest hitmaker] left.

"The Wolf had a commanding appearance when he walked in, being about 6-4. That was something unusual back in those days. We grow up big these days, ’cause we’re well fed, but his shoe size must have been 18. It was something to behold just to see him there. He would not stand up and sing. He would sit in one of my little squeaky chairs, and when you would see him go into a song, it was like he was going into a spiritual Heaven. No question about it. That was the way the Wolf felt, and you could sure tell. Once he started to sing a song, he didn’t know anybody else was in this world.

"I guess I’ve always been more interested in the feeling voices have than how they sound. If I hadn’t lost the Wolf, I think he would have been one of the biggest black artists in the country. Gosh, he couldn’t sing like Clyde McPhatter, who was probably one of the best solo artists I ever heard, but the Wolf was unique in just about every sense of the word. I think I captured the Wolf, and I would have done even better with him if I’d had more time.

"When I recorded artists, I wanted them to be what they were. The studio was my laboratory, and it was a challenge for me to get that unusual thing they had out of them. The black aspects of this, those were the elements that made up my whole feeling and emotional drive to do what I attempted to do and thank God was very successful. Through these wonderful untried and unpolished jewels I had done something that God only knows why happened. I don’t. I worked hard, but a lot of people have worked hard and have not had the luck and the patience to really do what it took, I guess.

"Knowing Elvis, this guy was so spiritual in so many ways. I don’t know a more honest person I ever met. Most of all the feel that Elvis had for black music and the Southern gospel quartets both black and white had an effect on what he did with me early on. I never forgot my roots, at no time. Even when I was working two jobs [running Sun and broadcasting shows from Memphis’s Peabody Hotel] for a year and a half and had my nervous breakdown and had to give one up. Boy, it was tough to give up the good job I had putting big bands on at the Peabody. I wanted to make sure I didn’t starve my wife and my widowed mother and my deaf-mute aunt and my children. Sticking with the record label and studio was such a big, big decision I don’t really hardly know how I made it.

"Selling Elvis’s contract was a big decision, of course, but the biggest I have made was to continue with Sun. Today, sound is still my life. I still own radio stations. Radio is still a dear love of mine — sound. I’ve never been interested in TV. Not because it isn’t great or anything, but every marker in my life has really been punctuated by sound to a degree. Thank God it turned out real good. Not so much from a monetary standpoint. I never made a lot of money in the record business. I don’t expect anybody to believe it, but it’s true. I turned every damn penny back into it except what I took to feed my family. I thank God for how it turned out — for the soul satisfaction and the effect I’ve had on people for the good."

Good Rockin’ Tonight: The Legacy of Sun Records Airs this Wednesday, November 28, from 8 to 11 p.m. on WGBX/Channel 44.

Issue Date: November 22 - 29, 2001

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