‘All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking’ (Friedrich Nietzsche)
‘Walking is man’s best medicine’ (Hippocrates)
‘Well I know you heard of the old mambo
and I know you heard of the old Congo
but when you walk you’re starting to get close
and don’t step on your partners toes!
You just Walk, yea you Walk! .. Walk! Walk!’ (Jimmy McCracklin)
I’ve written previously about my Dad and me watching our favourite TV Shows on our tiny Black and White picture television with the images sometimes looking like they were beamed in from a distant planet.
A show that always held us breathless was, ‘The Fugitive’.
Would on the run Richard Kimble ever clear his name?
Was there really a ‘One armed man’?
Would Inspector Gerard ever forgo his relentless pursuit of Richard Kimble?
Pondering these questions drinking cups of strong tea and meditatively chewing on Fry’s Chocolate Cream Bars we marvelled at Kimble’s coolness under pressure.
Almost discovered, the prison gates metaphorically swinging open to lead him to the electric chair, he remained calm.
He did not Run! Running gets you noticed. Running gets you caught.
No, he did not run. He simply walked smartly away.
Walked smartly away readying himself for the next town where, still free, he might find a clue to the whereabouts of the one armed man.
Perhaps he had been listening to the sage advice of The Ventures.
Perhaps, breath and heart rate under control, he paced himself by playing and replaying in his head their immortal 1960 instrumental smash, ‘Walk, Don’t Run’.
That’s Bob Bogle on lead guitar, Nokie Edward on bass, Don Wilson on rhythm guitar and Skip Moore on drums (the latter made a poor decision when he said no to waiting for royalties opting instead for the immediate gratification of $25 cash!).
The tune was the 1954 invention of Jazz master guitarist Johnny Smith though The Ventures picked it up from Country maestro Chet Atkins 1957 take.
The Ventures were out of Tacoma and something in the Washington air gave them a clean, pure sound that cut deep into the imaginations of radio and Jukebox listeners all over the world.
The sound cut especially deep with neophyte guitarists like John Fogerty, Joe Walsh, Stephen Stills and Jeff Baxter – who vowed to stay locked in their bedrooms til they had that tune good and down!
It sure didn’t do any harm to the sales of Fender Jazzmasters, Stratocasters or Precision Bass Guitars either!
The precision and punch of The Ventures sound and their eagerness to adopt technology and effects in service of their sound made for addictive listening.
So, The Ventures, adding and losing members – though always with Don Wilson at the helm – continue to play and record to this very day.
And, across the vast expanse of The Pacific Ocean, they are big, no, they were and are massive, in Japan where it seems every would be Guitarist starts out listening to their forebears treasured Ventures records!
Let’s move from walking smartly to more of a lazy stroll through the good offices of Helena, Arkansas bluesman, pianist and very fine songwriter Jimmy McCracklin.
I’m a Londoner all my life. I’ve lived by The River all my life.
Seventy five years.
I was born in the 1800’s!
London and The River. Always the same. Always different.
London, The River and me. We’ve been through a lot.
We’ve seen two World Wars. I fought in the First one.
They call that The Great War. I lost a lot of pals, London pals.
Men who worked on the River with me.
It can make you lonely thinking of them.
Sometimes, as the chilly evening descends and I look into the dark waters of the River I think I can see them still, as they were, young men with bright smiles, bright smiles, making plans for after the War.
War teaches you that God laughs at your plans.
War teaches you fear and teaches you friends can lose their heartbeat in one of yours.
London was a hard old place in the 1930s.
Depression. They called it the Great Depression.
No work. For year after year after year.
Amazing we didn’t have a Revolution.
Still, somehow we got through.
I met Daisy, my wife, walking across Waterloo Bridge.
We were both looking down into the dark waters.
Watching the River flow on into the night.
Watching the taxi lights shining as the chilly evening descended.
I suppose we were both lost until we found each other.
Then, suddenly, we were safe and sound.
When we were courting (no one uses that word anymore!) we used to meet every Friday night at Waterloo Station.
There must be millions, millions, passing through there every day.
Funny though, as soon as I saw Daisy it always seemed as if they was just the two of us.
Safe and sound together.
Together, we didn’t need no friends and no matter how dark the times or chilly the evening we didn’t feel afraid.
We had each other.
Until the Second War.
A bomb can fall out of the sky and in a heartbeat your heart is broken and never the same again.
Never the same.
I did my best with the Nipper. But a girl, especially, needs a Mother.
She went out to Australia on one of those Assisted Passages.
A Tenner taking you tens of thousands of miles!
I get a card at Christmas and she says she’ll visit in a year or so.
Maybe, she’ll get married and I’ll be a Grandfather. I’d like that.
They say I’m lucky to have a flat in this block.
I preferred it when you had a garden and streets on the ground not in the sky.
Especially when the lifts break down.
One thing I will say. You get fantastic views out the window from the tenth floor.
I like listening to the radio and watching the football on the TV.
But mainly I like to look at the world from my window. From my window.
There’s a lot going on if you take the time to look.
The River keeps on flowing.
Always the same always different.
Something to do with the way it reflects to the light.
It’s a dirty old River. Oil and tar. But, it’s my River.
They say this Clean Air Act will have it sparkling again – alive with Fish.
Not sure I will be around for that day.
People are so busy these days.
They must make themselves dizzy rushing about.
Never time to stop and stare or to say hello to an old man looking into the dark waters of the River.
I like it when the chilly evening descends.
The taxi lights shine bright and somehow people look well in the dark.
I’ve noticed a couple meeting every Friday night just like me and Daisy did.
I call them Terry and Julie after that song on the radio about the Sunset.
I don’t know much about this beat music but the chap who wrote that song knows a lot about London and The River and Love and Loneliness.
It’s a song that has happiness and sadness running right through it like a river.
You can tell they love each other and that they feel safe and sound when they’re together.
I stay home at night. But I don’t feel feel afraid.
I don’t need no friends anymore.
I got my memories.
And, no matter how chilly the evening there’s warmth in the Sunset.
So I am safe and sound.
And, I know that today will flow on into tomorrow and that Spring will flow into Summer and on into Autumn and always, always into Winter.
Of course the evening is chilly.
But, looking out my window I can gaze on the Sunset.
Friends or no friends.
I gaze on the Sunset.
The Waterloo Sunset.
And, somehow, that Sunset is more powerful than any fear.
As long as I can gaze out on Waterloo Sunset I am in paradise.
That song. Well, of course, it’s about a Lonely Man.
Loyal readers of The Jukebox will recall my previous post in the, ‘Way Out West’ series which was themed around an unlikely friendship formed through a mutual love of, ‘Ghost Riders In The Sky’ (go straight there as soon as you finish this if you haven’t read it already!).
Ghost Riders was voted No 1 Western Song of all time by the Western Writers of America.
My friend Carl and I didn’t know that as we sang it into the tequila fuelled small hours back in those dim and distant days.
We just knew it was a great song and that singing it never grew old.
Finishing Ghost Riders the next song that floated to the tip of our tongues was always Marty Robbins immortal classic, ‘El Paso’.
This one has everything you could ever ask for in a Western Ballad.
A West Texas location.
A Mexican maiden with flashing eyes whom a young cowboy can’t resist even at the cost of his life.
A gunfight over this fatal maiden leaving a handsome young stranger dead on the floor.
A hurried escape in the night on a fast stolen horse to the badlands of New Mexico.
The fateful return to Rosa’s Cantina even though a posse and deadly bullets surely lie in wait. For, in truth, the attraction of love really is stronger than the fear of Death.
A deathbed reconciliation sealed with a tender kiss.
What more do you want!
Well you might want this ballad to be sung with swooping authority by its author and have him backed by ringing Spanish guitar licks which echo through the song like chimes of destiny.
Take it away Marty Robbins and Grady Martin!
Now some sources will tell you that Marty wrote this song in less than 5 minutes and some say it was the work of several months. You choose.
What is sure is that it was recorded on 7 April 1959 as part of an epic session which produced what will always be greatest Western Ballad collection as long as the wild West Texas Winds blow over the plains, ‘Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs’.
There was some nervousness at Columbia Records that at four and a half minutes El Paso might be too long for audiences to take in an era when many hit songs barely made three minutes. This was to underestimate the power of story.
For, once you’ve heard the ringing guitar intro and the first line … ‘Out in the West Texas town of El Paso I fell in love with a Mexican girl’ you’re hooked and wild horses couldn’t stop you from wondering what happens next!
Released in late October, ‘El Paso’ soon became one of those rare songs that wins universal affection.
By the dawn of the new decade it was Number One on both the Country and Pop Charts and lodged deep in the consciousness of several generations.
The story of the nameless Cowboy and his love for Faleena indelibly sung by Marty with the invaluable assistance of Bobby Sykes and Jim Glaser echoes through popular culture to this day.
Now, The Grateful Dead might have been the emblematic group of the 1960s, ‘Counter Culture’ but they were also young men who had grown up watching John Wayne, James Stewart and Randolph Scott heroically ride through the Western landscape winning the love of Grace Kelly or Maureen O’Hara (even if Katy Jurado got caught in the cross fire) as they brought summary justice to those lawless frontier towns.
The 1950s were, of course, the glory days of TV Westerns.
I’ll wager that Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir spent many an hour watching, ‘Wagon Train’, ‘Gunsmoke’, ‘Rawhide’ and ‘Bonanza’ and that that out of sight of parents they considered themselves to be six shooting moody hombres not to be messed with.
Surely, this history and the lure of a long gripping ballad with room for plentiful six string stretch outs explains their devotion to, ‘El Paso’which they played many hundreds of themes over their fabled career.
Their version has a charm which never fails to engage me.
Western stories and Western lore do cast a spell like the eyes of Faleena.
There are few pleasures as reliable as settling down to watch a Western Movie or listen to a Western Ballad.
I caught the bug early.
When my Mum was out doing nursing night duty my Dad and I, entranced before the flickering 12 inch TV screen, would delight in the adventures of Rawhide’s Gil Favor and Rowdy Yates.
We agreed that Dad was perfect for the role of the mature Gil while I was a natural for the more youthful form of Rowdy.
Between us there were no situations we couldn’t handle.
I remember vividly that for my 6th Birthday my present was a wide brimmed Western hat with matching six guns, holster and spurs. Since those days I’ve been lucky enough to have been given some truly generous presents from those near and dear to me.
However, hand on heart, I have to say that no present has ever given me the sheer joy that receiving my six shooter set did!
Maybe it’s that memory that haloes the songs and the films as I watch and listen.
Maybe it’s the mythopoetic allure of The Western.
Maybe it’s because I’m one moody Hombre. One moody Hombre.
I feel inclined to emphasise the South of The Border aspect of the song now.
So, let’s swoon as the golden vocal tones of The Mavericks Raul Malo evoke those wild Texas days as the night falls all around Rosa’s Cantina.
Though we know the Cowboy’s love for Faleena is in vain, doomed, somehow as Raul glides through the verses we cling to the belief that maybe this time, this time, the two lovers will ride out into the sunset together.
And, in a Cantina, far away, Faleena’s eyes will flash as they whirl across the floor together.
And, as the music plays they will laugh as they remember those days in El Paso.
Marty Robbins was a considerable songwriter as, ‘Big Iron’ and ‘You Gave Me A Mountain’ (a live staple for Elvis) attest. He had 17 No 1 Country Chart Hits.
Grady Martin was a magnificent Guitarist whose splendid licks feature on Roy Orbison’s ‘Pretty Woman’ Brenda Lee’s ‘I’m Sorry’ and Ray Price’s ‘For The Good Times’ among scores of other Hits.
El Paso was produced by Don Law who also produced the epochal Robert Johnson Blues sessions in the 1930s as well as Bob Wills’ ‘San Antonio Rose’. That’s verstIlity!
PS Michael Gray, the premier authority on Bob Dylan, points out persuasively that El Paso might be considered the penultimate Western Ballad given that it leads to Dylan’s, ‘Romance In Durango’ – the ultimate!
In the expanse of the subterranean chambers where my record collection lies there is music from many, many genres.
Deep racks of Jazz, Blues, Country, Bluegrass, Folk, Gospel, Rhythm & Blues, Rockabilly, Rock ‘n’ Roll, Soul and Doo-Wop shimmer in the half-light as I peruse the shelves searching for the perfect sound for Now.
Yesterday, I took a left turn at New Orleans Jazz and came, whooping delightedly, upon the section labelled, ‘Cajun and Zydeco’.
Now, I like to have a framed picture of my favourite artist from each genre displayed proudly above each of the appropriate racks.
So, for Jazz it’s Louis Armstrong.
For Blues, Mississippi John Hurt.
Bluegrass nestles under Bill Monroe (of course!).
Folk has Woody Guthrie atop the US section while Sandy Denny and Dolores Keane are the eminences of the British and Irish scenes.
Gospel has Mahalia Jackson face to face with Sam Cooke.
The High Priest, Ray Charles, looks out over the serried R&B racks while Wanda Jackson looks after all those wild Rockabilly Rebels.
Elvis himself takes pride of place in the Rock ‘n’ Roll section.
Aretha Franklin reigns over Soul.
There’s a group portrait, from an Alan Freed Show of The Orioles, The Moonglows and The Five Satins, above the deep Doo-Wop collection.
Bob Dylan and Van Morrison stare moodily out above their special enclaves.
Above the Cajun Section I’ve hung Iry Lejeune.
There was never any question who would represent Zydeco.
The King of the Music. From Opelousas Louisiana, Clifton Chenier!
Being in a feisty mood I looked for a distinctive yellow Specialty 45 and laughed in anticipation as I pulled out, ‘Ay – Tete Fee’ (loosely, all my translations from Creole French are loose, ‘Hello Little Girl’).
This is a piquant gem, from 1955, indicative of the floor filling, floor shaking sound that echoed around Texas and Louisiana Dancehalls deep into the night when Clifton was in town.
Eh bien, mes Chers amis I think we can safely say that Clifton was right about the Pep!
With faithful brother, Cleveland, by his side on ‘Frottoir’ (a metal rubboard, of Clifton’s devising, played with bottle openers) and a successsion of brilliant guitarists like Philip Walker, Lonnie Brooks and Lonesome Sundown, Clifton burned up hall after hall with his indefatigable Band The Zydeco Ramblers.
A later Zydeco star, Rockin’Sydney recalls that in Louisiana in the mid 50s even Elvis wasn’t seen as being a big a star as Clifton!
He was born in 1931 in St Landry Parish and picked up the rudiments of accordion from his father, Joseph.
All around Opelousas there were house party dances, fais – do – dos, where sharp eared Clifton heard waltz time creole songs, Cajun two steps and fiddle work outs.
As he moved into his teenage years he heard, on the radio, Cajun, blues, R&B, Country weepers and hillbilly boogie.
He stored all these sounds away and thought about how he might integrate them all into his own music.
The roots of the name Zydeco for the music Clifton came to define are open to many explanations.
Sparing you the scholastic debate I’m going with it emerging, mysteriously, out of the old folk song, ‘Les Haricots Sont Pas Sale’ (the beans are not salted!)
Clifton’s debut recording, Clifton’s Stomp, had been cut in 1954 at a Lake Charles studio after the astute producer J R Fulbright correctly observed that he played, ‘Too much accordion for these woods!’
Clifton had created a wildly addictive music that merged R&B attack with romantic Creole sway. Excellent records, well regarded locally, unknown nationally, followed for Specialty, Chess and Zynn.
While Clifton could always fill halls in Louisiana and Texas he wasn’t able to sell records in big numbers. So by the early 60s he was playing without a band in Houston roadhouses and bars.
Enter, the extraordinary Chris Strachwitz, a true hero of American roots music.
Almost the same age as Clifton their backgrounds could not have been more different!
Chris, from an aristocratic German family, arrived in America in 1947 and was knocked for six by the sounds of Jazz and R&B on the radio and in clubs, ‘I thought this was the most wonderful thing I had ever heard’.
Chris Strachwitz was not a man to be a bystander.
Soon he was recording artists like Jesse Fuller and in November 1960 issued the first record on his Arhoolie Records, Mance Lipscomb’s, ‘Songster and Sharecropper’ in an edition of 250 copies.
Chris was a big fan of Lightnin’ Hopkins so naturally accepted his invitation one night in 1964 to go and see a cousin, one Clifton Chenier, in a Houston bar.
And, the chance encounter turned out to be immeasurably enriching for both men, Zydeco Music and music fans of taste and discretion all over the world!
Chris was stunned by Clifton’s presence and the combination of low down blues and old time Zydeco emenating from the stage.
The music he heard and felt in his heart, soul and gut was life enhancing music.
Music filled with heart and history.
Music filled with toil and tears.
Music filled with longing and love.
Music filled with jumping joy!
The very next day they were in Goldstar Studio cutting ‘Ay Ai Ay’ and a crucial artistic and personal partnership was born.
For the next decade and more Clifton as an Arhoolie artist produced a series of superb records which established him as a major figure and essentially defined the sound and repertoire of Zydeco music.
Clifton was a natural showman who was also a questing musician always looking to develop his sound. He was a virtuoso on the piano accordion so that in his hands it seemed to have the power and variety of a full band in itself.
He could handle any tempo from funereal slow to tarmac melting speed while maintaining swing and sway.
The early Arhoolie albums were matched with singles which came out on the Bayou Label.
In addition to relentless touring on the Crawfish circuit he began to play Roots Music Festivals where his brilliance attracted approval from journalists like Ralph J Gleason who recognised what an extraordinary musician Clifton was.
Here’s a delightful clip of Clifton at a Festival in 1969 with a lovely relaxed performance of the anthem of Zydeco.
Ca c’est tres bon n’est ce pas?
Clifton now put together a truly great Band, ‘The Red Hot Louisiana Band’ which to these ears stands with Muddy Waters pluperfect 1950s Chicago blues band.
John Han on tenor sax, Joe Brouchet on bass, Robin St Julian on drums, Paul Senegal on guitar with the stellar Elmore Nixon on piano combined with Clifton and Cleveland were a wonderfully vibrant group which no audience could resist whether live or on record.
The next selection today may be my all time favourite bluesy Clifton track.
A mesmerising, ‘I’m On The Wonder’ is the work of a master musician who lives and breathes and prays through the music he plays.
Now ain’t that the playing of a King! Yes, Sir, nothing less than a King.
I had read a lot and, apparently, knew a lot about matters profound and ephemeral. The work of the next three years (and the many following decades) would be refining mere knowledge into understanding.
I was immeasurably aided in this journey by the good fortune of being the only undergraduate of my year who chose the Medieval History option.
This was because it entailed weekly supervisions with The Master of my College, Edward Miller, an internationally renowned scholar who also happened to be a truly wise and kind man who could smile at my naivety without hobbling my enthusiasm while introducing me to rigorous, evidence led, thought and analysis.
Very often at the end of our discussions having described my latest essay as ‘showing real promise’ he would add that it might be helpful to read the work of some prominent historian (whom I had usually never heard of) in the interests of deepening my understanding of the subject.
At one of our meetings we were discussing how the approach of the first millennium had affected eschatological thought, religion and culture.
Edward Miler said that Norman Cohn’s, ‘The Pursuit of the Millenium’ was one of the great works of modern history and that I should lose no time in reading it.
So I did.
Having done so I found myself breathless in the high Himalayas of the mind.
I became a devotee of Cohn’s writings and reported that back to The Master at our next meeting.
Unprecedently, I was able to surprise him with my knowledge when I explained that this was not the first time I had come across the Cohn family as Norman Cohn’s son Nik had written a pioneering work of Rock’n’ Roll scholarship, ‘Awopbopaloobop Alopbamboom’!
I also explained that after reading the works of Pere et Fils Cohn and contemplating end times I had turned to two pieces of music in particular.
First to Wagner’s epic, ‘Gotterdammerung’ – which he knew well and then to Skeeter Davis’ ‘The End of the World’ – which he did not know (though he said on the strength of her name alone he would investigate).
Looking back introducing a major scholar to the music of Skeeter Davis may have been my sovereign accomplishment in my three years at College.
For, once heard, no one can forget Skeeter!
Now, I don’t know about you but if I’ve got to be around when The World ends I’m going with Skeeter rather than Wagner!
Some will tell you it will end in flood and some in fire.
Some say it will end in cold, cold, timeless, Universal stasis.
Some say it ends when the one who vowed to love you for evermore told you they didn’t love you anymore.
Others will tell you that The World ends every day for those who draw their last breath no matter how the globe continues to spin for the rest of us.
‘The End of the World’ was issued in December 1962, at the height of The Cold War, when rational people really did think that Nuclear War was imminent and that there was not really a whole lot of use in the, ‘Duck and Cover’ strategy.
Many were readying themselves for the hard rain that was assuredly a gonna to fall. A gonna fall.
Lying in my desk drawer there’s a film script of an alternative history of 1962 (to be directed by David Lynch).
In my scenario the Russian Battelships don’t turn back and the ICBM’s turn most of the world into poisonous ash.
As the opening and end credits play it’s Skeeter’s sweet apocalyptic threnody that sets the mood.
The lullaby of all lullabies for the end of The World.
The record was No 2 on Billboard’s Hot 100 as well as featuring prominently on the Easy Listening and Country Charts.
It even hit the top 5 on the Rhythm and Blues listings!
When something’s in the literal and metaphorical air everybody feels it.
Especially when articulated by someone like Skeeter who sang with such affecting winsome purity.
Skeeter’s voice whispers to you in the lonely watches before dawn.
Skeeter’s voice is young and ageless.
Skeeter’s voice is as real as a summer breeze and as ghostly as the breath of those summers long passed by.
Skeeter gets under your skin and stays there.
She was born Mary Frances Penick in December 1931 in Kentucky. Her delightful nickname came courtesy of her grandfather’s wonder at her constant buzzing energy.
The ‘Davis’ came about through her association at high school with Betty Jack Davis. They found they had a natural affinity and that together their harmonies held audiences spellbound.
So, they became The Davis Sisters and soon found themselves local stars and radio regulars on shows like The Wheeling Jamboree on WWVA.
Emboldened, the girls decided why not go to New York and get signed by RCA?
Flying for the first time they nervously enquired where their parachutes were stowed!
Amazingly they managed to get the air of music business panjandrum Steve Scholes and they were indeed signed to RCA.
On May 23 1953 they found themselves in Nashville for their first recording session with music legends Chet Atkins and Jerry Byrd in support.
Straight off the bat they came up with a classic record with Cecil Nunn’s, ‘I Forgot More (Than You’ll Ever Know About Him).
Here were divine harmonies telling an instantly recognisable story that resonated in so many lives.
An enormous hit resulted. Number 1 on the country charts for two months and a Radio and Jukebox staple for evermore.
Unlikely as it may seem the song hit home with the young Bob Dylan in Hibbing as he recorded it on his Self Portrait album as well as singing it live with Tom Petty in the 1980s.
The bohemian pairing of Elvis Costello and Tom Waits showed their softer side when they recorded the song.
When Skeeter toured with pre superstar Elvis as they sang gospel tunes backstage he confided that ‘I Forgot’ was one of his favourite songs
Still, it’s always Skeeter and Betty Jack for me. Listening to them evokes both the heaven of bliss and the regret of the love grown cold.Now the girls were sitting pretty on top of the world. But, tragedy intervened when on 1 August 1953 they were involved in a car crash which left Betty dead and Skeeter seriously injured.
It would be the early 60s before Skeeter’s career really got back in gear. The support and encouragement of Chet Atkins who always believed in Skeeter was crucial.
From these early ‘comeback’ discs I’ve chosen the addictive, ‘I can’t help you I’m falling too’ an answer record to a massive Hank Locklin hit (this one should please the sage of Truro).
When it comes to Country singing Hank sets a high bar but Skeeter’s lyric Appalachian tones will have your heart and soul swaying in time.
Chet Atkins (pictured below) ensured that Skeeter always had the cream of Nashville pickers at her sessions and that Music City’s premier songwriters kept the material flowing.
You really can’t go wrong with Skeeter’s catalogue as she brings the restorative balm of her voice to every song she sings.
In the interest of showing the breadth of her talent I’m now featuring her 1963 top 10 take on a Carol King/Gerry Goffin song, ‘I Can’t Stay Mad At You’ which demonstrates that Skeeter could have been a premier lead singer for any Girl Group!
My last selection today comes from her lovely tribute to Buddy Holly album. The tenderness in Buddy’s writing found a counterpart in Skeeter’s vocals making this a very happy conjunction.
Get ready to swoon as you listen to, ‘True Love Ways’.
Listening to the above has made me rethink my apocalyptic film script.
For, there’s another way of thinking about the end of the world.
Every day the world we thought we knew ends as we discover more about the world around us.
So, every day the world ends and every morning the world is born again.
Granting us a blessed opportunity to remake the world of yesterday and try again to make a world for ourselves and each other that might just be truly worth living in.
And, as we do,so, however dark the situation, Skeeter’s voice will light the way.
Every home should have a ‘Greatest Hits’ of her classic sides and the Buddy Holly tribute album.
I also heartily recommend the record she made with The NRBQ, ‘She Sings, They Play’ and the duets she made with Bobby Bare.
I was delighted when I learned that the plangent truth in Skeeter’s voice made her a huge star in Jamaica, Kenya and the Far East!