“Its iconic lead line is that of pure and unadulterated rock ‘n’ roll legend, Link Wray’s effortlessly cool ‘Rumble’ is a song so doused in danger that it remains the only instrumental track to ever be banned from the radio. The song that made the kids 'go ape' and was routinely highlighted as one of the most visceral songs of the century.”
(Staff. “The only instrumental track to ever be banned from the radio.” Far Out Magazine. December 04, 2020.)
Please reread that opening paragraph very carefully. Link Wray's hit “Rumble” was an instrumental released March 31, 1958 – the one and only instrumental in history – to be banned from radio in many U.S. Markets. Some stations simply decided not to play the tune, including, reportedly, every station in New York City.
At the same time “Rumble was released, there were rumblings in the US Congress about establishing some sort of review commission for song lyrics, again fueled by alarm over the rise of rock and roll. This never came to fruition, but the mere rumor of it may have helped drive the decision not to play “Rumble.”
And, do you want a hypocritical occurrence concerning this instrumental? Link Wray appeared on American Bandstand in 1959 to play the song but host Dick Clark studiously avoided mentioning the name of the record for fear of inciting the teen element.
(Charlie Farmer. “Required Listening: Rumble! The Best of Link Wray.” Sound and Soul. November 7, 2019.)
Why the ban?
Good question. And the answer makes the story of “Rumble” and Link Wray one of the best tales in the history of rock music.
We are aware of the banning of songs in the early days of rock – tunes with supposedly suggestive lyrics like the Kingsmen's “Louie Louie.” So, in the fifties and sixties when putting together songs that inflamed the “dark side” of teenage fans, many artists relied on evocative lyricism and scandalous performance to hit those buttons.
“Link Wray, however, just used his reverb-dripping fuzz to generate the fury of the establishment and let his ominous arrangement of “Rumble” do all the talking. Wray and his band, The Wraymen, produced a track so deeply entrenched with the midnight risks of adolescents that they didn’t need words to get themselves banned from the radio, they just needed their simple rhythm and Wray’s generation-defining guitar. But while there are no lyrics to speak of, the title of the track offered everything you needed to know.”
(Staff. “The only instrumental track to ever be banned from the radio.” Far Out Magazine. December 04, 2020.)
Rolling Stone once used these words to describe “Rumble” – “its ragged, ominous chords, overdriven and dragged to a crawl sounded like an invitation to a knife fight.” The song without lyrics struck fear into the hearts of parents across America in the 1950s as its mood filled the room of every place it was played – a fear perpetuated by the gang violence of popular entertainment like The Wild One, The Blackboard Jungle, and High School Confidential.
American singer/songwriter and rock historian Stevie (“Little Steven”)Van Zandt laughingly notes, the scary swagger it conveyed made it sound like “a theme song for juvenile delinquency.”
I'm
not a juvenile
delinquent
No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no
No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no
No-no-no,
I'm not a juvenile delinquent
Do the things that's right
And
you'll do nothing wrong
Life will be so nice, you'll be in
paradise
I know because I'm not a juvenile delinquent
But
listen boys and girls
You need not be blue
And life is what you
make of it
It all depends on you
I know because I'm not a
juvenile delinquent
It's
easy to be good, it's hard to be bad
Stay out of trouble, and you
be glad
Take this tip from me, and you will see
How happy you
will be
Oh-oh, boys and girls, this is my story
And I add all
of my glory
I know because I'm not a juvenile delinquent
From “I'm Not a Juvenile Delinquent” by Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers (1956)
Rock critic/historian Dave
Marsh said, “It (“Rumble”) hits you straight through the
central nervous system, glazes your eyes, and drops you in your
tracks. Short. Nasty. Potentially lethal. So much fun it may even be
addictive – and it’s one habit you’ll never want to kick.”
(Cary O'Dell. “Rumble”—Link Wray – 1958 – Added to the National Registry.” 2008.)
No other piece of music lived up better to radio network Mutual Broadcasting System’s 1958 description of the “distorted, monotonous, noisy music” they wanted to get rid of. The network meant these as derogatory terms, but they are high virtues in so much great rock and roll, and few songs have embodied them better than Wray’s biggest hit.
Of course, the title of the song itself ruffled feathers. “Rumble” acquired its name from the stepdaughter of Archie Bleyer, who released it on his Cadence Records. It reminded her, she said, of West Side Story’s gang fights, portrayed in the memorable Act I dance scene called “Rumble.”
(Josh Jones. “Hear the Only Instrumental Ever Banned from the Radio: Link Wray’s Seductive, Raunchy Song, “Rumble.” Open Culture. April 18. 2017.)
Yet, in truth, “Rumble” was a song born out of impromptu artistry rather than blood-stained riots or raucous behavior.
Far Out Magazine reports …
“The very first time the rock and roller played the tune at a dance in Fredericksburg, Virginia, back in 1957, the band were hit with the request to play a song they didn’t already know how to play – the Diamonds' 'The Stroll.' Instead, Wray began strumming out the now-iconic chords on the spot. That night, Wray and his band played their new tune four times in a row to appease the suddenly feverish, interested listeners. 'Play that weird song! Play that weird song!' chanted the crowd.”
Knowing he was on to something, Wray was keen to bring the track to the recording studio. When he got there, the work to recreated the hall’s sound began. While engineers worked tirelessly, Wray famously punched holes through his amp and, in effect, created the first fuzzbox – a moment rock and roll will thank him for forever.
Released in April 1958, “Rumble” by Link Wray and His Ray Men was a major hit in the spring and summer in both stores and on jukeboxes – but not on radio. The song stayed in the national top 40 for over two months.
“Rumble” has often been cited by music critics as a missing link between blues and hard rock. Some say it was the epitome of rock and roll without ever having to utter a word and, “surely, that is the most potent of performances.”
Furthermore, the incorporation of sound distortion within the track – which would lay the groundwork for a million punk and metal works to come – made “Rumble” incredibly anti-establishment. What is more rebellious than when the music is turned back on itself?
(Staff. “The only instrumental track to ever be banned from the radio.” Far Out Magazine. December 04, 2020.)
Racial attitudes also complicated matters. Industry charts of the time show that “Rumble” scored just as strongly, if not more so, with young black audiences, as it did with white teenagers, no doubt adding further to the furor. That too could be cited as an instigator.
Just as slave owners had outlawed the use of African drums among black slaves, indigenous music was regulated for fear it would inspire resistance and incite insurrection. Suppression of “The Ghost Dance,” which it was believed would end American expansionism and made its practitioners bulletproof, was partially to blame for the Wounded Knee Massacre of 1890, in which 250 Native Americans were killed by U.S. Troops.
As music historian John Troutman says, “This is essentially the beginning of the banning of Native music in the United States.” Ironically, Wray’s “Rumble”
(Benjamin H. Smith. “‘Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked The World’ Uncovers The Indigenous Roots Of American Music.” Decider. February 05, 2021.
You see, Link Wray was born Fred Lincoln Wray Jr. in Dunn, North Carolina, the son of a street preacher. His mother was Shawnee Indian and he claimed Cherokee from his paternal grandmother. It was not unusual for Wray to encounter racism in his youth. Wray once said, “Elvis, he grew up white-man poor. I was growing up Shawnee poor.” During his childhood, Wray and his family often had to hide out from KKK raids.
Wray and his family were considered third-class citizens in 1930s Dunn, hated by whites and sometimes even other people of color. They “passed” whenever possible, listing themselves as white on censuses and effectively erasing their identity in the name of survival.
Mom Lillian Wray refused to teach her three boys the Shawnee language for fear of what would happen if they were caught speaking it. She turned out lights and put blankets over windows when the Ku Klux Klan burned crosses nearby.
During KKK raids, she and local Cherokee parents would conduct the horrifying and humiliating ritual of hiding their children in barns, under beds or even in hastily dug holes in the ground. As Wray said, “The cops, the sheriff, the drugstore owner—they were all Ku Klux Klan. They put the masks on and, if you did something wrong, they’d tie you to a tree and whip you or kill you.”
(Dana Raidt. “Link Wray Grew Up Hiding from the KKK in Rural North Carolina. Over the Course of His Career, He Refused to Be Erased.” Indy Weekly. February 06, 2019.)
A youthful bout with measles weakened Wray’s sight and hearing (it’s supposedly one of the reasons he always played so loud). A later bout with tuberculosis ravaged Wray’s voice and made singing difficult. But, still, nothing stopped him from embracing music, especially the guitar. He took up the instrument early.
After serving in the Korean War, Wray, his two brothers –Vernon and Doug – and some friends formed their first band, Lucky Wray and the Lazy Pine Wranglers. Later, they renamed themselves Lucky Wray and the Palomino Ranch Hands. The band specialized in country dances and rock ‘n’ roll sock hops in and around the Washington, DC area.
Wray was known as music’s other man in black for his onstage attire which always consisted of black leather, dark shades and a hairstyle that altered a pompadour with a pony tail. His persona fit his music well – the animated sounds he got out of his guitar, his go-for-broke style would foster a whole new attitude in rock; it’s hard to imagine The Who ever having the courage to smash their instruments on stage without the impulse beget by “Rumble.”
During his career, Wray released over 20 albums for various labels (though, notably, “Rumble” was his lone release for Cadence). He also worked prolifically as a sideman and in various rock ‘n’ roll stage revues, was a superstar in the DC music community and always a worldwide underground rock hero. He was introduced to new audiences in the late 1970’s when he teamed for a time with neo-rockabilly singer Robert Gordon and the duo released two albums.
Down the line, countless guitar players have been quoted as fans of this game-changing, career-breaking classic, including Bob Dylan (“'Rumble' is the best instrumental ever”) and Pete Townshend ("If it hadn't been for Link Wray and ‘Rumble,' I would have never picked up a guitar.”)
(Cary O'Dell. “Rumble”—Link Wray – 1958 – Added to the National Registry.” 2008.)
On July 16, 2005, Link Wray played "Rumble" for the last time before an audience, in Glendale, California. Wray died of heart failure at his home in Copenhagen, on November 5, 2005, at the age of 76. He was buried November 18 at Copenhagen's Christian Church, according to his official Web site.
This one song helped firmly established Link Wray’s influence in guitar mythology. Footage of him strutting around the stage dressed in black leather and sunglasses and manhandling his guitar set the template for artists striking up an attitude.
Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin was shown joyously playing air guitar along to “Rumble” in It Might Get Loud, a 2008 documentary about guitar greats. He cited the influence of the “profound attitude” bleeding out of the record.
(Nic Fildes.“Rumble – how Link Wray brought the sound of slashed speakers to rock guitar.” Financial Times. January 18, 2021.)
The song is also described as the first hit tune to use the power chord, the "major modus operandi of [the] modern rock guitarist.” Some say Wray was rightfully “the Godfather of heavy metal.”
Freelance writer Alicia Ault of Smithsonian Magazine says in 1958 it wasn’t Elvis Presley who was causing the furor of radio stations refusing to play rock, it was “the similarly coiffed Link Wray.” Ault sums up the scene with these words …
“Born in rural east-central North Carolina, Wray was peddling his own form of musical subversion. Unknown to his small but growing fan base was the fact that Wray hailed from the Shawnee tribe. Wray wasn’t about to proclaim his Native American heritage out loud in an era when bigotry and racism was the norm. But his song, an instrumental called "Rumble" and his musical styling, a garage rock sound driven by power chords and distortion – achieved in part by poking holes in his guitar amplifier – put the nation on notice. It expressed an unsettled, edgy feeling that DJs worried might just incite a riot.”
(Alicia Ault.
“‘Rumble’ Aims to Upset the Rock ‘n’ Roll Canon.”
Smithsonian Magazine.
September 1, 2017.)
In 2018 Link Wray’s “Rumble” was inducted into the first class of Rock & Roll Hall of Fame's singles.
This marks the first time The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame has honored songs in addition to artists, and “Rumble” was immortalized alongside five other singles. The other inductees are “Rocket 88” by Jackie Brenston and his Delta Cats (1951), “The Twist” by Chubby Checker (1960), “Louie Louie” by The Kingsmen (1963), “A Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum (1967) and Steppenwolf‘s “Born to Be Wild” (1968).
“We all know the history of music can be changed with just one song, one record,” said Steven Van Zandt when introducing the inductees. “In three minutes we suddenly enter a new direction, a movement, a style, an experience. That three-minute song can result in a personal revelation, an epiphany that changes our lives.”
(J.D. Nash. “Link Wray’s 'Rumble' Inducted Into First Class of Rock & Roll Hall of Fame’s Singles.” American Blues Scene. April 23, 2018.)
Link Wray still rumbles. “Rumble’s” true claim to fame has been its longevity. It has continued to be used in TV shows and movies, including diverse examples such as Pulp Fiction, Top Gear, Independence Day, SpongeBob Squarepants vs. The Big One, Blow, and the pilot episode of The Sopranos.
I'd say all of this makes Link Wray an original musical bad ass. His song"Rumble" and his tough onstage persona altered the trajectory of rock 'n' roll. His kind of “cool” still revs the engines of rebels everywhere.
However, here is the supreme irony of Wray's story – an iconic tale filled with defiant content. Link was never an advocate of the violence associated with his best known song. “I’m wild but I’m not evil,” he said.
Biographer Jimmy McDonough writes in his 2006 tribute to Wray that Link told him …
"My whole life, I've never gone out in thrills lookin' for trouble and wantin' to fight. If a dog attacked you, you try to protect yourself, right? Well, I look at a wild human being as somethin' that's gonna attack me. I always thought I was just protectin' myself. 'Course, I hid a lot of that stuff from my mother – she said, 'Son, you must not do that – you must trust in God to help, save you.'
“I said, 'Yeah, but momma, sometimes when these people crawl on me, I don't feel like God's around, y'know?'
"I'm not strong at all, Jimmy. God's strong. God rules me, man, Satan don't rule me. Satan knows that he could turn me over in one second, 'cause I am a mean person--I mean, a nice person would never pull out a knife and cut nobody. Peter, one of Jesus's favorite disciples, man, he got a knife and he was goin' around cuttin', stabbin', he was a drinker and a wild fisherman, wild as hell. It took Jesus a lot to tame him down. There's an evil, and there's wild. And I was wild."
(Jimmy McDonough. “Be Wild, Not Evil: The Link Wray Story.” Perfect Sound Forever. 2006.)
Of the irony, McDonough says …
“Link was certain that with 'Rumble' he was doing the work of the Lord ('I'm rumblin' against Satan,' he'd tell me), yet the rest of the world thought he was the devil himself.
“Wray took the hood look to its apex – leather jacket, black shades – yet the coat was full of vitamins and the specs served to hide his poor eyesight. He didn't drink, smoke or do drugs – 'Satan's candy,' as Link saw it – and was also a lifelong vegetarian who's never had so much as a hamburger. 'I wouldn't know what meat tastes like 'cause I've never tasted it. My dad tried to get me to kill hogs, kill cattle, and I could hear the hogs moanin' as Dad was cuttin' their throat. I just couldn't do it, man. I just couldn't eat it.'
“Link was simply just ahead of his time. "He took a lot of vitamins, did exercise ... But Link had two meager vices – according to his kids, he was a television addict thirsty for old Westerns … and he drank coffee 'twenty four hours a day.' Link never seemed to sleep. He'd be working on a song and, as Rhonda Wray Sayen (his daughter) remembers, 'I'd leave him to go to bed, wake up, and he'd be in the same position.'"
(Jimmy McDonough. “Be Wild, Not Evil: The Link Wray Story.” Perfect Sound Forever. 2006.)
So I'll end this blog entry with a little poetic justice for this instrumental guitar enigma we know as Link Wray.
Alan Scally wrote of seeing Link Wray live at the
Crystal Ballroom in 1999 …
“Well,
Link Wray strutted last night across the stage at the Crystal
Ballroom in Portland, Oregon but it was really 1950 Oklahoma and he
got out of his 1937 Ford coupe and walked boot heels crunch crunch
across the gravel parking lot of the DariFreez, brushing past the
football players staring at him and his black leather jacket,
greased-back hair and at the Cherokee girl-child at his side – Hank
Williams and John Lee Hooker, wind storm off the prairie, fire
wrapped inside the wind he rides, hard chords of eternal defiance
ringing out across endless wheat field and down lonesome highways,
across cities and through silent farmhouses where a men sit and watch
the darkness sink into the earth like a bitter flood; Link Wray
struts like a black leather rooster, shakes his guitar like an angry
lover as the notes fly away like buffalo stampeding across green
spring grasses of empty Kansas forever land; Link Wray raged last
night with all the defiance and laughter and love and power he
carried within him – a legend surely as Crazy Horse, a force of
nature like a tornado, a howling prophet man shouting blind in a dust
bowl sun of tribulation and triumph to come.
“I saw Link Wray, I saw America, I saw the beautiful back-road land we turned away from because we're afraid of our dreams – our dreams came back last night, bulletproof and wary, shining in all the beat glory and visionary wildness of an electrical, storm in July over Omaha, followed by a double rainbow over the Missouri River. Ride, ride, ride across the land, shattered guitar explosion ripping out of the radio as the prophet man rages on, full-force rock n roll; proving why the American night holds no secrets only dreams, nightmares and visions.
“Greaser hair hanging in a ponytail to his waist, Indian chief painted on back of leather jacket, eternal shades, taunting grin, the coolest baddest bad-boy of forever came to town and we had a rumble in the high school parking lot …
“So Link Wray was here and yeah there is hope, yeah we can dream and if we listen hard we can hear the mocking laughter of angels leaving heaven to ride motorcycles toward an always infinite horizon to a small town where rattlesnakes sleep inside a jukebox that plays blues, Hank Williams, Elvis and the screaming guitar of a boy who stabbed his amplifier with a pencil and wrote his name in the storm clouds over a Wyoming highway. Link Wray strutted for us. He done good. He done America proud.”
(Alan Scally. “Link Wray at the Crystal Ballroom, May
20, 1999.”ayjay@justice.com. January 20, 2004.)
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