Overlooked Albums #4: Gene Vincent and The Blue Caps

Gene Vincent had a reputation as a troublemaker that dated from his stint in the Navy. The sailor lifestyle was fatefully cut short when a lady ran a red light and smashed into Vincent’s motorcycle, leaving him with a severely damaged left leg and a lifetime of constant pain. The stiff leg never hindered him; it actually gave Vincent a unique stage presence: he pivoted on the leg as he seduced the audience into a frenzy. He could overhaul old standards with hoots, hollers, hiccups, and moans. There was a raw sexuality to his singing that Elvis only hinted at. Vincent was downright horny, and it made him the target of preachers and censors, who kept songs such as Woman Love out of the charts.

 

Gene Vincent and The Blue Caps was to be Gallup’s last album with the band. Homesick after endless months of touring, he had already quit the band to return to his young wife. When time came to record the album, the band was still scrambling for a suitable replacement, so Gallup decided to step in as a favor. It would be his swansong.

 

The group’s second album improves over their first, Bluejean Bop (1956), which relied too much on old standards. This one regales us with a remarkable collection of hard rocking originals like Red Blue Jeans and a Ponytail, Cat Man, and You Better Believe. Perversely, none of the hits are here (songs like Be-Bop-A-Lula and Race With The Devil were singles only), but there is a grit and gusto to the performances that make this the zenith of rockabilly. This was a band letting loose in the studio, playing live with a touch of tape delay. Dickie Harrell was a master of the snare drum and his rebel yells still send chills to my spine. A personal favorite is Cruising, where a fast beat and red-hot guitar runs give the song so much propulsion you want to grease your hair and join a hot rod gang.

 

The key player was Cliff Gallup. There was virtually no tradition to the electric guitar then; players like Scotty Moore and Gallup kept inventing as they went along, borrowing from Les Paul, Chet Atkins and Chicago blues, and adding noise and swagger to the mix. Gallup made it look simple, but to this day there a few performers with the dexterity to recreate his descending and ascending notes. He never suspected he was laying the groundwork for future players.

 

Johnny Meeks replaced Gallup, and the band went on to record a third album for Capitol before disbanding at the end of 1958. If anyone got rich at the end of nearly four years at Capitol, not Gene or the band. Most fifties artists were bilked out of millions through shady promoters and creative accounting. Even Elvis, who made a fortune, was scammed by The Colonel. At that point Vincent owed a sizeable debt to the IRS, and America’s attention was focused on manufactured pop idols like Fabian. Vincent, a bluesman at heart, sought greener pastures and moved to Britain, where he was given a hero’s welcome by hordes of impressionable fans.

 

A leather-clad Vincent was a product for England, becoming the poster boy for greasers and teddy boys. Major chart hits followed until fate intervened once again. A late night ride from Bristol to London ended in tragedy when the taxi that carried Vincent and his pal, the great Eddie Cochran, hit a cement post. Cochran died instantly and Vincent’s leg was re-injured. After that, the quality of his recordings

suffered. Old fans formed bands and started replacing him in the charts. He was a man out of time.

 

There would be no new recordings from Vincent from 1964 to 1966. Eighteen months were enough to turn him invisible to a cold record industry, and any effort to restart his career was met with indifference from a public who had long since moved on. He died of a ruptured ulcer at the ripe age of 36.

 

Cliff Gallup never pursued a rock n’ roll career. At the time of his death in 1980, he was the director of maintenance and transportation for his local high school system. This pillar of the community still loved to play and died of a heart attack after a gig. He was a humble man who was baffled by the attention paid to him by people like George Harrison and Jeff Beck. He had managed to escape the pain,   heartbreak, and suffering Vincent went through. Perhaps he was better off.