Today, renowned soulman William Bell has come to be known as one of the principal architects of the Stax sound, a sound that defined R&B and soul music from the early sixties through mid-seventies. In his own words, Bell describes the Stax sound as “hybrid sound, rooted in gospel that was a mixture of blues, jazz and country music.”

Bell, a Memphis native, first came to the attention of the legendary hit-factory as a teenager in the late-fifties. He would stay on board until its dissolution in 1975, penning and performing classic tracks such as “You Don’t Miss Your Water” and “Born Under a Bad Sign.” This weekend he leads an all-star cast of Stax performers that includes Eddie Floyd and Mack Rice at the Ponderosa Stomp. I had the chance to chat with Bell on the eve of his performance.

 

What sort of music influenced you growing up?

Starting off, it was Sam Cooke with the Soul Stirrers. They were one of the first gospel groups that I listened to. My mother also sang gospel, and I sang in the church choir and did some lead vocals out in front of the choir. Sam Cooke was my first inkling of listening to the real gospel-y sound.

Then on the blues tip, of course, I grew up—born-and-raised—in Memphis, so I heard everybody: B.B. King, Bobby Bland, Junior Parker, all those guys.

Was there a moment when it dawned on you that you were going to be musician for the rest of your life?

My stepfather took me to a Sam Cooke concert when I was ten years old. I watched Sam and Solomon Burke and Dee Clark. Sam had the Upsetters band, and I sat there in awe. That was the turning point.

Not long after that, when I was 14, I started working in local clubs around Memphis.

When did you first get involved with Stax?

I had a vocal group called the Del Rios, and we used to play the Flamingo Room in Memphis. One day, Stax called us to do backup work for Carla Thomas and Gee Whiz. They had put another group behind them, but they were singing flat, and we got the job done. That’s how we came to their attention.

Later on, we cut four singles as the Del Rios. Most of the guys in the group were older than me, and during that time a couple of them were drafted into the military. Only Louis Williams and I were left.

Then, Chips [Moman] asked me to do a solo project. For a while there I said that I didn’t know because I had done a recording at 14 on the Media Label with the Del Rios, and it didn’t turn out too well for me.

So, I went to New York on a tour with the Phineas Newborn Orchestra and got to feeling homesick. That’s when I wrote “You Don’t Miss Your Water.”

Tell me more about that story. What convinced you to record it?

Well, one day I was just sitting in the hotel. We had the day off. I had just turned 17, and it was raining, and I started writing. When I came back to Memphis in the summer after the tour was over, I ran into Chips. He said, “When are you going to be ready to do some work? Do you have anything written?”

“I got this one song,” I said [chuckles]. He invited me over to his studio to try it out. He played guitar, and I sang it for him. He instantly liked it, so we cut it. I didn’t think anything about it until they released it. It was a major hit for them and me.

Not long after you released “You Don’t Miss Your Water,” and your career was beginning to take shape, you were drafted into the Army.

At that time, I had one other record called “Any Other Way” out. Both of my records had charted before I got drafted into the military. I spent 2 years in the military, and a year-and-a-half of that overseas.

I went to Basic at Fort Polk in Louisiana. That’s where I met Allen Toussaint. We go way back. After we finished, I had a few weeks to go back home, and I hung out at Stax and cut a few sides. After one of those sessions, Johnny Jenkins came in, and he had Otis [Redding] with him. That’s when Otis cut “These Arms of Mine.” We became good friends before I shipped out.

I went to jungle training in Hawaii and later Vietnam. I was in the 14th Infantry. I didn’t do any fighting on the front lines. I was behind the scenes in a mortar platoon. Most of my outfit eventually went to the front lines, but I was shipped back to the states before then.

By the time you returned, Stax had really taken off.

When I came back, Otis was a big star. Rufus [Thomas] had a couple of big records out. “Walking the Dog” was big. Sam and Dave was on top. I had to play catch up.

You caught up pretty quick. It wasn’t long after you were back that you wrote “Born Under a Bad Sign.”

Back in those days, when I wasn’t on tour I was hanging around the studio. I wanted to learn all of the intricate details about recording—how to mic this and mix that. I wanted to soak it all up.

So, one night I was in the studio, and they were doing a session with Albert [King]. Albert and I had become friends from hanging out at the studio. He didn’t have enough songs for his record. Jim [Stewart, Stax Records founder] asked me if I had a song that Albert could do.

I had this one song, but it wasn’t all the way finished. I played what I had for Albert and he was digging it. He asked me, “Can you complete it by tomorrow?” So Booker [T. Jones] and I sat down and got to finishing it up. We laid the track to it that night and put Albert on it the next day. He did a tremendous job, and the rest is history. Of course, when Cream covered it, that really helped to get it out.

I want to hear the story behind another one of your songs. It’s another one that took on a life of its own outside of Stax, and it just so happens that it’s my favorite of yours, “I Forgot to be Your Lover.”

When I write, it’s usually about me or life. Right after I got married, I was touring a lot. “I Forgot to Be Your Lover” came out of that. At first, my wife came on the road with me, but she was in education, so she had to go back home. It’s like when you’re working hard on one end of the spectrum, but then you’re slacking on the other end of it. It’s hard to balance the two things.

It went on to be cut across so many genres. There are reggae versions. Billy Idol did a famous version. Jaheim did a version of it. It’s been sampled by a lot of hip-hop artists: Ludacris, Dilated Peoples, Killah Priest.

Speaking of your songs crossing genres and connecting with people of different ages and ways of life, what’s it like for you as the creator to watch this unfold?

It’s really a testament to something that I’ve always felt: that music is a universal language. It doesn’t matter what you’re into; we all share the same wishes, frustrations, and desires.

When it comes to other artists cutting a song, say Billy Idol, he saw something in “I Forgot to be Your Lover” that attracted him to it, and then he did it his way. That’s always a good feeling for me to know that I’ve created something that not only I can relate to but that there are other artists and other people who relate to it as well.

One thing about songwriting, people tend to associate a song with the singer and overlook the writer.

I’ve been fortunate enough to be not only a songwriter but also an artist. Naturally, there’s a much higher level of visibility that comes with being an artist. A lot of the stuff I wrote I recorded as well. Artists tend to listen to other artists for sounds and songs they like and things that they can put their own interpretation on.

When people, fans, and other musicians find out that I wrote this and I wrote that, there’s a certain sense of recognition and acceptance of me as both. As a writer, you’ve really got to be able to work your catalog and get other artists interested in your songs. You work, and you get recognized behind the scenes. I enjoy being both. The creativity happens in the studio, but the warmth comes from the performance.

About Otis Redding. After his passing, you honored him with the song “A Tribute to a King.” What are some of your memories of your time with him?

Otis and I were great friends, that’s number one. You know what it’s like when you meet a person, and you just hit it off. We toured together, and we’d hang out after the tours. I’d go to Macon, and we’d go to all of these little offbeat places, drink beer and hang out with the people there. We had all of these low-key good times.

Otis was a person just like me. He was a people person, and he was such a genuine person. That’s what attracted me to him as a friend. We got along fabulously.

In the studio, I cut a couple of his songs. He cut “You Don’t Miss Your Water.” We toured all over the country together, and on stage we were competitive. But off stage we were best friends.

The music you guys created at Stax really connected with people at a very trying time in our country’s history. How do you feel when you reflect upon the impact Stax had on society?

When we were coming along, you got to remember, it was basically a segregated society. Stax was instrumental in breaking down a lot of barriers not only with the type of material and the songs we did but also with our tours. We changed a lot of people’s minds around the country. We caught quite a bit of flack in the early years because we were a mixed outfit. The bands were mixed. The team in the studio was mixed.

In the studio, the only thing that mattered to us was what you brought to the table as a musician. We were really a family at Stax. When we left the studio, reality hit us. There were incidences when we were traveling and certain hotels wouldn’t let us check in. Even if only one person wasn’t allowed to check in, we would all get back on the bus and ride to the next town. When we went on tour, we had to show people and let them know that we were a family and that we stuck together, black and white.

One of the most overlooked albums in your catalog was Phases of Reality from 1972. On it you take a look at things like crime, drug use, prostitution and other problems that were affecting urban America.

At that time Stax was going into its final stages, and you’re right, that album was a turning point album that never got its just recognition. One album that influenced me at that time was Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, which dealt with ecology on a larger level. I wanted to do something that approached those elements from what was going on in the streets.

What was it like after Stax ended? Was it hard to move on?

We were kids when we went to Stax, and we thought it would never end. Like a family, there was a protective element about it. When it fell apart, it was like a divorce. I was living in Memphis, and Booker was still living in Memphis, but we needed a change of scenery, a new venue, a new environment.

Booker went to L.A., and I came to Atlanta. It was a time of sadness. We hung in there for two or three years while Stax was going through problems. After a while, the writing was on the wall. Things were not going to get better, they were going to get worse. We realized that we would have to move on and earn a living elsewhere. There was an unspoken mutual agreement between Al [Bell, co-owner] and Jim [Stewart] and the artists that if there was ever anything either side needed, not to hesitate to call. After that, I took about a three-year hiatus from the music business. I didn’t know if I wanted to do it anymore.

Thankfully, you did…

For a while, I was just writing and producing. My manager and I had created the Peachtree label. I had something going with CBS to write and produce for Jackie Moore. Charles Fach, who was distributing the label, kept asking me to record again. When I finally agreed to do four sides for sides for him, I came down to New Orleans to Marshall [Sehorn] and Allen [Toussaint]’s place, Sea Saint. That’s where I cut “Tryin’ to Love Two” with Chocolate Milk backing me, which went on to sell a million-plus copies.

And you’re coming back to New Orleans this weekend for the Ponderosa Stomp. What are you looking forward to?

This one’s going to be like a homecoming for me. I’ve been working with the Ponderosa Stomp for a while. I’ve done one in New York, one in New Orleans, and one in Memphis. This weekend, me, Eddie Floyd, and Mack Rice are going to be there. We were all at Stax together. And Allen is going to be there. [Laughs]

After the military, we would see each other when I would come down to do gigs with Lee Dorsey, Robert Parker, Chris Kenner, and all those guys. Last time I saw Allen was two years ago when we did the Jerry Wexler Memorial in New York. It’ll be good to see him again. It’s going to be a great reunion.