When I am sitting at home playing my guitar and Becky is around, she invariably asks me to play “Walking Stick.” It is a song I learned from Leon Redbone’s 1975 debut album On The Track.
It is probably the most requested song I play for her. When I play it, I cannot not think of his performance on Saturday Night Live during its first season: Just Leon in a spotlight with his deep, nasally voice, his light finger guitar style, and a tuba player backing him up on bass. I played the song on my guitar the other night after I read his obituary. Becky listened.
When the album came out, I was fascinated. It was unlike anything I had been hearing during the mid-70s. No fuzzy guitars; no disco thump; no complicated, over-produced arrangements; no stadium rock anthems. All of the songs were arranged and performed with a deceptive simplicity. All of the songs were obviously old songs. I recognized “Shine On Harvest Moon,” and “Ain’t Misbehavin’,” but many of them including “Walking Stick” were new to me. The entire album was an education, like a semester on songs from the early 20th century. Oldies 101.
At that time I was traveling with a rock band, and I introduced the album to them. My bandmates gave it a respectful listen, but Dan, the other guitar player, was the only one who got into it, seemed to understand it. Dan and I set about learning some of the songs including “Walking Stick.” These days the two of us play music as The Retro Brothers. We don’t play “Walking Stick” in our sets, but maybe we should add it.
Although maybe we shouldn’t. I remember several people, including my brother Mike who was quite the music lover, vocally expressing their dislike of Leon Redbone’s music. I think it was his voice. It must be an acquired taste. Like Bob Dylan’s. I don’t get it, but that’s what people tell me.
“Walking Stick” was written by Irving Berlin in 1938. In the introductory part of the song, the speaker says you can take my high hat, my white spats, “but my walking stick, you simply must let that be.” He goes on to sing “I can’t look my best/I’d feel undressed with out my cane.” Although I believe “Walking Stick” was a stand-alone composition, the tune and lyrics sounds like they would fit right in to a musical from the 1930s.
You know, those productions featuring high society people in elegant settings with tuxedo-wearing men holding martinis as they banter with graceful, willowy women in long gowns. Because of mistaken identities or undelivered letters, the unaware characters live out chaotic scenes involving people behind curtains or hallways with a series of open and closing doors. By the last act the loose ends are tied up and everyone is smiling and in love. Curious to think these were the popular movies and songs during the Great Depression.
The musician Leon Redbone was a stage persona. Biographical information on the man behind the panama hat, dark glasses, matching suit and tie was hard to come by. Most details about his life were made up. He claimed he wasn’t being mysterious just to be mysterious. “I just don’t want to go there.”
In the rare interviews he gave, he spoke about the music he performed.“…it was a more interesting period in the history of development of certain styles of music. It speaks to me more than what came after.” He likened what he did to painting, to creating a mood with music from a time gone by. To him it was the music that was important, not the person. Such an attitude is one more thing that seems old-fashioned these days.
I learned some things from Leon Redbone’s music and the times from which it came. That’s good enough for me. Should be good enough for any of us. May he rest in peace.
