Jimmy Day

1934-1999

 Legendary steel guitarist Jimmy Day passed away January 22 in Houston at the age of 65. To the left of the casket at his Austin funeral rested a plaque which would have been presented to him on Feb. 25th, inducting him into the Texas Music Hall of Fame. To the right was his steel guitar, "Blue Darlin'," with his seat in place and his amplifier turned on. During the service, a tape played a solo of Jimmy on steel and for the last time, in his presence, everyone was once again under his spell. When the song was over, the minister rose up and said simply, "Let's give Jimmy Day a hand." Hundreds of Jimmy's family members, friends and fellow musicians who had come to pay their final respects, stood and gave Jimmy a long, final standing ovation.
Jimmy led a remarkable life in the world of music, having played with, among others, Webb Pierce, Red Sovine, Hank Williams, Jim Reeves, Lefty Frizzell, Elvis Presley, Ray Price, Ernest Tubb, Willie Nelson, Johnny Bush, Ferlin Husky, George Jones, Tracy Nelson & Mother Earth, Sammi Smith, Leon Russell, Commander Cody, Clay, Alvin Crow, Don Walser and Skeeter Davis.

He joined Clay's band in 1978 after moving to the Houston area from Nashville for some R&R. As he told Sam Kindrick, editor of San Antonio's Action Magazine in a Feb. 1979 interview: "I'd had it up to my hat brim with Nashville. That's when I run into Clay, his wife Allene (she plays bass) and the other kids in this band. And I decided this is where it's at for me. I don't compare the music but this band reminds me of the Ray Price band 20 years ago and the Willie Nelson band 10 years ago. They have the feeling, drive, ambition, energy and fellowship to make things work."
He was fun to work with and to spend time off with. He regaled Clay's band members with stories from his past. He talked of the time he had to be tied by one leg to his steel while playing in Ray Price's band because he was so high on "uppers" that he would get up and run around the stage whenever his fills weren't needed. Of the time he quit Jim Reeves' band to become a Seventh Day Adventist preacher because his wife insisted on it (too late for the first semester, he got a factory job but cut his thumb working one day and decided he needed his thumb to play steel and in fact, needed to play steel more than he needed a wife, so picked up and headed back for Nashville). Of the time when he played on the show in New Orleans when Hank Williams and Billie Jean got married. Of times spent with Elvis, Patsy Cline, Ernest Tubb. He would fascinate us with these memories but it wasn't his past that kept us all mesmerized. It was his talent. He was simply the best steel guitarist of his time. And our time.
The profound effect Jimmy's playing had on the audience can't be put into words. He poured his soul into every note and slide he coaxed out of his steel guitar. At the end of many nights, when the band would start packing up the equipment and bar patrons would be finishing off their last drinks, Jimmy would sit back down at his steel and launch into "Danny Boy" or "Greensleeves" and the place would get quiet. Waitresses would stop clearing off tables and pool cues would be laid aside. He played as if he intended to be heard, and anyone who listened to his music easily forgot everything else.
Clay's present steel guitarist Tommy Detamore recalls a gig he played with Jimmy Day in 1989 just a few days after the annual Steel Guitar Convention in St. Louis, where Jimmy had been one of the star performers. Tommy asked him how his show had gone and Jimmy just grinned and answered, "I made them cry."

He could make us all cry.

 

The following is excerpted from an editorial in 3rd Coast Music magazine (620 Circle Ave., Round Rock, TX 78664; ThirdCM@aol.com). The editor/publisher, John Conquest, was another huge Jimmy Day fan.

I think everyone who knew him probably had a favorite Jimmy Day story. I have two, one direct, the other secondhand. One night, in a club parking lot after a gig, Day gave me a quite extraordinarily penetrating analysis of exactly what, and exactly why, everything was going wrong with a recording project I had a keen interest in (some of you may be able to fill in the blanks here). When the album came out, I could have written the review in advance purely on the strength of Day's insights. The story story, as it were, claims that when Day was packing up his gear after laying down a steel guitar track, the producer asked him to run through it a couple more times and Day, straightfaced, replied, "Why? It don't get no better than perfect." Life is full of regrets and to my load I have to add not getting up to the new Henry's in Liberty Hill while Day was playing there Tuesday nights during the last year or so, and now it's too late. There's a sad lesson there, not to take our performers for granted. Unless you were a Henry's regular and thus get the reference, this will probably sound really, really, cheesy, but I'm going to say it anyway: Make the angels cry, steel guitar man.
-John Conquest

 
Herb Steiner, another steel guitar legend and also a former member of Clay's Texas Honky-Tonk Band, wrote this appreciation of Jimmy, which was published in the February 1999 issue of 3rd Coast Music magazine:

There are a handful of people in music history whose creative vision is so profound and so revolutionary that it reshapes conventional attitudes and approaches, "OK, this is now the way we should be playing this instrument." Players of this caliber that come to mind are Louis Armstrong, Art Tatum, Charlie Parker, BB King, Earl Scruggs, Buddy Emmons ... and Jimmy Day. Modern steel guitar playing would not exist in its present form if not for Jimmy Day. In the mid-50s, with the acceptance of pedals and the development of the modern E9th tuning, his classic recordings with Ray Price, George Jones, Jim Reeves, and others literally created a new vocabulary which today's steel guitarists are still using. Jimmy Day is the most plagiarized musician ever to play the instrument.

Why was this man's influence so profound? Because he opened his heart to all of us, he played the truth and made it accessible to everyone; he was the master of soul, a man who could say more and express deeper emotion in five notes than other players could wring out of 500. For Jimmy, you didn't have to play fast, come up with a million tricks (though he certainly had his share) or a million licks, you simply had to play the melody of the song like you would feel it and sing it. Let the song into your heart, listen to what your heart says, and let your hands follow.

I was Jimmy's friend and student for a quarter century, but only in the last few years have I begun to appreciate how profoundly he shaped my playing and my career as I came to realize that playing is far more communicative the less one tries to impress with speed and intellect, and more one relies on emotion and melody. A few years ago at a steel guitar convention, Jimmy and I were listening to a young hot, fast steel player, the kind he used to refer to as an "acrobat." I said to him, "Jim, I wish I could play like that." Without missing a beat, he looked me in the eye and said, "And chose not to." It was a perfect moment, and the light bulb went on for me. Those of us in Austin who had the opportunity to see Jimmy playing with local artists like Alvin Crow, Don Walser, Clay Blaker, (for you old timers, even Greezy Wheels!), as well as country legends Johnny Bush and Ray Price, have had the pleasure of knowing a true musical pioneer who shaped the music of a generation. And he shared his love, sensitivity and incredible sense of humor with all who saw him. If anyone ever greeted Jimmy with "It's good to see you, man," his response would usually be, "Hell, it's just good to be seen!"