Living Blues Magazine Feature

DOUG KNUTSON
Wee
Willie
Walker
Southern Soul
in a Northern Climate
by Steve Sharp
Wee Willie Walker is an exceptional blues singer living in a unique place—certainly not a location
one might expect to find such a deep, historically important and gifted soul man.
The sound of Walker’s music is warm and groove-laden. It feels like Memphis in the summertime—and it should. Memphis is where he was raised. However, Walker’s adopted home is the beautiful, but sometimes brutally cold and snowy Minneapolis, Minnesota. Walker’s art is a singular
treasure in this northern U.S. metropolis where the hard-edged, melodic power/pop music of
bands such as the Replacements, as well as football and ice hockey, dominate.
Born in Hernando, Mississippi, on December 21, 1941, Walker lived in Memphis
until age 16, when he graduated from Booker T. Washington High School. He said
growing up there was “fun and it was rough.” “I had to fight almost every day,
among friends, but that’s what it was. It wasn’t like it is today. We would
fight and we would still be friends,” Walker said, speaking with LB
recently before embarking on a three-week tour of Italy.
There were six children in Walker’s family and as he put it, he
was “number four on the totem pole.” As with most soul singers
in his age bracket, his early vocal schooling came in church. “It
was the type of gospel music we were doing that was such an
influence,” he said, calling his time with the gospel group the
Redemption Harmonizers in the mid-’50s through 1959 one of
the high points of his life. “Then I became aware of Sam Cooke
and I just kind of stopped and I got stuck right there until I found
myself.”
Walker joined his first secular singing group when he was
in his early to middle teens. “A bunch of us kids got together and
thought we could sing, and found out we could do pretty good with
doo-wop and harmonies,” he said. “We did this in Memphis, just a few
blocks from Stax Records, but that was before Stax was created.”
Walker recalled he found it difficult, initially, to make the transition from gospel to secular music, but his mother came to his aid. “My mom kind of helped me over that,” he said, noting his problem with moving secular came in the early 1960s. “She moved here to Minneapolis—
my whole family moved here and that is when I stopped going to Memphis. She came out to
one of my shows and she just decided, ‘Hey, you’re still making people happy.’ She said, ‘These
people I see out here are the same people I see in church, so I don’t see where you are doing
nothin’ wrong.’” He called his mother one of his main inspirations in life. “Oh, God yes. She was
wonderful,” he said.
Walker left Memphis for Minneapolis in 1959. “Just growing up and looking around me, I
just didn’t think Memphis was a good place for a young man to be growing up—a young black
man,” Walker said. “I was witnessing too many things that were happening to my brothers and
my friends that I thought were unnecessary, and I didn’t want to be caught up in it. The gospel
group I was traveling with, one of the guys, had a father who was here in Minneapolis and we
traveled here three times in one summer. I fell in love with the place the first time, in early ’59.”
COURTESY WEE WILLIE WALKER
Willie Walker (second from left) with the Redemption Harmonizers, Memphis,
Tennessee, 1956.
36 • LIVING BLUES • February 2016
into Goldwax, and they just kind of took me
by there and let me sing for them. James Carr,
O.V. Wright, all the guys I had been associated with in gospel groups, they figured they
were on the label, so why couldn’t I be on
the label if I wanted to. James Carr and I kind
of grew up together in different gospel groups,
but in the same venues.”
COURTESY WEE WILLIE WALKER
He was informed about how harsh
Minnesota winters can be, but was undeterred. “They told me about it in a way that
was supposed to scare the life out of any sensible young man,” Walker said, noting his first
winter in the north was nowhere near as bad
as he thought it might be. “In my opinion,
it was colder in Memphis in the winter time.
Winters in Memphis were painful, physically.
If it snows here, you either drive on top of it
or you walk on top of it.”
When Walker arrived in Minneapolis, he
said his bandmate’s father made it clear if he
wanted to stay, he could. “He was an expert
tailor, but he also had a part-time job at night
doing janitorial work,” Walker said of this
kind elder. “So he split his job with me so I
could have some money. I lived with them for
almost two years.”
Walker was always comfortable in
Minnesota. “I knew when I got a job in
Minneapolis, I was never going back to live
in Memphis,” he said, adding he would work
during the day and sing certain weeknights,
as well as every Friday through Sunday. This
way of living continued for Walker through
the late 1960s and into the 1970s.
The musician reminisced about how he
came to record with Goldwax Records in the
1960s. Walker’s singles for the legendary label
are masterpieces of 1960s, Memphis-style
soul. “That [recording] happened the first time
I went back to Memphis for a vacation in
1965—not so much a vacation, just to see my
family. I had a bunch of friends who were tied
The nickname “Wee Willie” first
appeared when Walker was recording for
Goldwax. “They didn’t even ask me about it,”
he said with a laugh. “They just did it.”
At Goldwax, Walker spent time with
renowned musician and songwriter George
Jackson. “I had met him a few years before
and he just thought I should be on a label
and he took me to Goldwax,” Walker said.
“He played piano for me and I sang for ’em,
and they signed me up and I spent three
weeks there doing recordings and I didn’t get
to spend much time with my family!”
Walker cut six sides for Goldwax and
remains proud of this timeless work, though
he wishes he “had the refinement I have now
and a better feeling of what I was doing. I
would not want all the studio things that are
used now. I don’t like a whole lot of it. I like
it stripped down, especially on my voice. . . .
I listen to it today and I hadn’t been performing a lot of it, but I have been doing a lot
lately,” he said. He currently performs A Lucky
Loser and There Goes My Used to Be.
Walker said his voice has changed over
the years, but noted he occasionally receives
feedback arguing his claim. “Everybody that
knew me then and knows me now, says
my voice hasn’t changed,” he said. “I mean
that’s really all I can go on. But I know that,
physically, I’m doing some things that I didn’t
do, or don’t know whether I could have done
then, or not. But I just never ventured out to
try it, I guess. But I’m doing some things I
never did then and I guess that’s what I mean
when I say I’m now a little more refined and
Wee Willie Walker (center) with Solid on Down at the Nacirema Club, Minneapolis,
Minnesota, 1970s. (left to right) Mark Parker, Jodi Johnson, Alfred Johnson, Wee
Willie Walker, George Neal, Andre Broadnax and Wilbur Nichols.
COURTESY WEE WILLIE WALKER
fabulous—and it stands to reason, because
most of ’em made a lot of money. Aretha
Franklin, the Rolling Stones, Wilson Pickett,
Ray Charles—everybody that was anybody
wanted to go to FAME.”
After he recorded his sides for Goldwax
Walker, having no knowledge of how the
record industry worked, wasn’t aware of how
his music was being distributed. “I was just
happy to have had the opportunity to do some
recording,” he said. “I wondered why I never
got a royalty check, but I got something from
it that was worth more than one of those little
royalty checks. I am happy with that.”
When asked if he had any stories to tell
about recording at FAME, Walker’s reply was
somewhat surprising. “You know what? It was
boring,” he said. “It was boring. I spent most
of my time sitting around waiting for musicians
to communicate and I’m just sitting there. I
don’t know these guys and they don’t know
me. We’re all there trying to get a product.”
He did share recollections of eventual
Goldwax star James Carr from when Walker was
a young gospel singer and before Carr became
a master of southern soul. “I always felt he was
a mild, unselfish individual. That was my interpretation. But I guess things changed and it was
self-manufactured, unfortunately,” Walker said of
Carr’s bouts with drugs and depression. Walker’s time with Goldwax lasted only
into the early 1970s, but that didn’t mean his
career died out. Walker said he was very busy
during the period when the Vietnam War was
ending.
Walker’s day job in the early 1970s was
as a machine operator at a corrugated box
manufacturer. He called it his “first real job,”
and he held it for 17 years. Walker met his
wife about 30 years ago, and she taught him
about the nursing profession. He discovered
he loved helping people, which led him to
become a caregiver in a nursing home, a
job he maintained for 25 years. “That was
a perfect job for me. You gotta care about
Wee Willie Walker with the band
Canoise, Kansas City, Missouri, 1996.
(left to right) Pat Curto, Larry Seisse,
Wee Willie Walker, Neil Dunning and
Robert Coates.
A Lucky Loser b/w Warm to Cool to
Cold and You Name It, I’ve Had It b/w You’re
Running Too Fast were eventually leased to
Chicago’s Checker Records and issued as
Checker 1211 and Checker 1198, both in 1968.
Walker said FAME was a miraculous
place to work. “But I didn’t realize it then,” he
said. “I mean that is the whole thing . . . all I
know is the room had tremendous musicians
in there and they just knew what they were
doing. And it made me a little nervous, because I just wanted to make sure I came up to
par with what I was doing, because they were
COURTESY WEE WILLIE WALKER
more controlled in what I’m doing, as opposed to just belting it out.”
It was at FAME Recording Studios in
Muscle Shoals, Alabama, in the late 1960s, that
Walker recorded A Lucky Loser, Warm to Cool
to Cold, Nothing Can Separate Us and others.
“I only did two sides (for Goldwax) in
Memphis,” he said. “That was [John Lennon
and Paul McCartney’s] Ticket to Ride and
There Goes My Used to Be [Goldwax 329,
1967, produced by Quinton Claunch]. I did
them all at FAME. It was all for Goldwax, but
at different studios.”
COURTESY WEE WILLIE WALKER
Wee Willie Walker (upper right) and friends at the Cozy
Bar, Minneapolis, Minnesota, early-1970s.
Willie Walker at his home in
Minneapolis, Minnesota, late 1960s.
February 2016 • LIVING BLUES •
37
Wee Willie Walker and We “R”, Minnesota Music Café, St. Paul, Minnesota, July
2015. (left to right) Jesse Mueller, Scott Ives, Ron Maye, Wee Willie Walker, Johnnie
Timm, Steve “Tamu” Jones, Michael “Kenyatta” Johnson.
COURTESY SCOTT IVES
38 • LIVING BLUES • February 2016
RAY ELLIS
people. If you don’t care about people, it’s not
the job for you,” he said. Walker recalled he
spent time at the age of 12 taking care of his
grandfather, who had dementia, and he did
not have any problems doing that. “I drew
from that. I remembered that,” he said. The 1970s was a period Walker called
one of his busiest in music. “I was working
continuously on stage in Minneapolis and
I was working every day, during the day, as
well,” he said, adding he was performing “99
percent southern soul” at that time, taking no
influence from the funk movement that was
prominent. Walker said disco put him out of
work for a period of time in the late ’70s. “As
it did to a lot of people,” he said.
In the 1980s, he recalled, he wasn’t working much in music, but did play a few private
functions. “I wasn’t trying to keep a band
together during that time. It was a rough time
for me musically and I was grateful for having
my job. I knew it was time for me to get out
of [healthcare] when the age range I was caring
for was the same as mine,” he said with a
laugh. When Walker retired as a caregiver in
a healthcare facility about eight years ago, he
began pursuing music enthusiastically again. Until recently, Walker’s incredible voice
and manner of live soul performance were experienced, for the most part, only in the clubs
of Minneapolis and on the stages of blues
cruises Walker enjoys taking as vacations.
In the early 2000s, Walker was working
on a solo CD when he noticed there was interest in his music in Europe. He released the
album Willie Walker (Haute 1108) in 2002,
Wee Willie Walker
with Anthony Paule,
Porretta Soul Festival,
Italy, July 2015.
then hooked up with Minnesota-based band
the Butanes. He recorded several sessions
with the Butanes that resulted in the albums
Right Where I Belong in 2004 (One On
One 761955), Memphisapolis (Haute 1110)
in 2006 and 2011’s Long Time Thing (Haute
1111). Fitting among Walker’s recordings with
the Butanes was his album Hootchin’ With
Larry in 2008 (Semaj Music 199713). Live On
Highway 55 (Maximum Folk 1035), recorded
with Paul Metsa, was released in 2013.
In recent years, Walker’s friend and
manager, Julia Schroeder, brought Californiabased harp player and vocalist Rick Estrin of
Rick Estrin and the Nightcats to a Minneapolis
tavern where he was doing a happy hour
performance. “I didn’t believe she was bringing him to see me,” Walker said. “I figured it
just couldn’t be me, not here. But I guess, for
some reason, he’s been a fan for years and
he has all my stuff. Then I met him again on
a blues cruise, on which I was just a cruiser,
BILL HENDERSON
BILL HENDERSON
BILL HENDERSON
above: Wee Willie Walker recording
session at the Greaseland Studios, San
Jose, California, 2015. (left to right) Wee
Willie Walker, Jim Pugh (keyboards), J.
Hansen (drums), Randy Bermudes (bass),
Kid Andersen, Rusty Zinn (guitar) and
Rick Estrin.
above right: Wee Willie Walker laying
down vocal tracks at the Greaseland
Studios, San Jose, California, 2015.
right: Rick Estrin and Wee Willie Walker
at the Greaseland Studios, San Jose,
California, 2015.
below: Wee Willie Walker recording
session at Greaseland Studios, San Jose,
California, 2015. (left to right) Robert
Welsh (front), Jim Pugh (back), Wee Willie
Walker, Randy Bermudes and Rusty Zinn
(obscured in back of photo) and J. Hansen.
BILL HENDERSON
and he called me up to do some singin’
with him. That went over great and before
the cruise was over he asked me if I would
come to California [to Greaseland Studios]
to do some recording with him. Naturally, I
said ‘yes.’ That was the beginning and here
it is, I’ve got a new album, If Nothing Ever
Changes [Little Village Foundation]! I honestly think it’s the best work I’ve done so far.”
Critics have agreed, as indicated by
Walker’s numerous blues award nominations
in late 2015. This writer reviewed If Nothing
Ever Changes for LB #238, stating, “(The
album) is nothing short of a soul/blues
epiphany. In a current blues world filled with
good records that sometimes fall short of
spectacular, Walker and company’s effort here
is highly newsworthy because it is virtually
devoid of shortcomings. If Nothing Ever
Changes is a dozen songs’ worth of superb
composition, selection, production, sequencing and artistic execution.”
Today, Walker still enjoys listening to Sam
Cooke and gospel groups such as the Dixie
Hummingbirds. “I draw from that,” he said. “I
sit and listen to it sometimes and it brings me to
tears, just listening. I keep that. I listen to that.
It keeps me influenced; it keeps me geared up.
Every time you listen to it, you can feel something different and I guess that is what makes it
so great. Those guys were originals and that is
what makes the whole difference. Originality is
kind of hard to come by these days.” In addition to listening to his favorite
singers, Walker likes to spend his free time
playing guitar and, as a self-described “football freak,” watching his beloved Minnesota
Vikings play. He and his wife also have
children they enjoy being near. “We bring ’em
all together as family,” he said.
Walker said he has no bitterness or
frustration his career did not really take off
sooner than it has. “Goldwax management
tried to get me to move back to Memphis,” he
said. “They figured it would help me further
my career. But hey, I reached that point where I
believed in job security and after all these years
I recognize the fact that all those guys that I
was kind of friends with and had relationships
with, they are all dead. Had I been right there
with them in their glory, and had I joined
them, I’d probably be dead, too. They were just
living way too fast and I am glad I missed that
part. I feel very good about my career right
now and I figure I must have another ten years
in me and I am going to enjoy every second of
it. It’s all coming to me as a blessing. I’m just
gonna enjoy it as long as I can.”
February 2016 • LIVING BLUES •
39