 The Final Show August 26, 1990 (82:48min) |
"It was a hot night in southern Wisconsin. Hundreds of sopping-wet bodies, miserable from the sticky air, crammed even closer together near the bug-swarmed stage to get a better look at the action. The date was August 26, 1990, and Stevie Ray Vaughan was claiming his place in history as he stood alongside Eric Clapton, Buddy Guy, Robert Cray, and his brother Jimmie Vaughan at Alpine Valley Music Theatre in East Troy. Despite the suffocating night and a very sore throat, Stevie Ray never felt better.
Thirty-five thousand souls sat there in the dark, eyes all focused on Stevie as he blasted into a guitar solo. His right hand fanned the frets of that old tattered Stratocaster so quickly, the rings on his fingers shone in the lights. His whole body was caught up in the throes of performance--a blur to the crowd, he resembled a purple tornado against a dusty Texas sky. He stopped playing for a moment and barked at the crowd between some teeth-gnashing grace notes. Then he was back at it, totally in rapture. It was as if something otherworldly was playing his guitar that night, as if some force were bending the notes toward a melody it wanted to hear. But the melody was like nothing he had ever played before. It was unbelievable--it sounded like some manic metallic shit, bleeding, eating through the amplifier like a hungry monster. It surprised even Stevie, and all around him.
He performed that night as he always had, as if the song of the moment would be his last. During the blistering, all-star jam on Robert Johnson's "Sweet Home Chicago," it seemed as if the blues had made a full circle. Johnson's troubled spirit was reincarnated in Stevie, who stood toe-to-toe with the white god of electric blues himself, next to the young savior of rhythm and blues, and shoulder-to-shoulder with Muddy`s longest-lasting right-hand man. No moment this glorious could last very long, but the four musicians played on.
The song had nearly stretched out for twenty minutes, and everybody had taken a solo. They were just vamping and looking for a way to end it, not wanting to take it home yet. Then Stevie just erupted and took another solo. It was passionate, ingenious, and LOUD. When he finished, he looked over at Clapton. Eric knew he couldn`t top it, shrugged his shoulders, forced a weak smile, and brought the tune to a close. They all joined hands, taking bows and hugging each other for the longest time before they left the stage. Stevie was the last one off, as usual. He took one final bow, tipped his hat to the crowd and exited stage left. It would be Stevie`s last stand.
On the stage of Alpine Valley Music Theatre, Stevie Ray Vaughan had played an incredible set with his own band, Double Trouble, earlier in the evening. He was cleaner, sharper, and more energetic than ever. He played like his soul was on fire, ripping through "Texas Flood" with reckless abandon, bending and twisting his guitar in every configuration.
During "Pride And Joy," Stevie tipped his hat generously to his hero, Buddy Guy. Like several nights before, Buddy was standing on the wings of the stage, watching Stevie teach a new generation about songs like "Leave My Little Girl Alone," "Mary Had A Little Lamb," and "Let Me Love You Baby," all once minor, obscure hits for him in the mid-sixties. But now, Vaughan's recorded versions had made them instant contemporary blues classics. For the first time in his 30-year career, Buddy Guy was receiving royalty checks and had Stevie to thank for it. "You tell 'em kid!" Buddy thought to himself, breaking into a huge grin. He looked up to find Stevie staring right at him through the bright lights, as if he knew what Buddy was thinking. Stevie smiled and winked, then strutted away. Robert Cray, still wiping the sweat from his forehead after his set, approached Buddy, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Stevie`s kicking ass!" Buddy, laughing, told him, "It`s damn sure the most incredible set I`ve ever heard him play. I`ve got goosebumps."
Goosebumps ran rampant during Stevie`s tribute to his mentor, Jimi Hendrix. For eight years, Stevie had ended his show every night with inspired guitar acrobatics--soloing behind his back and head; playing with his teeth or boot; and finally tossing the instrument to the floor, jumping on it, and shaking it for all it was worth. Stevie never grew tired of this routine, nor did his audience, although many of them had seen these gimmicks a zillion times before. It was the way he went after it, how he walked way out on the edge of music, with nothing but a thread connecting him to the notes, bars, and melody. But somehow, in the midst of losing himself altogether, he remained aware of the ground on which his feet were planted. Tonight was special for another reason--Hendrix had also, coincidentally, given his last major performance on this very day twenty years before at the Isle of Wight Festival. Located below the British Isles, the Isle of Wight is literally one degree from the end of time--Greenwich, England. Robert Knight, a photographer who had often worked with Hendrix, was on assignment to shoot a poster of the four superstars for Fender guitars. "I was right below him in the front of the stage," he remembers. "I had never seen Stevie play so wild, so uncontrolled. I felt that tonight I had seen Hendrix again, only better. In fact, during the final number 'Voodoo Chile,' I got gooseflesh so bad I left and went backstage." As Stevie was nearing the end of his set, he introduced his epic "Riviera Paradise" with words that proved to be sadly ironic, dedicating the number to "anyone who's had pain in their life," and adding, "I wish and hope we all find the happiness we are looking for." His rendition that night was beautiful, imaginative, and personal; it was as if he were making a special apology to everyone he`d ever loved and hurt. Jimmie joined him onstage for the last three songs, "Crossfire," "Couldn't Stand The Weather," and "Goin' Down," a most fitting close to his final show. The night ended same way it all began--with the two brothers trading licks together. Stevie walked offstage satisfied. It had been one more night of playing the blues and spreading the news. He spied Robert Knight and stopped briefly to talk to him. "Hey! Why`d you leave during 'Voodoo Chile'" he asked. "Where were you the night Hendrix died?" Knight asked bluntly. "Why?" "Because tonight I saw Jimi Hendrix onstage. I've got gooseflesh all over me! Look at this shit!" Stevie held up his arms proudly. "I know. Me too," he added, smiling. "Sometimes I don't know myself where the energy comes from." He opened the door to his dressing room to find Jimmie sitting there. "Way to go, little bro'!" Jimmie yelled, slapping him on the back. "You hear that? Listen! They`re going nuts! Stevie, I've never heard you play like that! You're great!" Maybe it was the first time he heard Jimmie say it, maybe it was the first time he believed it, but Stevie`s eyes watered up and he hugged Jimmie tight, saying, "Thanks, man. You know how much that means to me." While Clapton was preparing to begin his own show, after having been thoroughly blown away by Stevie Ray and Double Trouble's performance, he turned to Buddy Guy with a worried expression and earnestly asked him, "How am I supposed to follow this guy?" "Well, Eric," Buddy replied, "You just do the best you can." Later, all the musicians gathered around the wings of the stage to watch Clapton. During one passage, Clapton quoted "Strangers In The Night." Cray got Jimmie's attention and shouted, "Check him out!" "Aw," said Stevie, turning around, "he's been trying to do that all night and he finally got it right." Jimmie and Stevie had a good guffaw over that one. A few minutes later, around 11p.m., the three of them were onstage grinding their axes with God himself.
Shortly after the last note rang out at 11:20, the five exhilarated musicians left the stage through a rear exit, exchanging hugs and kind words. They posed for pictures together, signed autographs, compared calluses on their fingertips and chided each other, saying "Check this one out, man" and "No, look at this. Mine's bigger than yours!" It was all punctuated with uproarious laughter.
For well over an hour they talked about jamming together again soon and Clapton remarked, "Hell, this is so much fun we ought to take it on the road!" Clapton told Stevie plainly that he was the best he'd ever heard. Buddy stood behind, nodding and smiling. Cray grabbed Stevie's shoulder meaningfully, and, as always, Stevie pointed to Jimmie. It was a very human moment. Here were five of the most respected blues guitarists trading heartfelt compliments. A few minutes later, Peter Jackson, Clapton`s tour manager, busted in and said, "Guys, I'm sorry, but the weather's getting really bad and we gotta move it out of here."
... four helicopters waited outside." (continued)