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   1 7 3 out back under some awnings, umbrellas, what have you, loaded up the two-track machine and hit ‘record.’ It was a great storm, loud thunder cracks, lasted about an hour. When we went in to listen, Dan discovered he had threaded the two-track tape backwards, inside-out, so all he got was some muffled noises.” Neither Dan Penn nor Spooner Oldham ever regretted the time they spent at American. In many ways it had been even more productive than their years in the Shoals; their work had found a larger audience and their reputations would forever rest upon what they did with the group. “All those old days were great, I wouldn’t take nothing for what I been through,” said Dan Penn in summation. “All that stuff was fun to play on and be with the guys as we played it,” said Spooner Oldham. And the break was by no means total. Spooner rejoined the group from time to time and played on sessions ; Dan produced Ronnie Milsap’s first album in 1971 using all the American musicians, and by the late seventies, when everyone had resettled in Nashville, he was writing for them again and occasionally taking on production tasks that utilized the group (though he also tried to include his friends from the Shoals— his ties there too remained strong). Dan’s and Spooner’s departures (though Spooner did not officially leave Memphis until early 1969) would have been severe setbacks for the American group even a few months earlier; by now, with the core group cemented, one late arrival (Glen Spreen) on the scene, and one more (Johnny Christopher) waiting in the wings, there were more than enough voices to keep the momentum going. And it did not matter where Dan and Spooner went anyway. For the rest of their lives, they would be identified primarily as being from Memphis and having worked for Chips Moman (the four late arrivals would also discover this, each in their turn). Entering the orbit of American Studios was like becoming a guest at the Hotel California —you could check out any time you liked, but you could never leave. C h ap t e r 1 5 People Sure Act Funny The studio was established, the group was acquiring a reputation, and they were even beginning their own label, for which they all had high expectations. Dusty in Memphis had just come out and was being praised as a masterwork ; several other albums, most notably the Herbie Mann jazz experiment, were either in the can or in some stage of recording. For Chips Moman, it was amazing. “We were in a situation where we were making a living and feeding our families and payin’ our light bills,” he said, his voice reflecting the same astonishment he felt back then. “That was such a relief because Tommy and I had had it rough. Rough.” His tone became somber at the memory . Though he didn’t talk much about what he and Tommy had endured while they were struggling, he dropped just enough hints to a few friends to give them the picture. “They would write bad checks to each other; they’d pay each other,” was one story Roger Hawkins heard. “Chips and Tommy would do a poker thing, hustling; they almost got shot once for it,” Ed Kollis said. “I’ve heard stories that when they were struggling, barely getting by, one of ’em had a key, they’d turn on the gas [for each other],” said Reggie Young. “I just couldn’t believe I was making a living playing music,” was Chips’s astonished conclusion. And though Tommy Cogbill, typically, did not talk about it, from all accounts he too was astonished. Not that they were alone; the others were delighted to be getting all the work they could handle, after years of scratching and scrambling to record . “To have four sessions a day in Memphis, Tennessee?—That was unheard-of!” exclaimed Bobby Emmons. “It was usually two a month!” 1 7 4   p e o p l e s u r e ac t f u n n y Now that everyone had a little money to play with, the toys got slightly more expensive. The parking lot in back of the studio was filled with cars like Chips’s TR-3, Reggie Young’s Pontiac Sunbeam, Mike Leech’s Buick Riviera, Gene Chrisman’s Chrysler New Yorker, Bobby Wood’s 1960 Cadillac...

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