Big Mama chasing Little Richard with a butcher knife

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Boy, oh boy, the action started. Every conceivable avenue of pleasure was rampant at this center of activity, a drunken man being dragged home by a good Samaritan, a couple of painted lilies standing in the corner smoking and indulging in that favorite West Dallas pastime—profanity. I paused to hear the deluge of obscene language coming from everywhere. A boy, apparently twelve years of age, walked up and asked for a cigarette. I gave him one on his nerve. He took two out of the package. A nickel Victrola started playing “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home?” Couples dancing, couples drinking, some talking in tones that I could not understand. A woman walked up and asked me to put a nickel in the Victrola. In obedience to her command, I placed a nickel in the slot and she requested that I play “Baby Don’t You Stay All Night.” The earthworm wiggling that started with the music was below my dignity, so I moved on down the avenue of “good times.”

irresponsible, reckless, adolescent shenanigans of rock ‘n’ roll artists

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By 1958, her persona as a smoky, smoldering jazz dame had hardened into cliché. The Lee arrangement of “Fever” is stripped down to just upright bass and drums, but it also involves a husky, heavy breathing vocal, massively overdubbed finger snaps and newly written (by Lee), cutesy lyrics about Captain Smith and Pocahontas. Was she “hipping it up with Beatspeak,” or laying it on a little thick, like a “square” actor gluing on a goatee to play a beatnik on television?

“Peggy Lee couldn’t sing like Little Willie John. Everybody in the (Hotel) Theresa and all over Harlem were talking about how those white producers who came uptown sneaking around the Apollo Theater recording black material and then you’d hear a white singer on the radio singing the same song. That would put anyone on junk.” Faye Pridgon says she laughed when she heard Lee’s version, and she claims Willie did too. “That song had gotten a hell of a play in the ’hood long before that girl came along. When Pat Boone or whoever covered a song, it was a joke to us.”

dim lights, provocative gyrations, drug-taking and ‘sexual misconduct’

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‘The Strip was suddenly alive with hairy teen hobos and older hippies in nifty belly-button-baring shirts and little girls with mop straight hair and belted hip huggers settled low and cool on their anatomies. The convergence of social types has created a permanent bumper-to-bumper weekend traffic jam in which it now takes some 30 sardine-like minutes to inch along the strip’s 1.7 miles. Modernist architecture added a celestial feeling to the drive-in restaurants, underground theatres, and coffeehouses, not to mention more than 35 psychedelic/mod nightclubs catering to the scene.’

his famous go-go girls with their incredible rotary action

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James is talking on the telephone. Bobby is doing his hair again, wielding the expert comb. Gert is pouring champagne for all. James knows a groovy way to drink it—pour salt in it. It makes more bubbles and stings and also helps you burp. There is some fried chicken. “You dig hot sauce?” Eat. Drink. Have a ball. “So long, baby, I’ll call ya.” He hands Bobby the telephone to hang up. “She’s in love with me ... Well, like I’m all man, you know.” He reaches for some more chicken, a real hot piece. It’s out o’ sight. “Hey, Bobby, come put my socks on for me, man, so I can spend these few precious moments talking  . . . It really amuses me, it don’t humiliate me, just amuses me to see a cat be so stupid because like the truth is gonna come out anyway, man. I feel a little bit hipper than the cat, I don’t have to do it physically cause I can out-think the cat and make him blow his own thing, cause he’s gonna like, spend most of his time trying to keep me in a bag, but he’ll be in the bag, man, trying to hold me there. Like, you look in the bag and I won’t be there!”

frantically screaming, hips and hair swinging, pure emotional raving

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This record came out in '51, called K. C. Loving, and it was dirty, and it was banned from the air, so then, after things got going pretty good, I picked up on the song and I just happened to sing it to the audience one night, and they dug it, you know?; well it's just about like it is today, all these dirty records that's out now, but at that time they wouldn't let you play that kind of thing. So after I left Florida and came to New York City, and did this thing, I cleaned it up and I named it Kansas City, & then I changed some of the words round and put my beat to it. I don't know if you ever heard it by Little Willie Littlefield, but it was nothing like the one that I did, and if I had been with the right people at the time I could have got part credit for writing it. Leiber & Stoller bought it from a wino - even Little Willie didn't write it. This guy wanted to get to some wine, and he sold it for $50.00

a reaction against such lewd lyrics and a radio ban was imposed

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The second session was purely to record the song 'Shame, Shame, Shame' which had been selected for the forthcoming film 'Baby Doll', based on a screenplay by Tennesee Williams, starring Carroll Baker, Karl Malden and Eli Wallach. An exhilarating performance, probably the most rocking of all Smiley's records. The original studio version was exciting enough but Elia Kazan, the film's director, wasn't convinced that the first version was suitable for the scene in the film and it was re-cut in October. This longer, riotous version was used in the film but only appeared on the Columbia soundtrack album where the accompaniment was mis-credited to Ray Heindorf and the Warner Brothers Orchestra but, actually, the accompaniment was by Dave Bartholomew's band, as usual. Imperial expected 'Shame' to be a hit and it certainly should have been. I can only assume that the controversy over the film made deejays reluctant to play a record from it. The film was attacked by religious leaders as immoral, and failed to get a showing in parts of the Deep South, where there were threats to burn down any cinema that dared to show it. In Britain It was X -rated.