After 75 years, Ike Turner’s big wheel keeps on turning
By Bryan A. Hollerbach
Photograph by Ferdaus Shamin/wireimage.com
On November, 5 the ex–St. Louisan who launched “Rocket 88”—and with it, some say, rock ’n’ roll—turns 75. Yet Ike Turner still sounds hale and hearty. “Everything is working the same, man,” he reports by phone from his California home. “I don’t feel my age.”
Born in 1931 in Clarksdale, Miss., Turner lived in the St. Louis area from 1954 to 1962. During that period he rocked such long-forgotten venues as the Harlem Club and the Kingsbury and met Anna Mae Bullock, who later became Tina Turner.
By that time, though, he’d already made musical history. Although details are still up for debate, legend has it that on a rainy road trip to Tennessee in March 1951, Turner and his Kings of Rhythm conceived a song about a hot Oldsmobile. Subsequently released on the Chess label, that song, “Rocket 88,” has been called the first rock number by various authorities—among them the legendary Sam Phillips, who mastered it at his Memphis Recording Service, the precursor to Sun Records.
Turner himself has long downplayed the song’s significance, ironically enough. Nonetheless, five years ago, on his acclaimed Here and Now, he reprised “Rocket 88” thrillingly—if reluctantly. “It was kinda strange, man,” he recalls. “I really didn’t want to do it, but the record company wanted us to.” He adds, almost grudgingly: “It turned out pretty good.”
Despite Turner’s years, his voice remains a pantherish purr, constantly verging on a chuckle, and, judging from his latest CD, Risin’ With the Blues, the Stratocaster and piano are still treating him kindly, too. Of that September Zoho Music release he speaks with enthusiasm and pride: “It shows that we do more than one thing. People want to classify you as doing one type of song, one type of style—and, man, we do everything.”
Beyond Risin’ With the Blues, he mentions working on projects with AC/DC and the Black Keys, as well as performing at Harlem’s famed Apollo Theater with the “virtual band” Gorillaz. “It went great, man,” Turner exclaims of that April performance. “It filled [the Apollo] up five days in a row—sold out!”
When asked what guidance he would give to a younger incarnation of himself in today’s musical maelstrom, Turner pauses thoughtfully. “Put your whole heart and soul in it, man,” he replies eventually, “and go for what you know.” After three-fourths of a century, Turner is still following his own advice.
