Out on Lauderdale Street it’s a sleepy Wednesday afternoon, but the parking lot at Royal Studio is full. From inside the front door, I can hear the throbbing sound of deep soul music coming over the house speakers. Mad Lad John Gary Williams is engrossed in a conversation with Skip Pitts, Isaac Hayes’ hard-hitting wah-wah guitarist, while Willie Mitchell, the studio’s owner, listens bemusedly from behind his desk. Poppa Willie sits with his shoes off, feet propped up on the desktop, eyes closed, half-paying attention, but it’s a trick: catch his attention, and he’ll react like a rattlesnake ready to strike.

“I got a share in a detail shop,” Skip says to John Gary. “Tell ‘em you’re a musician, and you can get your car detailed for thirty bucks.” Poppa Willie’s ears prick up when he hears the low price. “Let me see what your car looks like,” he demands in a lazy high tenor, swinging his feet off the desk and standing for the first time all afternoon. We walk to the door to gaze at a shiny black Cadillac, one of two parked on the curb outside. “A day ago, you couldn’t even tell those were whitewalls,” Skip says, as Poppa Willie nods his approval. “Might have to take my Rolls over there,” he says coolly, making his way back to his post. “Oh yeah, the guys would dig that,” I hear Skip enthuse, as I walk further into the building, feeling my way down the movie theater’s gentle slope to the control room.

It’s April 2003, and the Bo-Keys are in the studio. In the grand old Memphis soul tradition, the group is cutting live on the floor, building a complex melody off a single riff, playing off each other’s ideas until the very air is thick with sweat and harmonies. Stax veteran Willie Hall is pounding the skins, a wallet taped to the head of his snare drum to muffle the snap, while Ronnie Williams sits hunched over his organ, coaxing giant-sounding chords from the well-worn instrument. Bassist Scott Bomar rocks back on his heels, finding his own space in the groove, as trumpeter Marc Franklin, saxophonist Jim Spake and percussionist Hector Diaz sit, relaxed, waiting for the song to gel before punctuating the beat with their sound.

Finally, Skip walks onto the floor, plugging in his guitar, and the group is ready to go. They run through the track for engineer Archie Mitchell, then, just before he starts rolling tape, Poppa Willie glides on into the room. Willie’s eyes are bright, and he’s all smiles as he grabs a seat behind the mixing board. “This is it,” he says, and Archie flips power to the two-inch recorder. Just like that, The Royal Sessions have begun.

-- Andria Lisle, Memphis Tennessee

99 South Second Street, Suite A-277, Memphis TN 38103 - info@yellowdogrecords.com