A Brief History Of Ross Rice
I was born Ross Fullerton Willhite on March 11, 1962, in Gouverneur, New York, to parents Richard Willhite and Marion Smith, who divorced two years later due to Dick’s severe drinking problem. Marion ("Mimi") remarried Richard Rice, a recent divorcee with two boys (Shane and Devin), soon after. I was thus renamed Ross Allen Rice. The union was soon sealed with the birth of Timyn in 1967. The family moved to Mormon-infested Salt Lake City soon after, and then returned to New Hampshire, whereupon they become the town "hippies" (due to their long hair and legendary cast parties...Rich and Mimi both heavily involved in the theatre), living in a remodeled 40-room inn. Loud noises were permissible at all hours without bugging anyone, so the rock got rolled. Shane had a Fender Mustang, and had game on Jumping Jack Flash. I joined in on drums, a gig was booked at the community center, people showed up, and they even paid! We rocked the house, and at the end of the gig, my brother handed me 15 bucks. Girls looked at me a lot differently after that gig, which is saying a lot given that I was the scrawniest, greasy longhaired, smallest, straight-A student jockmeat that walked the halls. The jocks quit fucking with me too; there was something inherently physical about drumming that all jocks instinctively respect, and I could do it better than they could! This was the first big fork in the road, the radical divergence. For about two weeks, I felt like I might be "cool." This doesn’t happen very often.
I ended up going to prep school at Northfield Mount Hermon, my dad’s alma mater. It took awhile, but soon I had my groove on. I was getting good grades, my social life was good, and I finally had a girlfriend. I sorta made a funny decision at that time. I actually sat myself down, and asked myself point-blank what it was I wanted to do most with my life. I was 16, thought I was 18, and being a German interpreter at the U.N. was looking less and less attractive, thanks to a hateful German teacher. I opted for the one thing that I could do, day and night, and not get tired of - something I felt I was good at, that didn’t seem like work. Music it was. Shortly after this epiphany, things started unraveling. I was caught with weed in a freak bust in my dorm room, (took the rap for four other guys, thank you very much), and was sent home. "Home" happened to have become Memphis, Tennessee, in the interim. I had helped my folks move there the previous summer. Elvis died while we were en route. Bad Omen. I found myself in an arts magnet school in Memphis called Overton. If I had really wanted music, I had come to the right place. That was fork in the road #2, and it was a mother. Culture shock lasted a year and a half.
Being surrounded by bad-ass musicians and artists in a 50/50 black/white mix had me off my ass and getting real about my craft. I was primarily a drummer/percussionist, with a compositional bent. I graduated from high school and matriculated into the University of Memphis, where I majored in Music Composition and studied with mentor extraordinaire, Dr. Donald Freund. I wrote choral pieces, woodwind quintets, string quartets, and a brass quintet using Beach Boys melodies. I graduated Summa Cum Laude in 1983. With some gift money I bought a Korg Poly 61 synthesizer, rather than update my drum kit. Within three days I was contacted for a gig. I was never asked if I could play the damn thing, simply whether or not I possessed one! Fork Number 3. Thus began my career as a professional keyboardist, a decision I have on occasion viewed with some chagrin. Drums are much more fun!
My first few gigs were with a bi-racial fusion/R&B outfit featuring some of the town’s best musicians. I had to get up to speed quick! The clubs were mostly upscale black clubs. One night I got introduced to Phineas Newborn Jr. - I didn’t really realize at the time, but I had met one of my heroes-to-be. Meanwhile, I was in a punk band, a reggae band, even a chitlin circuit band. I was making up for lost time, as I had refused to play out while in college. Soon, I got with Fingerprint, a 6 piece rock/funk group which based its philosophy on Prince, Mothers Finest, and Hendrix. Purple Rain was king at the time, so it seemed like a good time for a black (minus 1) band to cross over into rock. We were scouted by Motown, and ended up spending a month in Hollywood working with Kerry Ashby Gordy, son of you-know-who, who proceeded to undo all vestiges of "rock" from our sound. Production advice was received from none other than Norman Whitfield. Three months later, we were called...welcome to the Motown family! Three weeks later, all new acts are dropped or suspended indefinitely. Hello, Goodbye. We picked up 3 months in Singapore, and came back to find...nothing. I had had enough. Two years was my limit without significant improvement. Plus we sucked at songwriting. My college pal Steve Ebe had a little something for me, if I was interested...
You better believe I was interested. The band was called the Coolers, featuring Duck Dunn on bass, latter-year Stax mainstay Bobby Manuel on guitar, my buddy Steve on drums (later replaced by Steve Potts, who would go on to become the full-time drummer for Booker T. and the MG’S, Wynonna, and CSN), and Memphis legends Jim Spake on sax, and Gary (Love) Johns on vocals. We held down a regular weekend gig downtown for good money (at least it was to me), and subsequently I got to jam with all sorts of folks coming through: Ron Wood, Joe Walsh, George Thorogood, Billy Joel, Jerry Lee Lewis, John Sebastian, Tony Joe White, the Fabulous Thunderbirds, Paul Shaffer, Dan Aykroyd, and Bryan Adams all sat in at one time or another. Albert King, who played across the way at Peabody Alley, came over on his break sometimes. Rufus Thomas took over the house when he popped in for a visit. Steve Cropper played with us on several occasions. I got my Stax education, and then some. I got to back up Charlie Rich at a big Elvis tribute in Atlantic City. Also on the bill were Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins, Charlie McCoy, and the Jordannaires. Cosmically legendary backstage hang. I was treated as a fellow Memphis "brother" that night. I can quit this shit anytime I want to thanks to them.
Duck quit, the band got stale, and I was ready to do my own thing, so I got out. I helped start a band called FreeWorld in ‘87, which, amazingly enough, is still around to this day! But that wasn’t it. Kye Kennedy, super guitarist and my best friend from high school, was back from San Francisco and available. With Steve Ebe on drums and his roommate Steve Arnold on bass, we soon found Peter Hyrka on violin and mandolin. The particulars of this sordid tale are available for your perusal elsewhere on this site.
Suffice it to say, Human Radio was a long groovy ride that deposited me burned out, broke, and cutting lower-tier demos for the Nashville "country" music-publishing machine. At the beginning of the ride, coinciding with the release of Human Radio, my daughter Amelia was born. Being gone a lot that first year of her life was the hardest part of the deal, by far. At the end of the ride, my son Dylan was born in Nashville. As much as I enjoyed being in the company of a high density of creative people, I found the overwhelming presence of COUNTRY to be too much. Good fortune led me to Brad Jones, a kindred spirit and well-respected musician, songwriter, engineer, and producer. Through Brad and his studio partner Robin Eaton, I got a fair amount of session work at Alex the Great studio. I managed to get a new publishing deal at Sony/Tree, and did all my own demos at Alex, which had just been completed (carpentry courtesy of the MC5’s Wayne
Kramer). I worked with Jill Sobule, Tommy Womack, and Swan Dive, while commuting frequently to Memphis to play and produce various Memphis groups like Big Ass Truck and Straight Up Buzz, as well as Murfreesboro’s Fl.Oz. After my publishing contract expired, I saw no reason to stay in Nashville. I wanted to own a house, and didn’t like Nashville enough for that house to be there. It’s hard to explain, but sometimes, especially if you’ve lived there awhile, Memphis has a funny gravitational pull.
Just before I left for Memphis, I played an opening gig at 12th and Porter. An unmistakable presence lurked in the background. After what I thought was a pretty good show, despite some nerves, I found myself at the back of the room talking to Steve Earle, whom I was sure had come for the headliner. Ray Kennedy had given him a copy of my stuff, and he liked it enough to see if I’d be interested in signing with his new label. Getting props for my songs from a guy like Steve was a big high, so I couldn’t resist. He liked the demos I did at Alex just fine, so, with minimal tweaking, we mixed Umpteen at Room and Board (Ray and Steve’s studio). The E-Squared label did a great job of getting available radio and distribution, but, being the "pop" act on an essentially Americana label (guess I’m too "un-Americana"!), there were no coattails to ride. I busted ass and maxed out credit cards trying to break the Southeast, oddly enough the area in which I fared most poorly in radio adds. The label, having not finalized their deal with Warner Brothers, didn’t have the money to push it further, and there you have it. Not real happy about it, but certainly not bitter. Definitely no regrets.
At this point, I was pretty burned out on the "artist" trip. I got more into production - mostly local Memphis acts, but I also did a record for a Japanese artist on Sony named Miyako Shinohara. The Human Radio guys were requested for backup, and we had a great time culturally colliding, ending up in a brief tour of Japan. During the following years, I enjoyed the contract labor side of the music business, touring as a sideman with Todd Snider, Kim Richey, and later an East Coast version of the group Banyan (which, on the West Coast, consisted of Stephen Perkins from Jane’s Addiction, Mike Watt, and Nels Cline). Our version had Stephen, Rob Wasserman (formerly of Ratdog), some other fine Memphis players, and me. I also played on several records with the likes of Steve Earle, Steve Forbert, Amy Rigby, Tim Easton, and Vince Bell. These and various Memphis gigs have, along with an active family life, kept me busy, though not particularly wealthy. Folks have asked me if I feel bad about not having had more "success" in the music business. Well, I used to, but I’ve changed my mantra to this: In this business, Survival is Success.
I started to get the "funny itch" again a year or so ago. I had stopped writing for awhile...just didn’t FEEL like it. Anyway, I started getting ideas again, and getting them down. I have had the good fortune to find a fantastic band, comprising of Steve Selvidge (formerly of Big
Ass Truck, now of the Bloodthirsty Lovers), Harry Peel, and Jonathan Wires. We’ve been holding down a regular Thursday gig in Memphis at the
Blue Monkey. No pressure, no "let’s go get the Big Deal." I reacquainted myself with an old friend who was instrumental in getting Human Radio off the ground, and he agreed to fund the recording of a new CD, working title Dwight (my nickname in one of my earlier R&B groups, short for "D’ White Boy"). Tracks were cut live in Memphis with the band (plus the illustrious Brad Jones), and are scheduled for mixing before the end of ’03. Meanwhile, life goes on, kids grow up. Recently, I finished production duties on two very cool Memphis records, both on the Archer label: the Gamble Brothers’ Back To The Bottom, and Kelley Hurt’s Raindance. Real musicians playing real music - what a novel concept! I’ve also been doing some light touring with pop/country artist Jamie O’Neal, as well as production for Atlanta group Radio Daze.
If you’ve read this far, you obviously actually give a shit. Thanks for being there, and I hope you enjoy the upcoming stuff. Feel
free to write me care of this page. I ain’t no rockstar with personnel at beck and call. I’d love to hear from you. Peace.
- Ross Rice
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