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Nothing Personal
Everybody wants a piece of "The Body"
Nevada brothel to commemorate governor's visit; Brooke Shields' biological clock's a-rockin'; Stiller and Garofalo didn't do it -- really. Plus: Exciting results of Gore vs. Bradley cockroach race.
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People Feature
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At 87, America's most famous and influential chef is about to serve up a new book and a new TV series, and again take us into her culinary embrace.
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[08/20/99]

Nothing Personal
Of plummeting pants and racing roaches
Charlize Theron: "I drop trou all the time ..."; a couple of cockroaches named Gore and Bradley; Hef sez: Thumbs down on Nick Cage. Plus: Newt spares no expense on his horn-blowin' honey.
By Amy Reiter
[08/19/99]

Rogues' Gallery
Tony: Portrait of a cereal killer
When hot tubs are outlawed; what if God was a doper? Son of Sam killer not lookin' back; and the importance of knowing where your wallet is at all times.
By Douglas Cruickshank
[08/19/99]

Nothing Personal
Gulp! Deep Throat disclosure hard to swallow
Limelight-lovin' 19-year-old uses anagrams to "unmask" mysterious Watergate source; Marilyn Quayle disses Dubya. Plus: Busted! "Dick" star's fans defend breast boasting.
By Amy Reiter
[08/18/99]

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Bad cult -- charismatic psycho, wonky Kool-Aid, advice from the Voices in My Head ™ Financial Group.

Good cult -- "Uno, dos ... One, Two, Tres, Quatro!"

Ever since "Wooly Bully," which blasts off with the above incantatory countdown, rocketed up the charts in 1965, the wild, turban-wearing organ player who fronted the Pharaohs has maintained a loyal group of fans. If you're determined to be a cult follower, you might as well say "amen" to the righteous word of Sam the Sham.

The man behind one of the most enduring party classics in rock 'n' roll history will probably always be seen by some as a minor cult figure or, worse, a one-hit wonder (although Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs actually hit the top 10 twice, the second time with the underrated novelty "L'il Red Riding Hood"). But for fans who saw him rip it up in Louisiana roadhouses years before "Wooly Bully," or struggled to convert friends to the groundbreaking 1970 LP "Sam Hard and Heavy," there was no sham about it -- Sam was always the real deal.

And still is. Tell the Dallas-born rock legend -- real name, Domingo Samudio --that he's had an interesting life, and you'd better stand back. "Is it over?" he replies in mock outrage. "Are you the guy who's come to punch my ticket?"

Uh-no, hell no. But Salon People wanted a story on your career and ...

"And you told them, 'Up your nose -- gimme somebody hot, like Ricky Martin! Are ya tryin' to make me an archaeologist?'"

Had I said that, it would make me the biggest fool since the Decca A&R man who passed on the Beatles. Because whatever else he might be, Domingo Samudio is one of the great interviews in pop music. He's also a neglected piece of the rock 'n' roll mosaic, according to admirers like Ry Cooder (who included Samudio on the 1982 soundtrack to "The Border") and his longtime friend, writer and Rolling Stones biographer Stanley Booth. "He's a great blues singer, an incredible live performer," Booth says. "He's a great poet."

Maybe you don't think so. Maybe you're about to cite the loopy lyrics of "Wooly Bully" as evidence for your disbelief:

Matty told Hatty about a thing she saw.
Had two big horns and a wooly jaw.
Wooly bully, wooly bully ...

But the Pharaohs' recorded rave-ups do not prepare you for the dry, laconic eloquence of Sam the Sham engaged in pleasant conversation. Booth remembers a long-ago visit when Samudio caught him at the tail end of an epic frozen-gin-and-Librium bender. "How ya doin'?" he the asked writer.

"Sam," Booth replied groggily, "I've been down under the table for three weeks."

"Well, you know," drawled Samudio, "that ol' rattlesnake's got to get down and coil before he can strike."

"I felt better right away," Booth says now.

Domingo Samudio first came to Memphis in the late 1950s. The man who would later be known for his campy onstage attire of robe and turban (inspiring one of the great tribute album names, Norton Records' 1994 release "Turban Renewal"), hit town in the uniform of the U.S. Navy. He would be back. "Oh man," Samudio recalls, "I bounced off this muddy riverbank so many times, I feel like a hand ball. And just like a hand ball, I'd get stuck in the mud sometimes."

His brother wanted Samudio to be a lawyer, even offering to pay his way through school. The future Sham had other plans. "College wasn't moving fast enough for me," he says. Eventually, his brother reluctantly came around to Samudio's dream of a music career, sending him off with some parting advice not found in Shakespeare: "Remember this -- you can make a living raising cockroaches if you work hard at it. If nothing else, people will pay you to stop raising them."

Samudio even bought an organ to make himself a more attractive addition to any prospective group. The fact that he couldn't play it struck him as only a minor problem. "I could sing," he reasons, "and I could sham."

The "Sham" nickname was, on one level, an inside reference by bandmates to Samudio's lack of organ-playing skill. But "shamming" was also slang for the practice of shimmying, jiving and cutting up, stage antics for which the young Texan was already noted. Although Samudio had already formed a version of the Pharaohs back in Texas, his early musical experiences in Louisiana came with Andy and the Nightriders. Recently, Samudio uncovered tapes of that band performing live at the Congo Club in 1963. "They're raw," he says with obvious excitement. "Kickin' stuff. You can hear the action."

Lots of action in those Louisiana clubs. At one lively spot, Samudio remembers, "A band had been there that someone didn't like, and they threw a dynamite cap under the end of the building where the bandstand was. It blew the Shure mike right through the ceiling. The band left that night."

Next page | When the Nightriders hit Memphis