Biography
Bobby Lee Trammell fell short of the lasting renown achieved by Jerry Lee Lewis or Little Richard, yet any shortfall stemmed from neither shortage of ambition nor restraint in performance. During an era when Elvis had grown tamer and Jerry Lee faced professional setbacks, Trammell persisted with unapologetic hip-shaking, raw and raucous rock & roll, and deliberate avoidance of ballads. Born in the early 1940s as one of four children to Wiley and Mae Trammell, owners of a cotton farm near Jonesboro, Arkansas, he inherited musical talent directly—his father had performed professionally on fiddle while his mother served as organist for the local church. Church music drew him strongly, yet country also captivated him; he tuned in religiously to the Grand Ole Opry broadcasts and, beyond that, developed a fascination with Black gospel, occasionally slipping away to observe services at the nearby Black Pentecostal church. While still in high school he performed country material and nursed dreams of a singing career, prospects that stayed distant until Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins appeared nearby; Perkins allowed him to join the band for a song and afterward urged Trammell to approach Sam Phillips at Sun Records.
Contact with Phillips proved fleeting, a direct result of what Trammell himself later acknowledged as youthful immaturity. He headed west, secured work at the Ford plant in Long Beach, California, and continued pursuing a recording deal until a carnival appearance by Bobby Bare gave him an opening. Trammell persuaded Bare to grant him stage time for several numbers, displaying gyrations that matched the intensity of early Elvis Presley. Lefty Frizzell witnessed the set and invited him to audition at the Jubilee Ballroom in Baldwin Park, California; Trammell secured the opening slot on a bill featuring Frizzell, Freddie Hart, and Johnny Cash. Regular bookings followed, and he soon cultivated a teenage following within the largely country crowd for seventy-five dollars weekly. Malibu manager Fabor Robison caught one performance and extended an offer to launch a recording career.
In November 1957, barely two months later, Trammell recorded the original single “Shirley Lee” backed with “I Sure Do Love You, Baby” at Robison’s home studio, supported by guitarist James Burton and bassist James Kirkland, both then members of Bob Luman’s band. Issued on Robison’s Fabor label, the record attracted enough notice for ABC Paramount to lease the master for national distribution. Though it never registered major chart impact, “Shirley Lee” reportedly moved nearly a quarter-million copies and entered the repertoire of another emerging West Coast rocker, Ricky Nelson. Trammell also received an audition for The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, yet producers rejected him for being too raw a rock & roller; shortly afterward, in youthful inexperience, he dismissed Nelson’s interest in any new songs he might write, allowing substantial royalties—still an unfamiliar concept—to slip away.
A subsequent original, “You Mostest Girl,” nearly cost him the contract during its troubled first session. Robison initially hired an orchestra and chorus, but Trammell could not deliver convincingly in that non-rock setting, prompting near cancellation. Robison soon corrected course and permitted a redo with a five-piece band, yet neither this release nor the follow-up “My Susie J—My Susie Jane” reached the charts. After Robison retired in 1959, Trammell’s contract transferred to the smaller Warrior label; by then he had largely exhausted opportunities on the West Coast and California country circuit, owing chiefly to the ferocity of his stage manner and ongoing immaturity. Whereas Presley had reacted with surprise and caution to audience responses to his hip movements, Trammell reveled in the screams, executing motions one country promoter deemed far more provocative than Presley’s early work; he further amplified crowd energy by ripping off clothing, leaping atop the piano, and inciting spectators at a moment when authorities sought to temper rock & roll. A mishandled practical joke and protest that left him dangling from a collapsing broadcast tower, rescued by police, rendered him unemployable throughout California.
Returning to Arkansas, he soon tarnished his standing there as well through an escalating rivalry with Jerry Lee Lewis, then eclipsed as a rock star and attempting a country-music comeback; the feud culminated in Trammell vandalizing the piano Lewis was scheduled to play. By 1960 no clubs would book him and no disc jockeys would spin his discs on ever-smaller regional labels, eventually forcing him to press his own recordings and sell LPs from the trunk of his car. In an interview with Wallis he recalled declining licensing offers from major companies including the then-new Warner Bros., Columbia, and Dot—the latter an ironic potential home given its association with Pat Boone. When the British Invasion arrived, he grew his hair long and continued charting his own course, especially in Nashville, cutting vigorous, uncompromised rock & roll, primarily for the Sims label, and even venturing into soul-flavored sides. During the 1970s he shifted toward country music, performing and recording in that style with respectable success. In the 1980s he sought to capitalize on the flourishing European rock & roll revival that was delivering strong paydays to surviving members of Bill Haley’s Comets, yet the attempt proved unsuccessful.
Contact with Phillips proved fleeting, a direct result of what Trammell himself later acknowledged as youthful immaturity. He headed west, secured work at the Ford plant in Long Beach, California, and continued pursuing a recording deal until a carnival appearance by Bobby Bare gave him an opening. Trammell persuaded Bare to grant him stage time for several numbers, displaying gyrations that matched the intensity of early Elvis Presley. Lefty Frizzell witnessed the set and invited him to audition at the Jubilee Ballroom in Baldwin Park, California; Trammell secured the opening slot on a bill featuring Frizzell, Freddie Hart, and Johnny Cash. Regular bookings followed, and he soon cultivated a teenage following within the largely country crowd for seventy-five dollars weekly. Malibu manager Fabor Robison caught one performance and extended an offer to launch a recording career.
In November 1957, barely two months later, Trammell recorded the original single “Shirley Lee” backed with “I Sure Do Love You, Baby” at Robison’s home studio, supported by guitarist James Burton and bassist James Kirkland, both then members of Bob Luman’s band. Issued on Robison’s Fabor label, the record attracted enough notice for ABC Paramount to lease the master for national distribution. Though it never registered major chart impact, “Shirley Lee” reportedly moved nearly a quarter-million copies and entered the repertoire of another emerging West Coast rocker, Ricky Nelson. Trammell also received an audition for The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, yet producers rejected him for being too raw a rock & roller; shortly afterward, in youthful inexperience, he dismissed Nelson’s interest in any new songs he might write, allowing substantial royalties—still an unfamiliar concept—to slip away.
A subsequent original, “You Mostest Girl,” nearly cost him the contract during its troubled first session. Robison initially hired an orchestra and chorus, but Trammell could not deliver convincingly in that non-rock setting, prompting near cancellation. Robison soon corrected course and permitted a redo with a five-piece band, yet neither this release nor the follow-up “My Susie J—My Susie Jane” reached the charts. After Robison retired in 1959, Trammell’s contract transferred to the smaller Warrior label; by then he had largely exhausted opportunities on the West Coast and California country circuit, owing chiefly to the ferocity of his stage manner and ongoing immaturity. Whereas Presley had reacted with surprise and caution to audience responses to his hip movements, Trammell reveled in the screams, executing motions one country promoter deemed far more provocative than Presley’s early work; he further amplified crowd energy by ripping off clothing, leaping atop the piano, and inciting spectators at a moment when authorities sought to temper rock & roll. A mishandled practical joke and protest that left him dangling from a collapsing broadcast tower, rescued by police, rendered him unemployable throughout California.
Returning to Arkansas, he soon tarnished his standing there as well through an escalating rivalry with Jerry Lee Lewis, then eclipsed as a rock star and attempting a country-music comeback; the feud culminated in Trammell vandalizing the piano Lewis was scheduled to play. By 1960 no clubs would book him and no disc jockeys would spin his discs on ever-smaller regional labels, eventually forcing him to press his own recordings and sell LPs from the trunk of his car. In an interview with Wallis he recalled declining licensing offers from major companies including the then-new Warner Bros., Columbia, and Dot—the latter an ironic potential home given its association with Pat Boone. When the British Invasion arrived, he grew his hair long and continued charting his own course, especially in Nashville, cutting vigorous, uncompromised rock & roll, primarily for the Sims label, and even venturing into soul-flavored sides. During the 1970s he shifted toward country music, performing and recording in that style with respectable success. In the 1980s he sought to capitalize on the flourishing European rock & roll revival that was delivering strong paydays to surviving members of Bill Haley’s Comets, yet the attempt proved unsuccessful.
Albums
Singles
