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Robben Ford’s impeccable spiderweb of rock’n’roll connections has been spun since the Californian guitarist made his first moves in the early 70s with The L.A. Express.
These days Ford’s main event is his solo career, and the reason for today’s chat with Classic Rock is his excellent, genre-blurring new album Two Shades Of Blue. But it’s the now 74-year-old’s long-running side-gig as a first-call gun for hire that makes him one of the scene’s finest storytellers – and with a broad grin and a coffee on the side, he’s happy to spin ten of his best.
Miles Davis
Mike Stern had left the band, so Miles was looking for a guitarist and I was told he was going to call me. So three days go by, and every time the phone rings I’m thinking it might be him. Finally, it was. And I never felt less cool than when I was talking to Miles Davis.
They sent me two cassettes of the band, and five days before I go out, Miles calls me again: “So, d’you learn that tune?” “Er, I think so.” And there’s this dead silence. Then he says [furious]: “Think?! What you mean, ‘think?!’” Suddenly he’s yelling. I just started laughing. I mean, I have Miles Davis yelling at me on the telephone, it just killed me. And he goes: “Don’t laugh!” I tried to calm him down: “Hey, Miles, don’t worry, I got it.” And he goes: “Well I hope you’re scared!”
His management gave me a red-eye ticket to DC. When it was time to go over to the show, I laid down in the back of the van, just curled up, sick with fear. We get to the gig, and I’m told: “Miles wants to see you.” As we’re approaching the dressing room, I hear his muted trumpet playing and my heart is in my throat. The door opens up and Miles grabs my arm, shakes me: “What are you gonna wear on stage?”
He’s incredulous, because I used to dress very conservatively when I travelled, in a little tie and loafers. Then he walks over to the mirror and starts fooling with his hair. He just goes: “See you on stage,” not even looking at me.
So we go out, the music starts, and it’s the fastest, loudest, most intense situation. I feel like I’m in a hurricane. He plays, [saxophonist] Bob Berg takes a solo, then it’s me. I put my head down, I play every possible note I can find on the guitar, as fast as I can. Then I look up, and Miles is standing right there, and he’s looking at me, and he just goes: [impressed] “Damn!”
Kiss
It’s preposterous that I would be invited to do that session [for 1982’s Creatures Of The Night]. Kiss were recording with a bunch of different guitar players, basically as an audition for who would replace Ace Frehley. I went to make some money, and it was, like, nine days. I would always show up in the evening, and I remember playing Donkey Kong until eventually they’re like: “Hey, we’re ready for you,” and I would go in and play guitar solos.
It was the loudest thing I’d ever done, and I just did what I could to replicate the vibe of their music. Gene Simmons was actually very cool with me. But one day, the producer says to me: “Hey Robben, Gene’s wondering if you can give him a lift to the hotel. I think he wants to talk to you about joining Kiss.”
I said: “Man, no, I’m going the other direction.” I just made up whatever I could. I certainly didn’t want to offend Gene, but I didn’t want to get in a car with him and talk about that. Y’know, the last thing I was ever gonna do was join Kiss. I mean, it wasn’t just the playing, I could have figured it out. There’s no way I’m gonna paint myself up and jump around like they do.
Do I think Gene is a musician or a businessman first? It’s about the money. It’s about the fame and all the things that come with it, for sure. I don’t want to talk out of school, but I remember him telling me stories about his bad behaviour. And he said: “So I guess I’m kind of an asshole.” I said: “No, man, I think you’re a teddy bear.” Because I really had that feeling personally about him. He was a total gentleman to me. And I could see that he was actually touched by me saying that.
Joni Mitchell
When Joni came into the studio she was just radiant, absolutely a goddess. I was kind of in awe of her. She starts showing us a song called Jericho, but every time somebody stopped her to ask, y’know: “What was that chord?” she’d start from the beginning and play the whole thing again. I think that was the first time I tried cocaine. Everybody was doing it. People would have a little vial around their neck with a spoon.
Years later, I was working on a solo record and I called her up: “Joni, would you be willing to write a song with me?” She says: “Well, no. But I’ll give you a little advice. Take your lyric, and anything you know is a cliché, circle it with a red pen and say it a different way.” That was fantastic advice.
George Harrison
I was touring with Joni Mitchell, and we did two shows in London in 1974. I’m hanging out backstage, and I turn around and standing before me is the album cover to All Things Must Pass – you know, he had the hair, hat, gardening boots, big plaid coat.
Next day, the whole band, including Joni, went out to his place in Henley-on-Thames. We got there about one in the afternoon – George was still asleep. At about four, he came into the kitchen, smoking a Gauloises, making tea – he only drank Typhoo.
Joni finally split, and at one in the morning the band all went up to the studio. Everyone had been drinking, smoking something, snorting something. So we’re all set up in the studio, and there’s a shelf running along all four walls of the control room, with a box of cocaine on every shelf. So if you felt like it, you just popped over, had a little toot and continued. And we did that until the sun came up.
Lowell George
Billy Payne [piano] invited me to record with Little Feat on Down On The Farm [1979]. I went out and played with them in this converted barn with a recording truck behind. It was just the band, no Lowell George. But at some point Lowell suddenly walks into the room. He’s been out there in this truck. And he was really a mess. Very drugged, maybe drunk, I don’t know. Everybody knew it. And he’d, like, stop things in the middle of the recording, and everybody’s like: “Come on, man, we’re playing!” I remember looking at him and thinking: “This guy’s gonna die.” I just had the intuition. And six months later, y’know, he died on the road.
Bob Dylan
I was contacted by Don Was, who was producing Under The Red Sky [1990]. I was the first guy to arrive, and I went into the recording room, set up my amp, and Dylan walks in. He’s wearing motorcycle boots, jogging pants, a ‘New York’ tee-shirt, hoodie, baseball cap, dark glasses. He just sits down on a stool like this [slumps]. Doesn’t say anything.
So I walk over and I say: “Hey, Bob, I’m Robben Ford, I’m playing guitar on your record today. I met you a long time ago when I was on tour with Joni Mitchell.” And he kinda lights up: “Ah, Joni, man!” But then he [slumps again]. Not another word. I’m just standing there, awkward as hell. So I say: “Also, I met you once again on tour with George Harrison.” And he goes: “Ah, George, man!” And then head down, nothing.
Fortunately, Don walked into the studio at that moment and took the heat off. But Dylan wasn’t even really talking to him. Don sat down cross-legged in front of him, and he asks Dylan: “Did you ever wonder: ‘Why me?’” Like, why is he the voice of a generation, et cetera. But Dylan just goes: “I dunno, man.”
Supersonic Blues Machine
In Supersonic Blues Machine, we’d go out individually before we all wound up on stage at the end. I remember Walter Trout couldn’t get his amp working. The frustration was palpable. He comes off and he’s, like, super-bummed out: “I just wanted to play my solo!” We all felt sorry for him, but it was also hysterical. Billy Gibbons and I were born on the same day. But I’ve never really had a ‘conversation’ with him. He’s one of those guys who has a lot to say. It’s like, you can’t even talk to him, because he’s talking to you!
Barry Manilow
Working with Barry was kinda fun. That was five days of recording and it was turned into an EP. He wanted me to tour with him. And it’s like, nah, that’s just not what I do. He hit on me. It’s not my scene, but once again, super-nice cat.
Bonnie Raitt
Bonnie’s a blast. The first time I worked with her was on Sweet Forgiveness [1977], before her big breakout. I remember I was doing the overdubs and my amp blew up. I’m like: “Oh no, this is horrible.” It was a panic moment – I was only twenty-four or something. But Bonnie’s like: “Hey, that actually sounds cool.” So that saved me.
Gregg Allman
We rehearsed for two weeks at Gregg’s house then went on the road. For me, it was nice to have an opportunity to play blues-based music with a first-class band. But they kept extending the dates. I had my own tour, and they were kinda pushing me. Gregg called me and said: “Look, man, if you don’t do it, there’s a lot of other guys who will.”
I felt kinda insulted. Like, what do you mean, “a lot of other guys”? I have some pride in what I do, y’know? There’s not a lot of other guys who do what I do. That was unfortunate. But I saw Gregg at Warren Haynes’s Christmas Jam and we became friends again.
Two Shades Of Blue is out now via Provogue/Artone.
