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Fade up to circa 1957, on another Paramount, the Brooklyn Paramount. The theater was a vast Rococo movie house with two balconies and a latticework ceiling at a height that dwarfed planetariums. The place was an immensely popular fixture in Brooklyn's downtown business district, and in the '50's, became the steady venue for Alan Freed's rock 'n' roll shows. Freed had coined the phrase "rock 'n' roll" while a DJ in Cleveland and brought it to WINS Radio in New York. Instant register. He then merged that which he had named with vaudeville. About four times a year, anyone could catch six or so of the hottest groups on the charts live and in person on the stage of the Brooklyn Paramount. With any luck at all Freed himself and a Tony Curtis movie was bonus material. There in the dark of the second balcony, one could even consummate a relationship. On the night Jerry Lee Lewis came to the Brooklyn Paramount. "Whole Lotta Shakin'" was already a monster hit. I liked "Whole Lotta Shakin'" a lot. But when I saw him do it on American Bandstand, when that piano bench went flying like he'd left it behind, when this smiling, snarling redneck pounded that piano into doing his will, there was a shift in the universe. A new facet of freedom emerged. Gotta see this guy. Even if it's just a couple numbers. The other acts were groups, guys and girls, with smooth, tight, street corner harmonies. The Sherelles were there, and The Silhouettes did "Get A Job." Good Doo-Wop and Shoo-Bop and hand clapping. Happy times among the leather jackets and saddle shoes and nothing too threatening. The couples who got up simply to dance, however, were quickly broken up and reseated by ushers in uniforms resembling those of a German Field Marshall. There was, of course, a certain clashing of attitudes although no confrontations. But surliness in the Brooklyn of then came with a price.  Sun Records' icons Lewis, Elvis, Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins. Jerry Lee was on next to closing and hit the stage with a presence that changed the vibe in the room and the air along with it. He opened with "Great Balls Of Fire," making it a one-on-one come on to every woman in the house. You took ma' love an' you thought it was funny......you came along an' moooooved me honey....! Sneerin' at 'em....Leerin' at 'em. You broke mah will, but whatta thriiiilll! The women began that keening sound, controlled but close to the edge. And the guys were instructed as to raw relations, learning to say what needs to be said to their ladies. When The Killer finished "Breathless," the crowd was completely absorbed in the moment and in audible anticipation of what they knew would come next. Ask Jerry Lee what resides at the core of his musical creativity, and he'll answer "Ah got thunda' in ma' left hand." Under the high arched proscenium, glaring in sensual defiance, that left hand thundered, at length, the hard, infectious, boog–woogie intro chords of "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On." And when this merciless, Rock-A-Billy seducer at last delivered ca' mahn ovah baybee, whole lotta shakin goin' on! every soul was, at last, liberated. What happened next, even in retrospect, had to be seen to be believed. No one could hold still, and the crowd flooded the aisles from the floor to the balconies with intent. The ushers were as out-numbered and out-fought as the Panzer Division at Tobruk. At some point in all of this, an eon before Hendrix, The Killer, who had once considered a Pentecostal ministry, had set fire to his piano, climbed atop of it and, mike in hand, taking his space amid the flames, growled out shake it baybee shake!....shake it baybee shake!....shake it jes' one time fo' jerrah lee! By then they were tearing bolted-down seats out of the floor. And there he stood, everything raging around him, one with the Gods. All that wild blond hair flying about like lightening bolts out of his forehead. Like Zeus would have looked had he been a cracker. When Jerry Lee was first approached about "Last Man Standing" he was reluctant. He didn't think anyone remembered him that well. Producer Steve Bing who had obsessed about Lewis during the years was persistent enough to coax The Killer into the studio. In the course of its evolution, "Last Man Standing" became a duet concept with every root, rock 'n' roll to brown dirt Country honored. The line up goes from Springsteen to Jagger to Neil Young, George Jones, Merle Haggard, and Tobey Keith. BB King, an early source of Jerry Lee's inspiration, Clapton, Little Richard, and Ringo are flavors. The work is inspired. At 72, Jerry Lee Lewis' voice is clear, strong and, as always, capable of octave change not found elsewhere. There are no ragged notes. None. His work at the piano may well be his best ever, transcending brilliance with the keyboard, brought to heel like The Lone Ranger and Silver, like The Killer's loving and compliant accomplice and ready for anything. Glisandos to bring Franz Lizt in on the sessions.
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