Addiction is addiction. As Shannon describes his descent back into nonstop indulgence, an ashen, shell-shocked expression comes over his face. But he once again set himself up for salvation.
"When I met my wife, Kumi, I didn't realize for months that I was in love with her. I'd go out and meet a girl, be with her one night, forget about her. But I kept remembering Kumi."
Kumi Shannon comes from a military family. She never got high or drank or smoked. This amazed Tommy: She saw through the haze and liked him. "Thank God she could do that," he says. Stevie was best man at their 1986 wedding. "Shortly after that, Stevie and I got cleaned up."
The band was in Europe. "Stevie started vomiting blood. Two days later we were in his room just drinking after a gig, 'cause you don't go out hunting cocaine in Germany. And he turned white, started sweating. He went to the hospital. And we knew that was the bottom. We canceled our tour. He checked himself into Charter Lane Hospital in Georgia. I checked myself into Charter Lane in Austin the same time. It'd never work if we weren't separated. We got clean and sober. Everything changed. It was a miracle."
Shannon recites the 12-Step Program from AA, which worked for him: "You had to hit bottom, become totally powerless and helpless and full of despair before you could break through and find a life, a way out. Which comes from a power greater than yourself. Stevie was sober when he died. Four years of sobriety. We were playin' better, our ideas blossoming. I helped write 'Crossfire,' came up with that riff. I've got over 10 years of sobriety now. I'd rehabbed on my own. Cops didn't drag me in."
Having defeated his demons, Shannon met disaster once again. He was on one of a convoy of helicopters flying back to Chicago from Wisconsin's Alpine Valley Music Theater in 1990, where Vaughan opened for and played with Eric Clapton. "We got there first, and I went to my room, got a call about six in the morning that Stevie's helicopter had gone down, no survivors. The best friend I ever had in my life. Lost him and the career. But this time was different. It's strange, I had no desire to go drink or get high. Every year you get a chip for however many years you've been clean and sober. Every year I get my chip, and I get him one too, and give it to his mom."
About five years ago the Stones called Shannon when auditioning for Bill Wyman's replacement. "They flew me up first-class. I played 'Start Me Up,' 'Brown Sugar,' 'Tumbling Dice,' about 10 songs at SIR studios in New York. This is the Rolling Stones; they don't have to bullshit nobody. Some of the bass players would come in and play only one song. I was there playin' 90 minutes. I had a blast, and you could see they were having fun. Even though I didn't get the gig, it was one of the greatest experiences of my life."
As with Uncle John Turner, Shannon forged a rhythm partnership with Chris "Whipper" Layton. After SRV, they both joined the Arc Angels with noticeably younger members Doyle Bramhall II and Charlie Sexton. "The idea was to play a few gigs around town. But people packed the clubs goin' nuts. So Geffen flew down an A&R guy. We did a lot of rehearsals, did our record." A bittersweet experience, Shannon cites "internal conflicts" as having destroyed the rising band within 18 months. "If we stayed together, we'd probably be rich by now."
At present, Shannon and Layton are like road warriors in twilight, trying to make Storyville ignite beyond its fanatic Austin base. Thirty years after playing with a white albino, Shannon's current band is fronted by black albino, Malford Milligan. "I don't like being on the road anymore," declares Shannon. "Been there, done that, seen that, so to speak. My whole idea of enjoyment is different. I'd like to do studio work. But I'll never quit playing as long as I live, that's like breathing."
His foundation comes from the '60s, when music shaped people's lives the way World War II did the previous generation: "It breaks my heart; I feel sorry for young kids today. Music is so disposable now, so totally oversaturated. It's just business. People have totally lost touch with what it's really all about, the love of music."
Still, when Shannon acknowledges a young guitarist--like the adolescent Stevie Ray, the young Winter--people should perhaps take heed. Shannon and Layton recorded an album with Kenny Wayne Shepherd. "He's 19, this guy Johnny Lang is 16, another guy in town here, Guitar Jay, I think he's 16. He's incredible--I first played with him when he was seven years old at Ann Richards' Inaugural Ball. Give 'em a chance, what do they expect of 'em at this age?" Shannon says, still taking young gunslingers seriously when few other professionals will.
"I also got to play with Clapton, the Stones, Jeff Beck, Little Richard, can you imagine that?" he marvels, like some provincial musician. I point out something that seems to elude Tommy Shannon: They also got to play with him.
