How Jews Birthed the Dog That Elvis Stole From Big Mama Thornton

Everything You Thought You Knew About “Hound Dog” Is Wrong.

On June 5, 1956, Elvis Presley exploded onto the 50s version of the culture wars with his performance of “Hound Dog” on the Steve Allen show. It wasn’t his first turn at national TV, but it was the first time he belted out his version of the song, swivelling his hips and swinging the mic in a simulacrum of sexual heat that thrilled the youths and enraged the adults. That performance catapulted Elvis into superstardom and cemented his image as a rebellious, electrifying force in (white) American music and culture.

But it wasn’t just the pelvis. “Hound Dog,” released as a single one month later, launched into the strotosphere, selling 10 million copies worldwide It was simultaneously number one on the US pop, country, and R&B charts. On the pop chart it stayed at #1 for 11 weeks—a record that stood for 36 years.

Not everybody was thrilled, however. Big Mama Thornton, the blues singer who had recorded the original version for a small Los Angeles label in 1953, said “He stole my song. But I don’t blame Elvis. I blame his manager.” However, in the restricted world of the blues, “Hound Dog” had done Big Mama well — at least in terms of her career. "Hound Dog," Thornton's only hit record, sold over 500,000 copies and spent 14 weeks in the R&B charts, seven of those at number one. Being Black and female, Thornton was cheated in the then routine manner of the times. "That song sold over two million records. I got one check for $500 and never saw another."

“Rhythm and Blues” was now the more acceptable appellation of what used to be called “race music.” Few whites heard “Hound Dog” in its original incarnation. In its original incarnation, “Hound Dog” was not about a dog. It was sung by a fed-up woman kicking her no-good boyfriend out of her life.

You ain't nothing but a hound dog

Quit snoopin' 'round my door

You ain't nothing but a hound dog

Quit snoopin' 'round my door

You can wag your tail

But I ain't gon' feed you no more

The song is squarely in the blues idiom, and Thornton brought the blues strain of female empowerment into the musical stew that birthed rock-and-roll. Four years later, the white genre transformed the black song. Elvis’ “Hound Dog” was faster, more pop-oriented, and lyrically neutered. “Hound Dog" shifted from a woman’s defiant blues to … a song about a dog.

You ain't nothin but a hound dog

Cryin all the Time.

You ain't nothin but a hound dog

Cryin all the time.

Well, you aint never caught a rabbit

And you ain't no friend of mine.

So far it’s a familiar tale of white appropriation of Black culture. But wait! Here come the Jews! In 1950, two Jewish teenagers in Los Angeles, Jerry Leiber (words) and Mike Stoller (music), discovered a shared passion for the blues and found immediate success with the scrum of small labels looking for materials for the Black artists they had signed or were managing. Their first big hit was “Hound Dog,” but by the age of 20, Leiber and Stoller had seen their songs recorded by Jimmy Witherspoon, Little Esther, Charles Brown, Little Willie Littlefield, and Ray Charles.

Where does this channeling of a Black musical sensibility come from? It’s rare, but it’s authentic when it happens. There are a few Jewish exemplars — Mezz Mezzrow, Benny Goodman — but the phenomenon isn’t confined to Jewish parentage. Johnny Otis, son of Greek immigrant parents who grew up in a predominantly black neighborhood in Berkeley, California, decided to live his professional and personal life as a member of the Black community.

Born in 1921, Johnny Otis was a major figure in the West Coast R&B scene of the 40s and 50s as a bandleader, talent scout, and producer. He had an eye an for fresh talent and was open to working with white writers who understood and respected Black music. Otis had already discovered or championed Etta James, Esther Phillips, and Little Esther. He saw that Big Mama Thornton had a commanding blues voice and stage style that could reach a national audience — but she didn’t yet have a hit.

In 1952, Otis brought Leiber and Stoller into the studio to work with Thornton. He asked the young songwriters to come up with material, and they wrote “Hound Dog” in 15 minutes, tailoring it to her bull dagger persona. Strangely enough, Thornton didn’t recognize the country-funky feel when she was handed the lead sheet. She began crooning. When Leiber tried to steer her in the right direction, she turned her fury intro a lewd joke. Otis stepped in and suggested that Stoller sing it the way the songwriters heard it. Thorton was ready to laugh at the white teenager trying to sing the blues, but, quoting from Stoller’s recollection, “Suddenly the joke was over. Big Mama heard how Jerry was singing the thing. She heard the rough-and-tumble of the song and, just as important, the implicit sexual humor. In short, she got it.”

So … two Jewish teenagers write and help a seasoned Black (probably queer) blues singer “get” the raunchy blues they had dashed off under the auspices of a Greek American who identified as Black. He produces and records “Hound Dog,” spawning a major success that eventually morphs into a monster hit for the avatar of the rising rock-and-roll genre, Elvis Presley, whose discoverer, Sam Phillips said, “If I could find a white man who had the Negro sound and the Negro feel, I could make a million dollars!”

Now if somebody could tease out where the cultural appropriation takes place, please send in your best diagrams.

--Dr. Robert Philipson

Read more about Dr. Robert Philipson's personal connection to this foray in The Family Dog

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