Studio engineer Bert Frilot, who was involved with thousands of classic blues and R&B recordings of the last half of the 20th Century, died of an apparent heart attack on Saturday, October 31, in Bridge City, TX, returning home from a fishing expedition. He was sixty years old.

Certainly not a household name in music circles, but this affable and self-effacing technician of the highest order was a personal witness to an enormous amount of recorded history and had a hand in the creative process of not only the flowering of New Orleans R&B but later soul, C&W, and all varieties of Tex-Mex hybrids. Like many of his profession, he was never given proper credit during his lifetime for his expertise and patience in handling difficult situations such as recalcitrant artists, archaic or obstinate equipment, or overbearing producers in order that the session could be accomplished with the best results. And many fans of all genres of music should be grateful to him for his legacy, the prodigious inventory of recordings that have been ascribed to him.

Bert Frilot was born April 24, 1939 in uptown New Orleans in the Audubon Park area. His father found a position at Kaiser Aluminum when Bert was twelve and moved the family to the far eastern suburb of Chalmette. At 17, Bert went into the Navy and remained five years from 1957-61. During his stay aboard a heavy cruiser in the 7th Fleet, he learned electronics and specialized in radar gunfire control systems. When he returned to New Orleans, he spotted an advertisement in which legendary producer, Cosimo Matassa, was seeking a skilled repairman for his equipment. As soon as he arrived at the famed studio on Governor Nicholls St. in the French Quarter, Cosimo asked him if he could fix such things as microphones and tape recorders. Although he had absolutely no prior knowledge of such gadgets, he still boldly answered in the affirmative. "Cosimo hired me, not suspecting my inexperience, and the first thing I did was steal all the manuals and take them home to read at night. I learned what I had to in a hurry," he recalled.

At the time Bert joined Cosimo, he had two studios and a disk cutting room, as well as two assistant engineers. Within months, one married and quit and the other was fired, leaving Bert as Cosimo's right-hand man. Cosimo, wanting to keep abreast of all the latest developments in sound recording, would often attend Audio Engineering Society conventions and put Bert in command. "It was baptism by fire and here I was all of a sudden supervising sessions. He didn't believe in showing anyone twice how to do things. So, I must have gotten it right. Anyway, he kept me on," he admitted.

One of the more interesting revelations by Bert concerned the primitive recording circumstances. To say the least, the electronic accouterments of Cosimo's control room were antiquated by today's standards; that is, stock boards which can be bought completely assembled. "We had just received a three track deck, and it wasn't even a complete package. It had no amp and we had to run the wires off the three-track heads and connect them to the amplifier of the old two-track. What served as the console was actually a door on legs with mixers stacked on top," he remembered. With regard to the three tracks, Bert was further acoustically handicapped in that the positions of left, center, right couldn't yet be panned; that is, they were basically separate and distinct and a transition across them couldn't yet be achieved. As for the microphones, they had to be plugged into each individual mixer as needed, since they yet had no push button technology. Bert also verified Cosimo's patented method of air conditioning the premises--hauling in two tons of crushed ice and having a fan blow air across the frigid pile down a long plastic tube.

Nevertheless, despite working under such crude conditions, Cosimo and Bert managed to fashion some memorable numbers. Joe Banashak's Instant and Minit labels were in full swing, as well Lew Chudd's Imperial, Johnny Vincent's Ace, and the short-lived A.F.O. For local stars like Fats Domino, Bert recorded "Let The Four Winds Blow" and "What A Party", for Irma Thomas, "It's Raining Again," for Barbara George, "I Know," for Prince La La, "She Put the Hurt on Me," for Benny Spellman, "Lipstick Traces" and "Fortuneteller," and for Dave Bartholomew, an album, New Orleans House Party. In addition, Bert was involved in more than just a few sessions of Huey Smith, Frankie Ford, Art Neville, and the flamboyant, pompadoured shouter, Esquerita.

Cosimo's reputation for perfection prompted producers from as far away as Texas, like Huey Meaux, to bring their artists to New Orleans. Church Point's Lee Lavergne had Bert record Elton Anderson for his Lanor label and Ville Platte's Floyd Soileau, who ran the Jin label, brought Joe Barry to record national smashes like "I'm A Fool To Care" and "Teardrops In My Heart." At the time, Meaux used the Governor Nicholls facility extensively with imported acts like Barbara Lynn singing "You'll Lose A Good Thing," Big Sambo and the House Wreckers with "The Rains Came," and the tragic Jimmy Donley with "Lovin' Cajun Style." The latter figure, a suicide in 1963, is the subject of a biography by Johnnie Allan and Bert recalls putting together a memorial album of Jimmy Donley's songs shortly after his death which was released on Huey's Teardrop label.

Many of these tapings were long and involved, requiring several takes and often the artist or sidemen would pass out from too many drinks, pills, or just fatigue. In the case with Big Sambo, he fell inebriated, face up on the floor, only to be unceremoniously awakened for his vocal track with tabasco sauce being poured down his throat. Dr. John, known for his prodigious appetite for controlled substances, on another occasion also fell into a stupor inside the drum box, which was on coasters. All the other pranksters of the orchestra spun him around to the point of disorientation. According to Bert, he reproached himself and muttered something along the lines of "I'm not going to take any more of that stuff." In another story related to this troubled but gifted musician (and which Bert confirmed), Rebennack found out that producer and son of Eddie, Wayne Shuler, was going to visit Mexico and instructed him, upon his return, to fill his suitcases with Kaopectate because, south of the border, this diarrhea inhibitor had a morphine base. He said, "Wayne, no customs official will ever doubt your word if you tell them you need it to counteract Montezuma's revenge."

In response, the former B.B.S. member, who used the gifted guitarist on the aforementioned Elton Anderson sessions for Lee Lavergne, added, "Yeah, Mac, you'll get high all right but won't be able to shit for three weeks."

"With all the jerry-rigging and extemporizing with equipment, plus dealing with all the personalities, it was amazing that we actually able to produce some high quality recordings on a regular basis," said Bert. And in this regard, Bert also recalled an particularly exasperating idiosyncrasy of Fats Domino (seconded by Cosimo Matassa) in which the rotund one would interrupt a recording in medias res to inquire whether "he was sounding okay," which would necessitate retaping the take from square one. "And never would the next attempt approach the spontaneity of the previous trial," said Burt.

"The people in charge of the Grammys should have had a special category for me," said Cosimo recently, "The Golden Razorblade Award, for creative tape-splicing." And for those non-believers in the audience, one need only to listen to Little Richard's 1957 recording of "Keep A-Knockin'(Specialty 611)," a recording which was "expanded" from an original 57 seconds worth of material or how about that prominent glitch in Fat's classic "Blueberry Hill"?

In 1964 and 1965, New Orleans music went into its first marked decline and it wasn't just a coincidence that this lull in activity was concurrent with the first wave of the British Invasion which was exerting its influence on the airwaves throughout the United States. This was the same creative hiatus to which George Porter of the Meters alluded, before New Orleans caught a second wind, so to spreak, in the mid-60s with a burst of inventiveness resulting in such colossal hits as Aaron Neville's "Tell It Like It Is," Robert Parker's "Barefootin'," Willie Tee's "Teasin' You," and slew of Allen Toussaint-penned smashes for Lee Dorsey. But, before this eventual rejuvenation, Bert remembered that the number of recordings was down and the local industry was suffering. For a spell to make ends meet, Bert even supplemented his income(to the horror of some of his friends) by trapping snakes in nearby swamps. And although a temporary reprieve loomed just around the corner, Bert at that time obeyed his instincts and looked for opportunities elsewhere.

It was the now-notorious and erstwhile America's most wanted, Huey Meaux, that arranged an interview with Bill Holford, in charge of the A.C.A. recording studio in Houston, who was seeking someone with experience to set up this newer facility which was now located on Fannin St. The old A.C.A. structure had been to the Houston blues scene what Cosimo's was to New Orleans's. All the noted Duke and Peacock artists of Don Robey, including Bobby Blue Bland, Junior Parker, Johnny Ace, and Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown taped sessions there, as well as celebrated native, Lightnin' Hopkins.

While at A.C.A., Bert also continued to record the later efforts of Duke and Peacock bluesmen, Bobby Blue Bland and Junior Parker, as well as a whole host of Don Robey's spiritual groups, including Reverend Cleophus Robinson, the Gospelaires, and the Dixie Hummingbirds. Robey also had a white artist in his fold, Roy Head, who was noted for his R&B horn arrangements. Although Bert came aboard after Roy's national chart hit "Treat Her Right," he did record his rendition of "Driving Wheel" which was released on Robey's Back Beat label in 1966. In addition, Bert also recalls supervising sessions with both B.J. Thomas and Kenny Rogers and the First Edition in the early phases of their careers.

Bert seemed to have a humorous anecdote for every situation and A.C.A. was no exception. One, in particular, involved Allen Toussaint. About the time Bert moved over to A.C.A., Allen had been drafted and was stationed in Texas. In virtually no time, he had formed a band from his comrades-in-arms in the barracks, the Stokes. Having been acquainted with Bert at Cosimo's prior to his induction, Allen knew that he could count on his old friend to smooth the way into A.C.A. so that the Stokes could record. As a matter of fact, by then, Allen and Joe Banashak had founded the ALON(the acronym of New Orleans, Louisiana in reverse) label in the anticipation of distributing these innovative instrumental creations. Nevertheless, the taping of these individuals must have appeared rather bizarre. "Allen insisted on being the boss in the studio and he knew exactly what he wanted to accomplish. But here was this private yelling at a lieutenant, instructing him, in no uncertain terms, how to play the trombone. I bet Allen caught hell back at the base," Bert related.

Allen would go on to expand the roster of ALON records to include Skip Easterling, Kent Allan, Elridge Holmes, and Benny Spellman, whose "The Word Game" sold so briskly that it was leased to Atlantic. Allen, himself, had a modest regional hit with "Whipped Cream" which later proved to be monster for Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. In this regard, Bert wanted to set the record straight that the majority of the ALON material was recorded in New Orleans after Allen had returned from his tour of duty.

Bert served a total of two or so years at A.C.A. and, after that time, it merged with another fabled blues studio, Gold Star, particularly famous for its recordings in the 40s and 50s of bluesmen such as Lightnin' Hopkins, Lil' Son Jackson, L.C. Williams, and Thunder Smith. However, that was when it was managed by Bill Quinn. Quinn now leased this operation to a fellow named Patterson, who had a penchant for writing bad checks. In less than eight months, Bert Frilot, having had his share of being stiffed by his new boss, abruptly vacated the premises.

For a while to make ends meet, Bert freelanced as an engineer in various cities and also became a respected studio designer. In his travels, he encountered former rockabilly pianist, but now C&W artist, Mickey Gilley, who was part owner of Jones Recording Studio on the north side of Houston in an area known as The Heights. Doyle Jones and Mickey recruited Bert, on a percentage basis, to drum up some business in the enterprise by bringing in his former clients to record. "They made me an offer I couldn't refuse, though I was never salaried," Bert attested.

Bert also supervised the construction of a new console for the Jones studio. "It was being built in stages in Dallas and I would fly the regularly scheduled Thursday flight of Braniff airline over there and assess the progress every Friday and then return on the weekend to Houston. I guess I was fated for this line of work because the only time I ever missed that airplane in weeks, it went down in a thunderstorm over Corsicana, Texas, killing all on board," he confided. This tragedy, though, did not deter Bert in the least from pursuing his own dream as an aviator, as he was soon thereafter flying his own small aircraft.

The board was eventually installed in the Jones Recording Studio in Houston, and, to Bert's credit, is still functional today, although used solely as a tape duplicating device. In 1968 Bert remembers that one of the first customers to use this new console was none other than ZZ Top's Billy Gibbons, then with the Moving Sidewalks. "If you find that fluorescent pink gatefold album[now a collector's item of $300] of Billy's, you'll hear those pan pots in use for the first time. We really had his guitar sound moving smoothly across the channels," Bert proudly recounted. Aside from Gibbons, Bert remembers that Bobby Blue Bland, Mickey Gilley, and Archie Bell and the Drells, who charted nationally with "Tighten Up" on Atlantic records, were on hand frequently. By that time, Lee Lavergne was also taking advantage of these technological advances and brought his swamp pop artist, Charles Mann, to record his biggest hit, "Red, Red, Wine" for Lanor in 1969.

About 1974, Mickey Gilley recorded "Roomful of Roses" and Bert and Mickey traveled to Nashville to determine whether or not a major record label would be interested enough to pick up the song. The pair immediately met with disappointment, as they were refused by virtually every company. Nevertheless, just when hope was at its lowest ebb, Playboy records, in the person of former Houston DJ, Eddie Kilroy, accepted the demo and the number subsequently became a phenomenon, instantaneously propelling Mickey into the national spotlight.

Sherwood Cryer, a Houston entrepreneur, perceiving an opportunity to score a business coup by capitalizing on a local's new-found notoriety, contacted Mickey with a scheme to form a partnership. He proposed that Mickey lend his name to a club and they would agree to share the proceeds from both the roadhouse and Mickey's touring dates.

The original Gilley's was a far cry from the sprawling aircraft hanger of a dancehall that was the setting for the cinematic release, Urban Cowboy in 1980. "It was formerly Shelly's and was about fifty feet by one hundred. Heck, it didn't even have air conditioning. When it got really hot, two of the corrugated walls would swing up letting the breeze blow through," Bert recalled. As the popularity increased, annexes were constructed to house mechanical bulls, pool tables, and other diversions. Eventually, an indoor rodeo arena of prodigious proportions(100 X 300 ft.) was added to the rear. This spacious bowl could easily be converted into an amphitheater which could accomodate upwards of 12,000 spectators per concert. In 1976 Mickey contracted his friend Bert to design a recording studio adjacent to the entertainment complex. It opened officially in 1978.

This studio had a hookup not only to the club but also to the concert hall. "We had a 24-track recorder and video cameras positioned so I could see the performers. Soon, Westwood One, a California media outfit, was syndicating our weekly broadcasts to over 450 stations," he remembered. From the period of 1976 until it closed in 1987, nearly every C&W entertainer of note made at least one call at Gilley's--Merle Haggard, Ray Stevens, Hank Snow, Ernest Tubb, Alabama, and Tammy Wynette. In addition, the shows were not exclusive to just this brand of music. Rock and rollers like Paul Revere and the Raiders and Roy Orbison were regular acts, and even R&B figures like Bobby Bland and Fats Domino played to S.R.O. audiences.

Not only was Bert taping the programs for radio but also he was quite occupied in the studio recording albums for Willie Nelson, Jerry Lee Lewis, and, of course, Mickey Gilley. About the time of the Urban Cowboy rage in 1980, Bert recorded some of the soundtrack to the movie, Charlie Daniels' "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," and also a track on the the album, itself, "Orange Blossom Special," by Gilley's Urban Cowboy Band, which received a Grammy award.

As time wore on, Bert became more and more indispensable to the success of Gilley's and was, for all practical purposes, at the establishment's beck and call. As a matter of fact, his living quarters, a rather roomy trailer, became a familiar sight, parked on the periphery of the mammoth lot. In rapid time, he had acquired an instrument-rated commercial pilot's license and was flying Mickey to gigs around the country, in first a six and then a Kingair twelve-seater. Not only that, Sherwood Cryer used his aptitude for aviation in a variety of advertising stunts. "He got this bright idea to promote Gilley's with a hot air balloon and, sure enough, I went to school to learn how to fly it. But, riskier still was his plan for me to fly around in an ultralight, a motorized hang glider, which had this unsettling tendency to come apart in early test flights," he confessed with a laugh.

Concerning the final demise of Gilley's, Bert was eager to correct some popular misconceptions. It seemed that the overwhelming triumph of Gilley's also signaled its doom. Mickey, almost overnight, had risen to be be such a hot act that he was playing more and more in the crystal palaces of Las Vegas and less and less in the old honky-tonk circuits. Naturally, he got quite accustomed to the good life. According to Bert, philosophic differences finally led to a confrontation with partner, Sherwood Cryer. Mickey came back off the road one day and told his other half to "bulldoze this dump and build a real nightclub." Meanwhile, Sherwood wanted to preserve the unique atmosphere of this down home, Texas roadhouse. When Sherwood refused to yield, Mickey finally sued to recover his name and, in the words of that old C&W standard, he got the goldmine and Sherwood the shaft.

Bert thereafter also had a serious falling out with Mickey, the circumstances upon which he had been always reticent to expound. "All I can say is that twenty-one years of friendship went down the tubes in less than five minutes," he confided.

However, he parted not without some fond memories, especially the excesses, during their long relationship. "After Urban Cowboy, Mickey not only had an airplane at his disposal but also two buses and an eighteen-wheeler. The first bus was his private dressing room and lounge and the second was for the band members and crew. The sides of the big rig would fold out and become the well-padded safety mats surrounding a ring which enclosed a mechanical bull. Mickey and Sherwood must have made a fortune from all the macho wannabe rodeo riders who were thrown off this contraption during each performance," he affirmed.

For about two years, Bert again freelanced as engineer in various studios. In 1989, he landed a job with a company which specialized in designing sound and lighting for large nightclubs, many of which were national franchises. Having the responsibility of personally directing the installation of such equipment, Bert not only traversed the contiguous states but also journeyed to Nova Scotia, Alaska, and Hawaii. Often he had to stay for extended periods until the completion of the assignment. Finally, after two years, he grew weary of the road. "Believe me, it was no picnic being in locations like Bismarck, ND, for three weeks in the middle of winter. I could do better than this," he admitted. And in 1992, he started his own such service.

For a good part of the 90s, Bert was embroiled in a rather time consuming project of building a studio in Temple, TX, for ethnic musician Little Joe & La Familia. Although not a recognized name up North, Joe is quite a draw in the Lone Star State and often plays at the Cotton Bowl in Dallas during the Texas State Fair, attracting a crowd of of over 40,000 adoring fans. Bert first recorded the prolific group at Jones Studio in the late 60s when they were known as Little Joe and the Latinaires. Joe came to Bert in 1993 and asked him to modernize and upgrade an obsolete facility for his use. "He figured that the cost of remodeling an already existing studio would be cheaper in the long run than paying over $80,000 a year for time spent recording in someone else's," Bert replied.

At first, though, Bert wasn't so sure that this remodeling undertaking would be cost effective. "I told him that the twenty-year-old console with sixteen tracks had to go, as well as the tacky, matted carpeting. Then, I discovered that the ceilings were really sheet rock covered with burlap. It wasn't pretty," he conceded. At a cost of about $50,000, Bert laid the proper footing, suspended the ceilings, recessed the overhead lights, and imported a slightly used M.C.I. 24-track board(identical to the automated console at Gilley's). "All we then needed were microphones, speakers, and special effects units and we'd be in business," he added. All the labor notwithstanding, this was evidently a stop-gap measure and merely the first stage of this venture, as Bert soon would supervise the building of a brand-new studio nearby. When the entire endeavor was finished, the former structure would serve in an auxiliary capacity.

Over the last years of his life, Bert Frilot also began a close working relationship with the legendary Eddie Shuler of Goldband records in Lake Charles, LA, who had authored in his grand, half-century of a career such hits as Phil Phillips's "Sea of Love," Boozoo Chavis's "Paper In My Shoe," and Cleveland Crochet's "Sugar Bee."

"I first met Bert Frilot in 1961 in Cosimo's in New Orleans where I had to take my one-track stuff to be overdubbed. I was immediately impressed by this young fellow [Burt], who helped me do my mixing. He was a real pro and if anyone could make chicken salad out of chicken feathers, it would be him," said Eddie. Especially after Gilley's met its demise, the venerable producer would depend heavily upon this all too accomodating engineer to clean up his tapes.

"I used to dread seeing that Ford Escort pull up to my door in Texas," said Bert. "I knew it would be Eddie with an armload of master tapes that he wanted me to mix. I'd be days just sorting through them."

But such logistics improved immensely when Eddie parlayed the windfall royalties from the world-wide smash hit "Sea Of Love" by the Honeydrippers in 1984 into upgrading his studio facility, which also included a state-of-the-art 24-track recorder. This meant that Bert could weave all his magic right there in Lake Charles. In fact, Bert eventually moved his trailer next to the Goldband complex, where he had complete freedom to come and go as he pleased--the store, TV repair shop, studio, and even the domicile. "I considered him as a son or brother. He was just like family to me," said Eddie Shuler.

One of Bert's first projects for Goldband was the arduous task of transferring to DAT Eddie's catalogue of 12,000 master tapes, many of which had been moldering in the vaults since the company's inception in the late 40s. "Well, we had to do it, otherwise we'd eventually lose the whole collection," said Bert. But it was a painstaking process which entailed three days to rehabilitate and then duplicate each set of 200 tracks. "It took over a year's worth of weekends without hitches just to reproduce the material that could be saved," he added.

There was much urgency in this undertaking as British writer John Broven (South To Louisiana), representing Ace records of England, was eager to repackage as CD's the classic Goldband efforts, especially those of Rockin' Sidney, Katie Webster, Hop Wilson, Jimmy Wilson, and Freddie Fender, as well as rockabilly exemplars Larry Hart, Al Ferrier, and Gene Terry. Until the tapes were remastered as DATs, Ace would not be able to distribute them abroad.

After this venture was complete, Bert assumed more and more of the duties around the studio, which included engineering, mixing, and recording new artists for the label. And Eddie, now in his eighties, wasn't in the least afraid of relinquishing such responsibilities, especially when they would be put in such capable hands.

And mid-decade, with the encouragement of Eddie, Bert became computer literate in the attempt to bring Goldband technologically up to snuff and he became so proficient in this regard that he soon established a web site--Pure Cajun Product--which featured Goldband memorabilia, records, CD's, tapes, souvenirs, and all manner of indigenous snack items such as hot sauce, boudin, gumbo, and cracklins. As time wore on, Eddie focused more on the music mail order aspect of the internet, including accordions, preferring not to deal with the middle men who ran the food concerns--"not very cost effective," he said. Meanwhile, at the time of his death, Bert's new career as a purveyor of Cajun cuisine seemed to be taking off.

"He was quite a person," said Eddie Shuler. "He was a sportsman, an aviator, and an a great engineer. A self-made man. But above all he was a good guy. He was as honest as the day is long--someone you could always trust. And that's saying a lot in this nasty racket I'm in. There's no use trying to replace him. I'll just have to move on as best I can."

-----Larry Benicewicz