Earl Klugh – With a Little Help from My Friends
Looking back now, I can see the many threads that have woven through my musical life—friends, teachers, musicians who mentored me—so many people who, at one time or another, came alongside and helped me find my way. But the most significant of all was my mother. So much of what I love about music and what I was able to do at a young age came through her.
I was thirteen when my dad passed away, leaving my mom to raise two young boys. I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, but those years were hard for her—she struggled in ways I couldn’t yet understand. But music was one area where we truly connected, and she always made time for that. She knew I wanted to be a musician and was incredibly supportive. We also shared the same musical tastes. She was from Mississippi and loved country music—especially Patsy Cline. And through my dad, there was always jazz in the house: Count Basie, Harry Belafonte, and Erroll Garner. So, from an early age, I was immersed in a wide range of music, and I loved it all.
Probably no one blended country and jazz better than Chet Atkins. And I would never have discovered him if not for my mom. We used to watch a lot of variety shows together, and one night in January 1967, we were watching The Perry Como Show. Chet Atkins was a guest that night. A lot of kids got turned on to the guitar in 1964, watching The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show. For me, the defining moment came in 1967, on that Perry Como broadcast—it marked my destiny. I already loved playing guitar and was pretty dedicated, even at that young age, but Chet’s style opened up a whole new world. I had never heard anyone play like that before.
The very next day, I bought a couple of his records. Like so many aspiring guitarists back then, I learned by listening to records, lifting the needle, and figuring out the licks. Not long after that, my mom bought me my first electric guitar—a Gretsch Tennessean, just like the one Chet played.
When I was fourteen, my mom started taking me to Baker’s Keyboard Lounge so I could hear the great players in person. The first time we went, we saw George Benson, and it was just amazing. That night also marked the beginning of my getting musically plugged in. By sixteen, I was offered a job at a local music store, teaching guitar to younger kids after school. It was there that I met Yusef Lateef, who gave me the opportunity to record for the first time.
I was taking lessons as well, studying with Jose Martinez, an excellent teacher with a strong fingerstyle technique rooted in Mexican folk music. He really pushed me to develop my right hand, which became the foundation of my fingerstyle approach.
My mom kept taking me to clubs—sometimes a couple of nights a week—so I could watch legends like Kenny Burrell, Grant Green, and Barney Kessel. Once I got my driver’s license, I could get there on my own, and the club owner acted as my guardian. During the off-season in winter, he let me bring in my own little group to play. All of this was happening while I was still in high school!
At Baker’s, I met countless greats—Bill Evans, George Shearing, George Benson, and Chick Corea, to name a few. I was only seventeen, but I was on a first-name basis with so many of them. And I eventually worked with all of them in some capacity. Right out of high school, I joined George Benson’s band and toured with him for a year and a half—a crash course in both music and life on the road. It was my first time away from home, seeing new cities, hanging out with the guys in the band.
It’s true that some jazz musicians were into drugs and alcohol, but most were straight. Even the ones who weren’t made sure to watch out for me. I never got into anything like that—it was totally taboo in my mind—but they kept an eye on me nonetheless.
George Benson was like an older brother. Beyond all the playing, he was incredibly supportive—especially of my classical guitar playing. When he first heard me at seventeen, he was struck by how much classical influence I had. At the time, acoustic jazz wasn’t really a thing—the whole fusion movement was electric—but George encouraged me to stick with the nylon-string guitar. He told me, “Earl, this is what you do. Just do it. It’s going to work for you. You’ve got your own spin on things, so don’t worry about what other people are doing—don’t let that even cross your mind! Just keep going forward.” So I did.
Even after I left his band, George kept looking out for me. One day, he called and said, “Earl, what are you doing Friday night? You need to come to New York. We’re doing a big guitar show at Carnegie Hall, and I want everybody to hear you.” It was an all-star night with Les Paul, Laurindo Almeida, Jim Hall—just a herd of guitar players. These one-in-a-million opportunities just kept happening.
Working with George was an education in more ways than one. I was nineteen, and we’d play clubs from 9:30 to 2:00—three long sets. Afterward, George would go back to his room and practice some more. His level of dedication was extraordinary. I always practiced, but the idea of practicing that much on the road had never even crossed my mind. That work ethic stuck with me.
I met Chick Corea at Baker’s, but it was through my friendship with his drummer, Lenny White, that I got the chance to join Return to Forever in 1974. The lineup included Stanley Clarke, Joe Farrell, and the Brazilian husband-and-wife duo Airto Moreira and Flora Purim. The music had an acoustic, Latin-tinged sound, and I loved it. Billy Connors had left the band, and they weren’t sure how to replace him. Then Lenny suggested me.
I had just four days to learn the material before we left for a four-week European tour. It was a whirlwind, but being part of Return to Forever—even for a short time—helped open doors. Between that, my time with George Benson, and my work with George Shearing, I was able to land a record deal pretty quickly. It was a different era—labels were looking for instrumental artists. The ’70s were a boom time for that kind of music.
But at that point, I had some decisions to make. I had been accepted into a couple of colleges and wasn’t sure whether I should go to school for a few years or keep pursuing music. I asked Chick for advice. He just looked at me and said, “Well, do you want to be a musician?” I told him yes. Then he said, “Then that’s what you need to do. But if there’s something you need to gain from school that will help you do this, then go. Whatever you choose, though, you’ve got to go all in. You can’t be halfway in or halfway out.”
He didn’t talk me out of college—he just helped me focus. And coming from someone like Chick, that was powerful.
When Return to Forever transitioned to an electric band, it wasn’t for me. That style wasn’t where my heart was. Around the same time, Stevie Wonder invited me to join his band. It was tempting—he was on the verge of becoming the biggest star in the world—but I knew deep down that I wasn’t the right fit. So I turned it down and recommended David Miles, a great guitarist who was better suited for the gig. That was a gamble for a 21-year-old with no real job, but I just knew what I had to do.
The guitar has taken me all over the world. My greatest vision was to play the music I love and make a living doing it. And thanks to the people who supported me, I’ve been able to do that—and still do. I’m especially grateful to my mother. She planted the seed, nurtured it, and always believed in me. And like the line from the Barbara Mahone poem about her mother, “Her music does not leave me.”
I was thirteen when my dad passed away, leaving my mom to raise two young boys. I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, but those years were hard for her—she struggled in ways I couldn’t yet understand. But music was one area where we truly connected, and she always made time for that. She knew I wanted to be a musician and was incredibly supportive. We also shared the same musical tastes. She was from Mississippi and loved country music—especially Patsy Cline. And through my dad, there was always jazz in the house: Count Basie, Harry Belafonte, and Erroll Garner. So, from an early age, I was immersed in a wide range of music, and I loved it all.
Probably no one blended country and jazz better than Chet Atkins. And I would never have discovered him if not for my mom. We used to watch a lot of variety shows together, and one night in January 1967, we were watching The Perry Como Show. Chet Atkins was a guest that night. A lot of kids got turned on to the guitar in 1964, watching The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show. For me, the defining moment came in 1967, on that Perry Como broadcast—it marked my destiny. I already loved playing guitar and was pretty dedicated, even at that young age, but Chet’s style opened up a whole new world. I had never heard anyone play like that before.
The very next day, I bought a couple of his records. Like so many aspiring guitarists back then, I learned by listening to records, lifting the needle, and figuring out the licks. Not long after that, my mom bought me my first electric guitar—a Gretsch Tennessean, just like the one Chet played.
When I was fourteen, my mom started taking me to Baker’s Keyboard Lounge so I could hear the great players in person. The first time we went, we saw George Benson, and it was just amazing. That night also marked the beginning of my getting musically plugged in. By sixteen, I was offered a job at a local music store, teaching guitar to younger kids after school. It was there that I met Yusef Lateef, who gave me the opportunity to record for the first time.
I was taking lessons as well, studying with Jose Martinez, an excellent teacher with a strong fingerstyle technique rooted in Mexican folk music. He really pushed me to develop my right hand, which became the foundation of my fingerstyle approach.
My mom kept taking me to clubs—sometimes a couple of nights a week—so I could watch legends like Kenny Burrell, Grant Green, and Barney Kessel. Once I got my driver’s license, I could get there on my own, and the club owner acted as my guardian. During the off-season in winter, he let me bring in my own little group to play. All of this was happening while I was still in high school!
At Baker’s, I met countless greats—Bill Evans, George Shearing, George Benson, and Chick Corea, to name a few. I was only seventeen, but I was on a first-name basis with so many of them. And I eventually worked with all of them in some capacity. Right out of high school, I joined George Benson’s band and toured with him for a year and a half—a crash course in both music and life on the road. It was my first time away from home, seeing new cities, hanging out with the guys in the band.
It’s true that some jazz musicians were into drugs and alcohol, but most were straight. Even the ones who weren’t made sure to watch out for me. I never got into anything like that—it was totally taboo in my mind—but they kept an eye on me nonetheless.
George Benson was like an older brother. Beyond all the playing, he was incredibly supportive—especially of my classical guitar playing. When he first heard me at seventeen, he was struck by how much classical influence I had. At the time, acoustic jazz wasn’t really a thing—the whole fusion movement was electric—but George encouraged me to stick with the nylon-string guitar. He told me, “Earl, this is what you do. Just do it. It’s going to work for you. You’ve got your own spin on things, so don’t worry about what other people are doing—don’t let that even cross your mind! Just keep going forward.” So I did.
Even after I left his band, George kept looking out for me. One day, he called and said, “Earl, what are you doing Friday night? You need to come to New York. We’re doing a big guitar show at Carnegie Hall, and I want everybody to hear you.” It was an all-star night with Les Paul, Laurindo Almeida, Jim Hall—just a herd of guitar players. These one-in-a-million opportunities just kept happening.
Working with George was an education in more ways than one. I was nineteen, and we’d play clubs from 9:30 to 2:00—three long sets. Afterward, George would go back to his room and practice some more. His level of dedication was extraordinary. I always practiced, but the idea of practicing that much on the road had never even crossed my mind. That work ethic stuck with me.
I met Chick Corea at Baker’s, but it was through my friendship with his drummer, Lenny White, that I got the chance to join Return to Forever in 1974. The lineup included Stanley Clarke, Joe Farrell, and the Brazilian husband-and-wife duo Airto Moreira and Flora Purim. The music had an acoustic, Latin-tinged sound, and I loved it. Billy Connors had left the band, and they weren’t sure how to replace him. Then Lenny suggested me.
I had just four days to learn the material before we left for a four-week European tour. It was a whirlwind, but being part of Return to Forever—even for a short time—helped open doors. Between that, my time with George Benson, and my work with George Shearing, I was able to land a record deal pretty quickly. It was a different era—labels were looking for instrumental artists. The ’70s were a boom time for that kind of music.
But at that point, I had some decisions to make. I had been accepted into a couple of colleges and wasn’t sure whether I should go to school for a few years or keep pursuing music. I asked Chick for advice. He just looked at me and said, “Well, do you want to be a musician?” I told him yes. Then he said, “Then that’s what you need to do. But if there’s something you need to gain from school that will help you do this, then go. Whatever you choose, though, you’ve got to go all in. You can’t be halfway in or halfway out.”
He didn’t talk me out of college—he just helped me focus. And coming from someone like Chick, that was powerful.
When Return to Forever transitioned to an electric band, it wasn’t for me. That style wasn’t where my heart was. Around the same time, Stevie Wonder invited me to join his band. It was tempting—he was on the verge of becoming the biggest star in the world—but I knew deep down that I wasn’t the right fit. So I turned it down and recommended David Miles, a great guitarist who was better suited for the gig. That was a gamble for a 21-year-old with no real job, but I just knew what I had to do.
The guitar has taken me all over the world. My greatest vision was to play the music I love and make a living doing it. And thanks to the people who supported me, I’ve been able to do that—and still do. I’m especially grateful to my mother. She planted the seed, nurtured it, and always believed in me. And like the line from the Barbara Mahone poem about her mother, “Her music does not leave me.”