Ramblin’ About Life

They don’t call Jack Elliott “Ramblin’ Jack” for nothing. For most of his sixtysomething years the open road has been his address. But Sunday night, at the Ventura Theatre, Elliott will sit still long enough to play selections from his vast repertoire of country-flavored folk tunes. Opening will be old pal Bob Jones, who more than 20 years ago booked Elliott at the now-defunct Back Door, a club that was a few blocks from the theater.

One of the few cowboys and non-Dodger fans to come out of Brooklyn, N.Y., Elliott attended the rodeo at Madison Square Garden when he was a kid. A few years later, he ran away to join it and learned guitar and banjo, plus a zillion cowboy songs. Somewhere around 1951, Elliott first heard Woody Guthrie, which like the rodeo, changed his life. He went to visit his idol and ended up staying for two years. The two became inseparable road dogs and busked their way around the country.

Elliott went to Europe in 1955 and spent six years riding around on a motor scooter and playing on street corners. The day after returning to the States, he went to the hospital where Guthrie was dying of Huntington’s disease, and met Bob Dylan.

Singing Guthrie songs and ramblin’ around generally, Elliott has crossed paths with an eclectic cast that includes the likes of James Dean, Jack Kerouac, Tom Waits, Robert Duvall, Princess Margaret, Willy the Whale and the Rolling Stones. An accomplished cowboy, pilot, sailor and diesel mechanic, Elliott won a Grammy in 1996 for his album, “South Coast.” A new album is due out in the spring. Just back from a gig with his largest fan, Elliott had some stories to tell.

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How many albums do you have?

I have about 40, but you can only find about five or six of them. The rest of them are collector’s items. Some people have told me they’ve paid up to $70 for one of them.

So how many Ramblin’ Jack songs are there?

I can do maybe 200 or 250 songs. But if you’re talkin’ about my own songs, I only have about five. I’m not much of a writer, but if you can give me any hints, I’m listening. If I’m not riding a horse, I’m lying on the couch. Maybe I gotta sit up more, maybe that’s the secret to writing.

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Has the music biz changed since you started?

I suppose it has. There’s a lot of new talent coming up, but I don’t like most of it. Now it’s who can play the most notes per second and sing the most unintelligible words--like that punk rock. I couldn’t ever warm up to those people wearing clothes pins in their noses and piercing their nipples. I guess they’re just trying to make fun of society by dressing up like some sort of extraterrestrial beings. You can see where their hair is, but not their brain.

How did winning a Grammy change things for you?

It gave me a few more gigs than usual. I guess things have been a little bit better, but it’s not a big change for me. I’m still living the same lifestyle.

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What do you think of the folk music scene today?

I think it’s getting smaller--it’s not so real anymore. There’s a lot of people doing folk music these days, but now they call themselves singer/songwriters. Most of them are women, but they aren’t like any kind of women I used to know. Most of them don’t like men.

What does Ramblin’ Jack music sound like these days?

My music is just slightly further along than it was in the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s. All I know is that the album I got the Grammy for took three nights to record, and the new one that’s coming out took 17 months because I’m doing duets with all these people. I think it’s 10 times better than the last one.

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They call you Ramblin’ Jack, so obviously being on the road isn’t a problem for you.

Well, it is a problem for me these days, because I hate to fly unless I’m the pilot. I’d rather drive. I’d like to get me a new big diesel bus. I love big wheels; I have all my life. I love to drive; I just hate airports.

How has Europe changed since you went there the first time?

It’s become totally Americanized--very crowded and everyone is in a hurry. It’s not as charming as it was. When I first got there 10 years after World War II, it was relatively unspoiled. Now everyone is racing around, just like here. There’s too many people, it’s too crowded and it’s not my romantic idea of fun anymore.

Tell me a Willy story.

Willie Nelson?

No, Willy the Whale.

Oh, yeah. I just got back from this gig at this aquarium in Newport, Ore., where they keep Willy, whose real name is Keiko. The gig was a sellout, and after the show, they turned the lights off, and I did this song. I could barely see Willy, but he was there. The next day I returned and started singing, and Willy came up to me in his tank. After I finished the song, he took off and did a bunch of whale tricks. Then he came back and listened again, did some more whale tricks then looked at me with his eye stuck to the glass and stuck his tongue out like he was trying to yodel. I love that whale. He’s my biggest fan.

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Tell me a Jack Kerouac story.

I met him through a mutual girlfriend. He came over to see her, and I was already there. I didn’t know he had a romantic thing with her because she didn’t tell me. Anyway, he read the entire manuscript of “On The Road” to us. It took three days--we just sat on the floor and drank wine--but 1,000 pages, 300 pages a day, that was pretty fast. I knew him when he was still unpublished. In fact, it was three more years before he did get it published. The next I heard of him, I was in Italy and I saw his picture in the paper, and I said, “Hey, I know that guy.”

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Who goes to a Ramblin’ Jack show?

A lot of old people go--a lot of people my age. Also, a lot of people from the ‘60s that are still alive, they go. Still, that’s not enough to fill the place up, so I even get some younger people. My body feels kind of old--I waited until I was 47 to ride bulls and skateboards--but I’m still young at heart.

BE THERE

Ramblin’ Jack Elliott and Bob Jones at the Ventura Theatre, 26 Chestnut St., Ventura, Sunday, 8 p.m.; $15; call 653-0721.