The first sound is a sonic detonation. It’s a riot of frantic keys and a voice that sounds like it’s being dragged up from the very pit of the earth, only to be tossed skyward in a joyful, blasphemous shout. This is not the clean, neatly packaged rock and roll of later decades. This is raw, visceral, and utterly unhinged. This is Little Richard covering a song already iconic, “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On,” and somehow pouring a fresh gallon of gasoline onto the fire.
For the rock and roll historians, the original version—Jerry Lee Lewis’s 1957 Sun Records masterpiece—is the definitive text. But Little Richard’s 1964 rendition, released on the Vee-Jay label, is a vital chapter in the gospel of the beat. It’s an act of reclamation, a defiant assertion that the crown of rock and roll mania still belonged to the Georgia Peach.
The Return of the King
To understand this piece of music, one must grasp the context of 1964. Little Richard Penniman had spent several years away from secular music, dedicating himself to gospel recordings following a spiritual calling in 1957. He’d gone from gyrating wildly atop a piano to singing hymns. But the British Invasion was raging, fueled by bands like The Beatles who cited Richard as their primary inspiration. The world demanded its architect back.
The album Little Richard Is Back (And There’s a Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On!), released in August 1964, was the sound of that highly anticipated return. He signed with Vee-Jay Records, and while reliable producer or arranger credits for the specific session are often murky due to the label’s eventual business fate, the creative control and frantic direction were entirely Richard’s. This was not a tentative comeback; it was an ecstatic, full-force assault on the charts.
This particular track, a blistering cover of the David Williams and Sunny David-penned song, served as a defiant mission statement. It may not have been the massive Pop chart hit of his Specialty-era classics, but it did make its presence felt on rival trade publications’ R&B charts, reportedly bubbling under the US Hot 100 and charting on Cashbox’s R&B lists. The world had missed the ecstatic noise.
The Sound of Catharsis
Little Richard’s version is faster, meaner, and arguably more manic than any preceding take. The sonic textures are a deliberate contrast to the tighter, more controlled recordings he’d made at Specialty. This version is looser, benefiting from a glorious sense of space and a raw, almost garage-like fidelity.
The drum attack is immediate. It’s a rapid-fire shuffle, pushing the tempo to the edge of collapse. You can hear the drummer—likely an uncredited session player—struggling, beautifully, to contain the relentless energy of Richard’s vocal and keys. It feels live, untamed, recorded with minimal filtering, giving it a vibrant presence that holds up surprisingly well, even when listening through modern studio headphones.
Then there is the piano. Richard’s style, known for its percussive attack, is front and center. His hands hammer the high-end with signature boogie-woogie figures, a cascade of triplets and trills that manage to be both perfectly structured and utterly chaotic. He doesn’t just play; he beats the keys into submission, transforming the instrument from a polite accompaniment into a primal scream. The rhythm guitar, often low in the mix and serving a strictly percussive function, provides a jagged, relentless counterpoint to the piano’s flow.
The Unstoppable Force
The genius of Richard’s vocal performance here lies in its complete and utter surrender to the moment. He doesn’t just sing the lyrics; he punctuates them with those famous, high-pitched screams and falsetto whoops—the very sonic devices that defined rock and roll showmanship. His voice cuts through the clatter of the band like a siren, drenched in a generous, almost excessive, natural room reverb that adds to the overall hysteria.
The arrangement is simple: verses, choruses, and a wild, breakneck instrumental section. The instrumental break features a furious, nearly distorted guitar solo, a short, sharp burst of energy that sacrifices melodic finesse for sheer attitude. It’s the sound of a frenzied party spilling into the street. It’s not meant to be admired for its technical complexity; it’s meant to compel movement.
“It’s not just music you hear; it’s an energy you feel vibrating deep in the architecture of your bones.”
This raw energy was exactly what the young rockers of the mid-’60s, like The Rolling Stones and The Beatles, were emulating. Richard wasn’t just covering a contemporary hit; he was reminding a new generation where the fire came from. He was showing them that the authentic essence of the genre was this reckless, gender-bending, screaming hysteria—a true catharsis.
In my mind, I picture the scene in the studio: the musicians sweating under the hot lights, Richard on the piano stool, his pompadour beginning to droop, his voice cracking from sheer force, demanding yet another take, faster, louder, more. It’s a contrast between the glamour he always sought off-stage and the sheer grit he delivered when the tape was rolling.
I remember once trying to teach myself the opening riff from “Lucille” using old piano lessons books, only to realize the technical notes barely capture the manic force of his wrist action. This song is the same. It’s a testament to the fact that his music can’t be contained by simple notation; it lives in the performance, in the reckless sustain of the final notes, and the guttural, non-lexical sounds that fall between the words. It’s a sound of glorious, uncontainable liberation, delivered by an artist who finally stopped fighting his own ecstatic talent and simply rocked.
This recording is the sound of a man joyously reclaiming his title. A whole lotta shakin’ was indeed going on, and Little Richard was still the tremor’s source. The track is a perfect moment of artistic re-affirmation, a loud, clear signal that the king of rock and roll was back for good.
Listening Recommendations
- Jerry Lee Lewis – “Great Balls of Fire”: Shares the same explosive piano-driven energy and barely controlled mania.
- Chuck Berry – “Roll Over Beethoven”: Adjacent rock and roll essentialism, focusing on a raw, driving rhythm and foundational guitar work.
- Fats Domino – “Ain’t That a Shame”: Features a smoother, but equally foundational New Orleans piano sound and infectious swagger.
- Larry Williams – “Dizzy, Miss Lizzy”: Another early, frantic rocker who channeled Little Richard’s vocal and rhythmic intensity.
- Elvis Presley – “Jailhouse Rock”: For the pure, unadulterated chart success and cinematic power of early, frenetic rock and roll.
- Esquerita – “Gettin’ Plenty of Lovin'”: A deep cut that highlights an artist whose wild, flamboyant piano style was highly influential on Richard.