"I've done some things here that very few musicians can say," W.C. Clark beams. "I've played for the grandfathers, the daddies, the grandsons, mamas, and little children coming up now. For the last 35 years I've been functioning right here in Austin. I pay my musicians well, we all make a good living, and we're right here at home, playing for people we know. I'm happy."

At 54 the man known as the Godfather of Austin Blues is proof positive that major-label contracts and world tours are not the only measures of success. Even though one of his few road trips was as bassist for soulman Joe Tex 25 years ago and his first nationally distributed record, Heart Of Gold on Black Top, has just been released, Clark now has all the gigs (and kudos) he can handle. "I was lucky enough to get a taste of traveling before I decided to build up my own reputation," he begins. "So I knew exactly how lonesome it is out there. when I came home and saw the blues scene changing to the white side of town, I took a stand to go wherever it'd take me or lose everything I had. But that didn't happen; I didn't go nowhere, and I didn't lose nothin'. I stayed here and gained in every sense - making a living and in happiness too."

After cutting his teeth in the black joints on Austin's East Side with players like T.D. Bell and Blues Boy Hubbard, on bass and later guitar, W.C. became a mentor for younger whites like Jimmie Vaughan and Denny Freeman. In 1976 he teamed with Stevie Ray Vaughan and singer Lou Ann Barton in the late guitarist's pre-Double Trouble incarnation, Triple Threat Revue. In October of 1989 the Vaughans and other Austin notables saluted W.C.'s 50th birthday, taping Austin City Limits tribute to him. The following March, Stevie did the honors when Clark was inducted into the Texas Music Hall of Fame.

Heart Of Gold shows that W.C.'s definition of blues is broad and eclectic, in typical Texas fashion. "that comes from being in Texas and, with me, all music is beautiful. Also, I don't agree with some of the boundaries of blues. To me, they're all blues, because I don't feel different about any of the tunes. I just feel good or bad. That came from working at Charlie's Playhouse on the East Side. The owner would go out every week and get all the Top 40 songs. Beatles song. Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry - if it was in the Top 40, that's what we had to do. And we only had one day to learn it. I'm proud that I had that type of training because nobody thinks that way anymore - it's almost obsolete. I was the bass player then, but I had to know everybody's part in the band and jump voices for harmonies - sing high one night, low the next."

The radio and Clark's upbringing also contributed to his varied tastes. "Gospel and country were the only things on the radio at the time," he points out. "My family wouldn't let me listen to blues - but I could listen to Your Hit Parade. I used to check the newspaper, and if a country band needed a bass player, I'd do the gig. Played with mariachi bands, all that stuff. Perry Como and Andy Williams used to be my biggest heroes."

A bluesman listening to Perry Como? "Yeah, man! That control. Frank Sinatra was more like talkin'." W.C. demonstrates by singing "Moon River," first deftly imitating Sinatra's angular, jazzy phrasing, then holding long, languid notes with a slow, even vibrato a la Como - which in Clark's hands somehow sounds like Sam Cooke singing gospel. "Even Lawrence Welk," he continues. "Shit, I'd be right in front of the TV every time he'd come on because he had a guitar player who played a Fender and later went into the Army [Buddy Merrill]. I was searching for any bit of knowledge I could find."

What's all this singing got to do with the guitar? In W.C.'s case, everything. The same taste and economy pervade everything he touches. "When it got into that spiritual sound like B.B. King's playing," he recalls, "you'd never hear somebody playing a long solo - unless it was an instrumental. The singer up there is supposed to be the star. That's why B.B. just played a few licks, and then there's historical licks, like T-Bone Walker, all the way up into Chuck Berry - which comes from T-Bone. It wasn't just a whole bunch of playing; it was definite licks that meant something. It didn't take away from the singing, it was a melodic line that went along parallel with the singing."

Even Clark's tenure as a bassist (with Stevie Ray and others) drove this attitude home. "It helped my rhythm, and helped me understand music. The only way it affected how I play guitar - because you don't want to play guitar like a bass, or vice versa - was it helped me perfect the note. Because you can't play bass and have all sloppy notes. You've got to have true notes because they have to be understood and heard. That's one of the reasons my playing is so clean on guitar. Sometimes it's so clean. I don't know if I like it. You can distinguish between each individual note. The biggest thing for me learning the guitar was the pick action - when to pick down or up, how to start and end a run, when to play with your fingers."

W.C.'s choice of equipment - the unlikely blues setup of an Ibanez plugged into a solid-state Peavey Bandit - reflects his clean, uncluttered aesthetic. "I like fat chords," he details, "and I never did like the sound of my chords on a Fender. With the Ibanez I can get my big, fat chord sound and still my screaming solo. Starfied, who manufactures Ibanez, gave me an endorsement and let me design whatever guitar I wanted, to my specs. (He endorses its Altair TRAD series.) It's got that bell tone I like, whereas the Fender is raspier." Clark's amp is modified with two ElectroVoice 12s "for more bottom and sustain."

A gigging guitarist since age 15, Clark confesses, "It's hard for me to name influences, because I didn't study guitar; I just started playing guitar. Working with all these guitar players through the years, by the end of the night, four or five of their licks would be in my ear. You can hear some B.B. King, some Albert King, T-Bone Walker, a lot of Freddie King, but that's not because I studied their playing; I just knew other guitar players who were playing those licks, and I would take those licks and play 'em my way. For jazz, I was into Barney Kessel and Kenny Burrell. Then George Benson came along and simplified it so that it fell right into my category. He boiled everything down. Bobby Womack I listened to, but my concern was the rhythm. Beautiful arrangements, but not very much soloing - like on the Sam Cooke records."

Having played with both Jimmie and Stevie Ray Vaughan, it's obvious that W.C. falls closer to the former's understated demeanor and minimalist approach. He laughs, "Jimmie used to say, 'W.C., teach him something. He ain't doin' nothing but fartin' in the grass.' Jimmie's licks were like old traditional guitar players, and so was his soul - perfecting one note. If you can perfect one note, it's better than imperfecting 15 or 20." Where Jimmie got that singular vision is debatable, although Jimmie may have revealed a prime contributor when he stated, "W.C. has been a big influence on me - a true cornerstone of Austin's music scene."