The Heart of the Tulsa Sound Stops Beating

It was just over a year ago that we celebrated the news that Jamie Oldaker was cancer free and preparing to reunite with his friend and former band mate Eric Clapton, with whom he recorded 11 studio albums in the 1970s and 80s. That reunion took place last September at the Crossroads Festival in Dallas, as Clapton’s favorite drummer provided the mellow grooves that first appeared on the 1974 album 461 Ocean Boulevard.
A critic in 1974 referred to those mellow grooves, a departure from Clapton’s guitar-heavy hits of the 1960s, as “laid back with Leon music.” Today, we call it the Tulsa Sound.
To say Oldaker lost his battle with cancer is an injustice. The term battle implies a fair fight, a faceoff. Cancer doesn’t face its victims and it certainly doesn’t fight fairly. Cancer is a cowardly sniper that hides and ambushes.
To say he fought courageously is an understatement. He underwent four rounds of chemotherapy and 25 rounds of radiation, losing his hair and 10 pounds as he fought off the lung cancer.
He was declared cancer free in 2019 and became both an inspiration to those undergoing cancer treatment, and an advocate for screening and early detection. American Airlines featured his name on the side of an Airbus A320, along with the names and inspirational stories of other cancer survivors as part of a promotion for Stand Up To Cancer Awareness.
No, the 68-year-old Tulsa Sound pioneer didn’t lose a battle. On the contrary, Oldaker stood up to cancer, stared it down and forced it into remission. But cancer did what cancer does: it retreated back into the shadows, waiting for its next chance to blindside its victim.
Jamie Oldaker passed away on July 16.
The next day, Clapton said of his friend in a Facebook post, “He was a great teacher with the best snare drum sound on the planet.”
I was in attendance on Dec. 28, 2019 when Oldaker joined a local ensemble of musicians for a few songs at a concert honoring the late Steve Pryor. After thrilling the audience with Blind Faith’s Can’t Find My Way Home, Oldaker made his way off the stage and through the crowd. As a journalist, I do my best to maintain a level of professionalism, but I admit to being a bit star struck as I happened to be in his path and soon found myself face to face with the legend.
Believe it or not, I don’t relish these moments. I don’t want to come face to face with my heroes. It’s an awkward dynamic: it means everything to me and nothing to them. It’s not that I think my heroes are arrogant or snobbish, but there’s always the possibility that they’re having a bad day, just got some bad news, aren’t feeling well… any number of reasons why meeting and/or chatting with a total stranger might not excite them. I get it.
At the same time, I couldn’t ignore the fact that one of, and arguably the most influential musician to come out of Tulsa was standing right in front of me.
I wish I could tell you that I introduced myself and engaged him in conversation, efficiently articulating how much he means to me as both a music lover and a civic-minded Tulsan. I wish I had expressed my appreciation for MOJO Fest and the tens of thousands of dollars he and his wife Mary have donated to the Day Center for the Homeless in Tulsa. I wish I had thanked him for reviving Eric Clapton’s career, the Mad Dogs and Okies album, and for being a founding member of the Tractors. It would have been nice to offer him congratulations on his induction into the Oklahoma Music Hall of Fame or his recent reunion with Clapton.
I didn’t do any of that. Instead, all I could muster was to put my hand on his shoulder (remember when we could touch people?) and utter a simple, “thank you.”
He turned and looked me in the eyes and responded with an incredibly warm smile that assured me he was hearing all the things I wanted to say. He put his hand on my shoulder, gave me a nod and continued smiling as he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
That was the last time I saw Jamie Oldaker.

Randy Crouch recently told me, “Jamie Oldaker is the nicest famous person I ever met.” I don’t know if the humble Oldaker considers himself famous or not, but his career is certainly one to be celebrated. He’s played with the likes of Leon Russell, Bob Seger, Stephen Stills, Peter Frampton, Asleep at the Wheel, Ace Frehley, Freddie King, the Bee Gees and many others in addition to his long-time relationship with Clapton. He won two Grammys for the Tractors’ debut album that sold more than three million copies. But there’s more to Oldaker than a star-filled career. His commitment to community involvement and charitable stewardship made him a pillar of the Tulsa community. As we celebrate the career of a great musician, we mourn the loss of a great Tulsan. We miss you Jamie, and since you seemed to understand everything I was trying to convey last time, let me again say, thank you.
Oldaker is survived by his wife, Mary, and their children, Andrew and Olivia.
Oldaker’s passing is an imeasurable loss to the world of music. It also gives us reason to reflect on and be thankful for our vibrant musical community in Tulsa. With all due respect to Leon Russell and J.J. Cale, if not for Jamie Oldaker, there would be no Tulsa Sound. Fortunately, there was a Jamie Oldaker, there is a Tulsa Sound, and it’s still going strong. Because of that, I will continue, albeit with a heavy heart, to keep searching, keep listening.

Read more about Oldaker’s career here, from the February 2019 issues of GTR