Bluesman Little Walter was the troubled genius of Chess Records.  But when it came to just plain crazy, it was hard to top Walter’s label-mate, Bo Diddley, who recorded some of the most demented sides in rock ‘n roll history.  A half-century later, those recordings still manage to startle us… Bo’s Guitar

Here Bo’s band locks into a groove that could have easily gone on for another 15-20 minutes at a typical Fifties juke joint. Pretty Thing

These two songs alone make the case that Bo — who signed his name “The Bo” and was referred to by The New York Times as “Mr. Diddley” — was the most original of all the early rockers.  He clearly shared Walter’s restless spirit and drive; a constant need to test the very limits of his equipment… and his audience.

Like the vast majority of people on this planet, I never had a chance to see Little Walter perform.  But I did play with The Bo – me and about 10,000 other bar-band veterans around the world.

You see, it became standard practice for the original rock royalty like Chuck Berry and Bo to hire pick-up bands in various towns to back them up for their gigs.  It went something like this: Bo’s manager would call a local promoter, who would recommend a local band, and said band would spend several hours (or days, depending on the band’s level of confidence) rehearsing Bo’s tunes – with no idea what Bo would unleash on them when he hit town.

Well, our band (The Warsaw Falcons) got the nod for several of his gigs in the Cincinnati area, and the first one was a custom car show at the old Cincinnati Gardens in 1983.  We figured that Bo would show up early and spend about an hour with us going over the set list and running through a few tunes.  No such luck.  We met Bo about 10 minutes before the gig, and the only direction he provided was telling our hapless drummer not to play the patented Bo Diddley beat (if you’re not familiar with it, please exit our site now)… “Only I play that beat, buddy!”

Things went better than expected, though, as Bo quickly whipped us into shape by barking out a few commands during the opener.  And we hung on tight for the rest of the set, doing our best to follow his every move and not get in the way.  It was an unsettling experience, looking out at an audience of classic cars on the floor of the Gardens (“I’d like to dedicate this one to that pretty little Chevy in the third row”)… but it was a huge thrill for me to play with the one and only Bo.  He even brought me to the front of the stage and made me kneel down – the only time I’ve ever done that outside of church.  I felt like I’d joined the sacred order of Bo sidemen… sort of the blues equivalent of the Masons.

It was also the only time anyone asked for my autograph (at least in a deep and meaningful way).  Apparently, a few of Bo’s overeager fans thought we were part of his traveling extravaganza, rather than semi-employed schlubs who only lived a few miles away.

We did two more gigs with The Bo – including one opening for The Temptations at Miami University.  The absolute best part of that experience was drinking beer in our dressing room and hearing the Temps warm up in the room next door by singing their hits a cappella.  Needless to say, we all wept openly.

The Bo with The Warsaw Falcons, 1983

Bo never had much to say to us.  He was bitter about the small amount of money he made from his hits while the next generation of rockers made millions.  And he would’ve rather been back home in Florida than feeding white folks’ hunger for nostalgia.  But he snapped out of character long enough to make me the butt of a very elaborate joke involving a baby peeing itself (when the punch line came, he squeezed a wet paper towel hidden in his fist, and the water ran over my outstretched palm… many laughs at my expense).

The Bo left this world on June 2, 2008, but his beat goes on in hundreds of bars on any given Saturday night.  I’ll leave you with these few examples of his power and glory… Amen!

Here’s a video clip of Bo in his prime, working out on You Can’t Judge A Book By Its Cover with the very sexy Duchess on second guitar (clearly he was ahead of his time by sharing the stage – back in the early Sixties, no less – with such a strong and capable woman!)…

The Warsaw Falcons’ intrepid sound man taped our gig with Bo right off the board.  But given the 26 years that have gone by since our 50 minutes of fame, I wouldn’t call this hi-fidelity.  Still, it’s worth sharing.  Here Bo gives a shout-out to all his main men and women from the Fifties (including himself!): Bo Testifies

This might be my favorite Bo artifact… Since he never brought his own amp with him, he always was at the mercy of someone else’s crappy equipment.  Apparently, he didn’t care much for my Fender Twin! Jack It Up

Greetings from Carefree, AZ… where they like to point out “it’s a ‘dry’ heat.”

I’m using this brief respite from the Rubber City as an opportunity to read yet another book about an important musician – even though I’ve gone far beyond the recommended lifetime quota for such books.

Unfortunately, I can’t recommend any of them to people who don’t share my obsessive-compulsive approach to American roots music.  Because once you strip away the “who played with who, what label, which session, who produced, what instruments/amplifiers/accessories were used, how impaired were the players, which substances were abused”… there’s really not that much left to talk about.

But as a service to my readers who aren’t inclined to care about such things, I’m offering this layman’s guide to a few of my favorites:

Hope that helps…

I’ve just finished “Blues with a Feeling: The Little Walter Story,” by Tony Glover, Scott Dirks and Ward Gaines.  And this one’s an especially tough read for those who have only a passing interest in the world’s greatest harmonica player.  It’s stuffed with details on virtually every session that featured Walter as a leader or sideman – not to mention countless gigs where he at least showed up to play (Walter was notorious for letting other harp players take over in the middle of his gigs so he could go somewhere else to drink or get high, or both).  But once again, I’m hooked… and I can’t believe it took me this long to read about the single most innovative and influential bluesman that Chicago ever spawned.

I’ve played blues harp in bar bands for years.  I learned by ear when I was a teenager, playing mostly bluegrass with my brothers and fumbling along to third-generation blues tunes covered by rock bands like The Allman Brothers Band and Derek and the Dominoes.  The latter’s version of Walter’s “Key to the Highway” is perfect for harp neophytes – nearly 10 minutes of the same chord changes, a steady mid-tempo groove, and no flashy harp player to discourage you. Key to the Highway — Derek & The Dominos

But like any self-respecting blues hound, I eventually decided it was time to sniff out the hard stuff, so I borrowed a Little Walter album that kept staring at me when I’d visit my sister – a two-record set that had this bizarre illustration on the cover of Walter in a tux, standing in front of what appears to be a shipwrecked bar.

But this record was the motherlode for aspiring harp players.  And if you felt the least bit insecure about your playing when you dropped the needle on this one, you’d surely toss your harmonicas out for good after hearing Walter’s unbeatable tone and technique.  Here’s one of my favorite solos from Walter’s own recordings… My friend Andy calls it one of his “runaway riffs” – a good way to describe Walter in full flight. Mellow Down Easy

Walter’s powerful instrumentals seemed to openly mock his competitors – a useless exercise when you consider he really didn’t have any peers.  And his stuff sounds just as fresh and vital today as it did when he first shook up the blues world back in the 1950s.

He saved some of his best riffs for tunes he recorded with Muddy Waters, and my favorite is his solo on Muddy’s I Just Want To Make Love To You.  I’m amazed he pulled this one off – it’s so outside and alien, light years ahead of what anyone was putting down in Chicago at the time.  Maybe there’s a reason he named one of his instrumentals Flying Saucer… On this one, it sounds like he beamed himself into the studio, straight from the spaceship. I Just Want To Make Love To You — Muddy Waters

Walter’s own singles became jukebox standards – both the instrumental Juke and the hugely popular My Babe hit number one on the nation’s R&B charts.  And he soon eclipsed Muddy as the most popular artist on the Chess Record label.  In the book, harp player Billy Boy Arnold tops the blues academics in describing Walter’s appeal: “…a girl told me once that ‘Little Walter sound like a hipped-up Muddy Waters,’ meaning the same music, just hipped up some – and she described it right.  He was just wailing, he was a swinger; a lot of beautiful solos.”

Of course, fame can be fleeting, and Walter soon was standing in the shadows of the new rock ‘n roll artists who were taking over the Chess studios – especially Chuck Berry and Bo Diddley… although “The Bo” (as he liked to call himself) and Walter had great respect for one another and even recorded the following classic together: Diddley Daddy — Bo Diddley

Walter was a rough character who seemed to literally fight his way through life.  He was beaten up by more than a few racist cops, but also stepped into a number of scrapes he could’ve easily avoided, including several with jealous husbands.  He eventually succumbed to full-blown alcoholism and died in 1968 when one too many blows to the head sent a blood clot to his heart (“Blues with a Feeling” includes at least seven or eight wildly different accounts of Walter’s last scuffle).

The book’s epilogue offers this sad and sobering look at Walter’s demise: “Maybe when he saw how fleeting the fame and fortune was, he lost respect for his own gift – and for himself. And once he began his prolonged downward spiral, circumstances and his own choices seemed to conspire to bring it to its inevitable conclusion.”

Walter on Disc:

If you’re starting to search for that two-LP set, rest easy — there’s plenty of Walter available on disc…

In a more perfect world, every new homeowner in America would receive a free copy of Walter’s “Best” — part of the Chess 50th Anniversary Collection.  Hard-core fans can dive into “The Complete Chess Masters: 1950-1967,” a five-disc, 126-track set on Hip-O Select.  However, it includes a number of duds and alternate takes and none of the 50-plus prime cuts Walter recorded with Muddy Waters and Jimmy Rogers.  But Walter was a jazzman at heart and never played the same solo twice, so the alternates can be supremely rewarding for more dedicated listeners.

Given the fact that Walter lived and played on the edge, there are few surviving videos showing him in action.  I’ll leave you with these two.

The first is a nice, if brief, career overview that played at his 2008 induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (oddly enough, as a sideman)… You can find it here.

The second appears to be the only available video on youtube of Walter performing live, with Hound Dog Taylor in Europe (1967).   Now I’m a big fan of both Walter and Taylor, but they weren’t the most compatible musicians.  Walter was an avowed disciple of jump-jazz great Louis Jordan, while Taylor clearly modeled himself after the far-raunchier Elmore James (for prime Hound Dog, check out “Release the Hound,” which includes live cuts recorded at various Cleveland dives).  In several interviews, Walter didn’t hide his disdain for Taylor’s down-home style.  But the video remains a fascinating look at two great bluesmen, playing it the only way they knew how.

Next up: “Me and The Bo,” or how I survived my brief stint as a Bo Diddley sideman.

The cover song is a proud musical tradition – and it dates back centuries. Let’s face it, many popular tunes and entire forms of music wouldn’t exist today without the act of appropriating someone else’s song.

Guitar hero Richard Thompson made this point in spades several years ago when he released a set of live recordings on his own boutique label that he only half-jokingly titled “1000 Years of Popular Music.” The CD kicks off with a 13^th Century “round” and eventually gets around to covering Oops!… I Did It Again by Britney Spears.

The cover song seemed to reach its peak, at least in terms of significance, in the 1940s and ‘50s. At that time, songs recorded by black R&B and blues artists were typically segregated onto so-called “race” labels – Modern, Aladdin, Savoy, etc. But some of those artists started covering songs by white honky tonkers – for example, Bull Moose Jackson’s Why Don’t You Haul Off and Love Me, a cover of a 1949 country hit by harmonica player Wayne Raney – and aspiring white rockers began perfecting their own form of musical thievery.

Of course, this whole cross-pollinating thing led to what may be the defining moment in 20^th Century music – Elvis Presley’s cover of a little ditty by Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup, That’s All Right Mama.

For the most part, the covers by white artists pale in comparison to the originals, but there are a few exceptions. Here’s the original version of The Train Kept A-Rollin’, by jump-blues bandleader Tiny Bradshaw: The Train Kept A-Rollin’ (Tiny Bradshaw)

Now here’s the cover by an especially dangerous rockabilly band from the Fifties, the Johnny Burnette Trio: The Train Kept A-Rollin’ (Johnny Burnette Trio)

Johnny Burnette Trio

I’d argue that the Trio kicked it up a notch or two, fueled by Johnny’s well-placed screams and Paul Burlison’s gut-bucket guitar. And I won’t even bother with the far more popular version by Aerosmith, which ranks a distant fourth in my book (a Columbus bar band came in third).

Quick aside about those screams: Apparently, Burlison liked to place his lit cigarette on the loose end of one of the strings sticking out from the head of his guitar. Band is tearing it up onstage… Johnny backs into the lit cigarette… screams bloody murder… crowd goes wild… rest is rockabilly history.

There are far more examples of definitive originals by black artists. If you’re only familiar with Elvis’ cover of Hound Dog, brace yourself… the original by Big Mama Thornton will make you forget all about The King’s version: Hound Dog

A mutant offspring of the cover is the “answer song,” which also peaked around the same time. It’s a fairly simple concept, and I’ll let this response to Big Mama’s Hound Dog speak for itself… Bear Cat

You get the idea… The accuser is Rufus Thomas, who was a mainstay on Memphis’ fabled Stax-Volt label throughout its glory years. Here’s another answer song from the label’s catalog, with Jeanne & the Darlings take on Sam & Dave… Soul Girl

The Rolling Stones started out as little more than a decent cover band, doing their own versions of Chicago blues standards. Here they put their stamp on a classic by Muddy Waters… I Just Want To Make Love To You

The Beatles also cranked out more than a few covers, including a version of this original by soul singer Arthur Alexander, who was one of John Lennon’s favorites (he reportedly had a jukebox that only played Alexander’s 45s)… Anna (Go To Him)

Alexander also was covered by the Stones (You Better Move On) and spent years in obscurity before he was rediscovered in Cleveland, driving a school bus. He put out a strong comeback album – “Lonely Just Like Me” – before passing away in 1993.

Today, it seems like indie rockers, hip-hoppers and country hit-makers are lined up to pay tribute to anyone from Marvin Gaye to the Grateful Dead. But much of those tribute songs are totally unnecessary and only serve to send the listeners back to the originals. A few rise above the fray, like Bob Dylan’s cover of a Hank Williams tune from the 2002 Grammy-winning tribute, “Timeless.” Now I’ll just come out and admit that I’m not a big fan of Dylan’s recent vocal stylings (he makes Billie Holiday’s final performances sound too polished). But I like how he wheezes his way through this one (great phrasing) as his ace band drags Hank into a west Texas dance hall… I Can’t Get You Off Of My Mind

During the summer months, you can’t miss the steady parade of tribute bands coming to an ampitheater near you – covering well-worn songs by the Beatles, the Stones, the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac… even U2 and the Dave Matthews Band. These bands take boomers back to days when they could get a contact high at most rock concerts (although that tradition seems to live on at jam-band shows).

But that’s not quite the same as musicians trying to reinvent the songs they love… and maybe even create something a little better (or at least different) in the process.

Oh, and if you’re still wondering what Richard Thompson did with Britney Spears… Oops!… I Did It Again

A few favorite covers…

Actually, just picking the right song to cover is a creative process that can say a lot about a band or musician. Here are a few covers that head off in different directions from the originals.

Let’s start with the oldest – Milk Cow Blues. Kokomo Arnold recorded the original back in 1930, and it’s one of those tunes that country musicians pounced on right away, probably because of the lyrics. It’s been covered by many artists – Robert Johnson (as Milkcow’s Calf Blues), Elvis at Sun Studios (as Milkcow Blues Boogie), Willie Nelson, Ricky Nelson, the band Nelson (strike that last one)… but my favorite is a western swing version from 1941 by Johnnie Lee Wills, brother of Texas legend Bob. Back then, it was a much shorter walk from blues to country, and Wills’ singer barely takes a step. He’s Cotton Thompson, a long-forgotten fiddle player (the world’s first blue-eyed soul singer?). Kokomo’s original comes first, then the cover.Milk Cow Blues (Kokomo Arnold/Johnnie Lee Wills)

The title of Young Man’s Blues is a little misleading, because neither of the following two versions falls neatly into the blues category. The originator is Mose Allison, really a jazz guy who played a lot of blues-based songs, and a keen observer of the human condition. The imitator is The Who, from the 1970 album Live at Leeds. Now I’m not a huge fan of everything The Who put out, but I like how they reworked the original – transforming it from a laid-back lament into a defiant rocker… Roger Daltrey is one pissed-off young man!Young Man’s Blues (Mose Allison/The Who)

Johnny Cash has been covered by hundreds of musicians of every stripe – roots-rockers, hillbillies, punks, metalheads… And roots-music explorer Ry Cooder has made an entire career out of reinventing other people’s songs. This next one is the flip side of The Who’s approach – Cooder takes Cash’s signature “Tennessee Three” treatment and slows it down… and in the process, turns it into something far more ominous (we’re not quite sure where this train is heading). I especially like the instrumentation on this cover – just mandolin, piano (the late Jim Dickinson, a Memphis icon) and upright bass.Hey Porter (Johnny Cash/Ry Cooder)

If their recent reissues proved anything, the Beatles are an even bigger draw today than they were back in 1964. But their songs haven’t been covered by other artists as much as you might think. Could be that the Beatles catalog is considered sacred canon by many musicians – or maybe it’s just too damn hard to improve on the originals. But that didn’t scare off The Holmes Brothers, who have developed a strong following with their unique brand of gospel-infused R&B. This one knocks me out every time I hear it – a soulful take on an old Beatles favorite.And I Love Her (The Beatles/The Holmes Brothers)

Musicians seem to have an easier time covering Dylan… might have something to do with the demo-like quality of albums like “The Basement Tapes” with The Band, which gave us the original version of Going to Acapulco. The cover shows up 40 years later on the soundtrack to “I’m Not There” – a surreal look at various incarnations of Dylan throughout his career. I was unimpressed with most of the soundtrack, but this one stands out as the Tucson band Calexico paints a desert soundscape behind the stunning voice of Jim James (My Morning Jacket). Better than the original? You be the judge.Going to Acapulco (Bob Dylan/Jim James & Calexico)

Welcome to Rubber City Review.  It’s not intended to be Akron-centric, but I should probably kick things off by asking the question:  When it comes to roots-rock and other mutant forms of modern music – Devo, The Black Keys, The Cramps, Chrissie Hynde, The Numbers Band, Tin Huey founder and Tom Waits sideman Ralph Carney, punk guitar trailblazer and former Lou Reed sideman Robert Quine, Vaughn Monroe (Vaughn Monroe?  More on that later)… what makes Akron so damn special?

Growing up in Akron, I always felt that “bastard stepchild” vibe when I talked to hard-core Clevelanders.  There was never a sense that they were missing out on something by not taking the 30-minute drive south to check out Akron (although I can’t say that our meager live music scene was much of a draw).  Maybe we just had a little more to prove.

You could argue that the lack of a vibrant music scene forced many aspiring rockers into the garage – or, in the case of the Keys, literally underground – where they could tinker like mad scientists without fear of failure.  How else could you explain this hidden track on The Big Come Up? 240 Years Before Your Time

I’ve also heard that legendary late-night TV host Ghoulardi (aka Ernie Anderson, father of indie director Paul Thomas Anderson) had a huge impact on a young Erick Lee Purkhiser of Stow, OH before he morphed into psychobilly king Lux Interior of The Cramps, and that members of Devo were devotees as well.

Akron writer David Giffels expands on the Ghoulardi influence in the book “Are We Not Men? We Are Devo!”:  ”The Ghoulardi aesthetic seemed to capture a much broader and more significant notion:  Akron and Cleveland were a noirish sci-fi movie.  In Cleveland, it was steel.  In Akron, rubber.  But both places were defined by aging brick factories with round chimneys that breathed fire and smoke.”

Purkhiser also was under the spell of local DJ Pete “Mad Daddy” Myers, whose fast-paced chatter drew listeners into a carny sideshow of space-age sound effects and oddball rock ‘n roll… Songs like Teenage Machine Age by The Travelers, or this classic by Link Wray…Rumble

(Many examples of Mad Daddy in action here)

The Mad Daddy

In the late ’50s, Mad Daddy became an underground fixture in Northeast Ohio — occasionally hosting sock hops in his patented Dracula outfit.  But he never caught on at his next stop, New York City, where he eventually killed himself with a shotgun.

Now, I could go on at great length about The Cramps and the seductive powers of guitarist Poison Ivy (and I probably will down the road), but I’ll let this video clip speak for itself… You can almost hear the spinning sound of “the Singing Brakeman,” Jimmie Rodgers, who wrote this one back in 1930!

I love the TV show host at the end… Just another day of depravity at the station!

As this clip suggests, if there’s a common musical influence that connects all these bands, it’s probably rockabilly – which makes sense, because Akron’s rubber factories pulled in a lot of folks from the South who had little trouble adapting to a more urban environment.  You can hear some of that influence in Robert Quine, who was a huge fan of Ricky Nelson’s guitarist James Burton.  I’ll go straight to the source on this one – Burton’s blazing solo on Susie-Q by Dale Hawkins… Susie-Q

About 30 seconds of pure goodness… and cowbell to boot!

Since Chrissie Hynde moved back to town (part-time), her music has taken on a harder, more rockabilly edge — which is especially evident on this cut from Break Up the Concrete… Don’t Cut Your Hair

Maybe there’s something in the air, emanating from the primordial ooze of the Cuyahoga River.

But one thing is clear – there really isn’t anything you could remotely define as an “Akron Sound.”  The most obvious reason is that we never had a major studio in town with a forceful personality like Sam Phillips or Berry Gordy running the show.  Hell, Hynde didn’t even find her sound until she moved to London, and you could argue that The Numbers Band has never been properly recorded (Dan?).

And that sense of disconnect brings me to the odd man out – Vaughn Monroe, also known as “Old Leather Tonsils” and “The Baritone with Muscles”…

Back in 1920, Monroe was just another young punk with a rubber rat for a father.  He lived around the corner from my dad in Akron’s Goodyear Heights neighborhood, created by its tire-building namesake to house a small army of plant workers and their families.  But he eventually became one of the best-selling artists of the Forties – a big-band vocalist who wrapped his warm baritone around hits like Let it Snow and this one, Ghost Riders in the Sky… Riders in the Sky

I’m sure Monroe’s huge success appealed to my father’s belief that hard work and a modicum of talent can take you anywhere.  Here’s to Vaughn Monroe, the Godfather of the Akron Sound!

This just in from our Florida Bureau (brother James)… an entirely different take on Ghost Riders in the Sky — from Ned Sublette, author of “Cuba and its Music” and “The World that Made New Orleans” (more on those two books here):

Bonus video from Dan… We share a love of the late, great bluesman Freddie King.  I’m partial to his “surf-blues” recordings for the Cincinnati-based King label in the early-’60s — tunes like Hide Away, widely covered by blues bands around the world, and this one… Sen-Sa-Shun

But Dan came across this gem from Freddie’s later years, probably around 1972.  Watch him work out on Bill Withers’ Ain’t No Sunshine.  I like how he takes his time strapping on his guitar, tosses off a perfect blues lick, and then kills it!