Are there fan clubs for dead blues guys? I should start one for Lightnin’ Hopkins. I never get tired of the signature guitar riffs he played over and over again throughout his 50-some years as a working musician. Which is a good thing, because I have about 160 tunes by Lightnin’ in my collection – still only about one-fifth of his total recorded output.

Lightnin’ rarely strayed from his unique “yin-yang” approach to the blues. He was a country blues guitarist who learned his craft at the feet of fellow Texan Blind Lemon Jefferson, a true master of the form. Yet he spent much of his career on the streets of Houston, often using stream-of-consciousness lyrics to describe tough characters and situations that were familiar to many urban blacks. And whether he sang or spoke those lyrics, his laconic delivery never seemed to soften the menace of his razor-sharp guitar: Nothin’ But The Blues

Rather than try to capture the full genius of Lightnin’ Hopkins in one post, I decided to focus on a set of recordings from early 1954 that I’d argue are far more rockin’ than anything Elvis later recorded at Sun Studios.

The sessions took place in Houston and were released on the New York-based Herald label. From a commercial standpoint, these singles didn’t exactly fly off the shelves – although I’m sure they made their way onto quite a few jukeboxes in the South. Herald eventually compiled some of the songs on the 1959 album “Lightnin’ and the Blues,” which was aimed squarely at the burgeoning folk-blues movement (with this creaky sales pitch on the cover: “Lightnin’ Hopkins sings a collection of American Folk Lore”). But that release didn’t rock the charts either. In his liner notes to the 2001 CD release, Chris Smith theorizes that “white fans perhaps weren’t ready for the uncompromising rawness of Hopkins’ amplified juke joint blues.”

But the Herald recordings had a huge impact on many a young guitar slinger – including Stevie Ray Vaughan, who seemed to have the blazing instrumental Hopkins’ Sky Hop in mind when he recorded the Grammy-nominated Rude Mood on his first album, “Texas Flood.” Apparently Lightnin’ thought so too, claiming that the tune was a “take off” on his familiar style. On this first sample, I’ve put the two songs side-by-side for the sake of further argument: Hopkins’ Sky Hop/Rude Mood

There’s probably no need to start a fight… I’m sure if someone had pointed the similarities out to Stevie Ray, he would’ve pled guilty right away. And his badass brother Jimmie has no problem connecting the dots from Lightnin’ to his own style of playing. The fact is, any modern-day Texas blues guitarist worth arguing about owes a huge debt to Lightnin’ Hopkins and the red-hot tracks he laid down for Herald in ’54.

In his book “Lightnin’ Hopkins: His Life and Blues,” author Alan Govenar captures the significance of these recordings: “The twenty-six sides that Lightnin’ issued on Herald took his music to a new level. While little is known of what actually transpired during these sessions, the results were phenomenal. Lightnin’s amplified guitar had an explosiveness that had not been heard before, but note for note, Donald Cooks on bass and Ben Turner on drums – two session players in Houston – were completely in synch with his every lick.” Here’s more evidence that Lightnin’ and his band came to play: My Baby’s Gone

The band’s undeniable chemistry is even more remarkable when you consider Lightnin’s casual approach to chord changes, time signatures and other basic musical signposts. Like his contemporary John Lee Hooker, Lightnin’ had a highly original and distinctive style of playing that often was best expressed in solo performances, where he would hang on to a chord or a groove for as long as he felt it. And obviously, this approach didn’t always translate well to a full-band setting. Probably the best advice anyone could give one of his backing musicians was simply “hang on tight.” As drummer Robert Murphy complained, “Some nights we’d jam, we’d go all night. And the next night, we’d be somewhere different, we’d play a little while, and he would just turn around and tell the people, ‘Well, folks, I don’t think me and this drummer are gonna make it.’” (From an essay by John Wheat: “Lightnin’ Hopkins: Blues Bard of the Third Ward.”)

Govenar rightfully notes that the Herald sessions “anticipated the rock explosion of 1955 and 1956.” But Lightnin’, who already was in his early 40s when he made those landmark recordings, couldn’t compete with more youthful rock ‘n rollers like Elvis and Little Richard. Regardless, I never understood why the Herald recordings, although clearly in the blues vein, aren’t commonly recognized as vital artifacts of early rock. Listen to the big, booming rhythm on this next cut. Just once, I’d like to hear Lightnin’ blasting from one of those ridiculously jacked-up car stereos… Moving On Out Boogie

“Whatever he did in his day-to-day life, when he stepped into that studio, he was on fire,” Govenar wrote. But Lightnin’ walked away from the Herald sessions with little fanfare. He remained a regional blues favorite who still had to scrape and hustle for every dime he made. Only a few months later, Elvis would stroll into Sam Phillips’ studio in Memphis and record the first of his groundbreaking singles for Sun Records. Of course we all know who became the household name. But Lightnin’ was able to exact a little revenge in the early Sixties when he kick-started a whole new career on the folk-blues circuit while Elvis was doing everything he could to become completely irrelevant.

Over the years, Lightnin’ became one of the most prolific recording artists of any genre, waxing some 1,000 tunes on countless labels. I don’t pretend to be an expert on that massive discography. I just know what I like – which includes virtually everything I’ve picked up over the years with the name Lightnin’ Hopkins on it. And especially the Herald sessions of 1954. Early Mornin’ Boogie

Lightnin’ on video – from the 1967 documentary “The Blues According to Lightnin’ Hopkins,” by Les Blank. With Billy Bizor on harmonica (low volume on this one, so crank it up).

Another great clip from ’67 – Mojo Hand…

Article first published as Music: The Case of the Mysterious Banjo Player on Blogcritics.

In that crazy business called show, there are few pursuits offering less glamour than the life of a bluegrass musician. Most practitioners of this highly disciplined form of music believe its greatest rewards involve communing with other skilled and reverent bluegrass musicians to master the intricate melodies of ancient fiddle tunes. In contrast, most rockers just want to snort coke off a call girl’s derriere.

That’s not to say that a few bluegrass gigs don’t get a little out of control. And my flat-pickin’ brothers James and Jack have great stories to tell about the many nights they’ve spent playing in roadhouses filled with rednecks. Some of those tales focus on the usual exploits of the over-served. Others involve random acts of violence that seem like they were lifted from songs of death and sorrow by the Stanley Brothers.

James, who played in a popular north Florida bluegrass band back in the early ‘70s called the Flying Aces, recalls one gig at a bar on St. George Island that took a particularly chilling turn:

“I was sitting at the bar during a break when I heard a commotion behind me and turned around just in time to see a woman tumbling backward into the band equipment, mic stands falling like dominos across the stage. She had just been swatted by her husband who walked away as if nothing had happened. When we ran up to help her to her feet she said, ‘Just get me to my truck’… which we did.  A few minutes later I noticed some guys sitting by the window gesturing wildly toward the parking lot outside. They were yelling ‘no, no, no’… then a shot. The woman had retrieved her pistol from the glove compartment and shot her husband – ’in the kidney,’ they later reported. About the time the ambulance arrived the bar owner came to me and said, ‘Don’t you think it’s time for you guys to start playin’ again?’”

I sat in with the Aces on several occasions. On one trip south, I joined James and the boys for a week in Melbourne, FL, where we worked on an archaeological dig for a shrimp boat captain (don’t ask… I’m pretty sure drug money was involved). We stayed in the captain’s house, which was nice but sparsely furnished, although it had plenty of canned goods in the pantry. One night we decided to start an impromptu picking session at a nearby bar, which went fine until one of the locals grabbed James’ guitar and started singing a tune that sounded like it wouldn’t have been out of place at a Ku Klux Klan rally (or a David Allan Coe show). It opened with the less-than-inclusive verse “Martin Luther King was a Ni…” We snatched back the guitar before he could finish, hurled a few f-bombs on the way out the door and high-tailed it back to the captain’s nest.

Sadly, I don’t show up at all in my favorite story about a bluegrass gig. It unfolds at the Pastime Tavern, a dive on Tennessee Street in Tallahassee – just a short stumble from the campus of Florida State University. That’s where James and Jack took the stage in the early ’70s as The Quine Brothers Band. On one of those evenings, they were greeted by a quiet but friendly gentleman with a beautiful banjo. I’ll let James pick it up from there:

“We were both on stage when a sharp-dressed, well-groomed guy – especially for the times – walked in carrying a banjo case and asked if he could sit in. We didn’t normally encourage sit-ins, but this guy was clearly something different, so we said OK. That’s when he pulled out his banjo – gold hardware and mother of pearl all over the place. As I remember, he just stood in the back of the stage mostly playing rhythm. When his turn for a solo came around, I would glance back at him to see if he wanted it. I think he pretty much played on everything… definitely knew a lot of fiddle tunes.

“After he left, somebody said he was a former writer for the Smothers Brothers who was doing comedy shows on campus the next couple of nights. I don’t think anybody in Tallahassee had actually seen his act. Jack saw the first show and made me go with him to the second. I hurt myself laughing. He was definitely at the top of his game… Wasn’t the least bit funny when he played with us, though.”

The mysterious banjo player turned out to be Steve Martin, who had reached a critical point in his career by the time he hit Tallahassee in ’73. He had already appeared on the major TV shows – Johnny Carson, Merv Griffin, Mike Douglas – and had written for Sonny and Cher and the Smothers Brothers. But he was still performing at small clubs that seated less than 100 people.

In some ways, Martin’s great flair for the surreal worked better with the smaller crowds. And he would often think of ways to take the show out of the clubs and into the streets, where he would improvise with virtually anything. In his book “Born Standing Up,” Martin describes a Florida performance in ’73 that must have occurred only days before he showed up at the Pastime:

“The Florida night was balmy and I was able to take the audience outside into the street and roam around in front of the club, making wisecracks. I didn’t quite know how to end the show. First I started hitchhiking: a few cars passed me by. Then a taxi came by. I hailed it and got in. I went around the block, returned and waved at the audience – still standing there – then drove off and never came back.”

James remembers a similar scene when Martin performed at Florida State. “The entire audience of about 200 people followed him out of the Down Under (a restaurant/beer hall in the Student Union) into the parking lot, which was at the bottom of an embankment leading up to Tennessee Street. Martin came up with the idea that he would climb the embankment and hitchhike. When a car stopped, everybody would run up and try to get in. He moved on to something else, of course. At one point he stood on a rock, pointed to the sky and said, ‘See that moon? That moon is over 10 miles away.’”

James made a point of seeing Martin when he returned to Tallahassee a couple of years later, and even wrangled a backstage visit. “He seemed to remember me, which I assumed was insincere until he asked how my brother was doing, which I found pretty remarkable.”

By that time, Martin’s act was turning into a hit. He started wearing a white suit so he could be easily seen at greater distances. “I was conflicted because the white suit had already been used by entertainers, including John Lennon,” he wrote. “I was afraid it might seem derivative, but I stayed with it for practical reasons, and it didn’t seem to matter to the audience or critics.” He also would tease the folks in the cheap seats with his magic dime trick, claiming to change the date of the dime. “Then I would ask the back row what they’d paid to get in. They would shout it out, and I would laugh hysterically, implying that they were getting screwed.”

Martin had finally made it to the big time. But his newfound fame had one obvious downside: He could no longer make an anonymous visit to the Pastime Tavern to play a few of his favorite bluegrass tunes with the Quine Brothers Band.

So the obvious question is, can this guy really play? I’ll let this next tune speak for itself: Wally On The Run/Steve Martin

Here’s one of Steve Martin’s first appearances on TV, performing magic tricks on the Smothers Brothers Show:

In 1977, I’d just landed in Athens, Ohio, to begin my junior year of college at Ohio University. But more important, I started working at a record store uptown – a great opportunity to fill out my collection with plenty of free vinyl.

Unfortunately, it was slim pickings for this unreconstructed blues hound. Guitar-slinger Freddie King had passed away at the end of ’76, and aside from Muddy Waters’ great comeback album “Hard Again” (which earned its title when a first listen gave Muddy a chub in his chinos), there really wasn’t much new stuff to get excited about. So I kept mining the old stuff – mostly on Chess and whatever label John Lee Hooker or Lightnin’ Hopkins decided to sign up with for a few extra bucks.

I really didn’t know much about Kansas City jazz and had yet to discover the many joys of jump blues artists like Buddy Johnson and Louis Jordan. So I was completely floored when I came across the first album by a mighty blues and swing band from Rhode Island called Roomful of Blues, with Duke Robillard on vocals and guitar.

The album was produced by the legendary songwriter Doc Pomus (Save the Last Dance for Me, This Magic Moment, Little Sister, Viva Las Vegas) with able assistance from Joel Dorn, another guy who had already lived the dream – producing more than a few hit records at Atlantic during the late ‘60s and early ‘70s for artists like Roberta Flack and Les McCann.

If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that Pomus and Dorn felt like a couple of love-struck teenagers when they first came across Roomful – a gang of sharp-looking, road-tested hipsters who were completely over the moon for records that rarely made it past the 78 RPM format. Even Count Basie was a fan, calling them “hottest blues band I’ve ever heard” after sitting in with them in ’74.

Maybe the Count was overserved that night. But no question, Roomful of Blues was in a class by itself. At a time when the Sex Pistols were pissing all over Seventies schlock-rock, Roomful of Blues had taken the exact opposite approach – retreating to the hardwood-floored dance halls of the Forties and Fifties to recreate the red, hot and blue sounds of T-Bone Walker, Big Joe Turner and Roy Milton. Red, Hot and Blue

Robillard was the consummate swing-blues guitarist, an old soul who had spent a big chunk of his young 29 years woodshedding with the masters – T-Bone, Lowell Fulson, Buddy Guy, jazz greats like Charlie Christian… Robillard had those and other classic styles down cold. But his soulful voice only added to the timeless feel of that first record, and it was clear that this was Duke’s band. I especially love this rockin’ version of a tune by R&B stroller Chuck Willis (one of three Willis covers on the album): Take It Like A Man

Duke and company also did a wonderful job covering a T-Bone original first recorded back in 1947, during the last of his landmark sessions with the Black & White label. Based on several focus groups I’ve conducted over the years, I can tell you with great certainty that I’m Still In Love With You drives women crazy. Every time I hear a lame version of You Look Wonderful Tonight and You Are So Beautiful and At Last at a wedding party, I wonder why this next tune never makes the cut (especially if the couple has a more complicated relationship than those other songs would imply). And it features some fine sax by guest Scott Hamilton… I’m Still In Love With You

Robillard recorded one more album with Roomful, and it’s every bit as good as the first one. Released in ’79, “Let’s Have a Party” has the same supporting cast – including the very capable Al Copley on piano, sax prodigies Greg Piccolo and Rich Lataille, and swinging drummer John Rossi. As the title and cover suggest, the album is the perfect soundtrack for a booze-fueled house party in some fleabag joint that hasn’t seen a freshly paved road in years. Let’s Have A Party

My favorite moment on the album is the horn-driven climax to Big Joe Turner’s The Chill is On. It makes the point that, unlike many of the retro bands that were part of the ‘90s swing revival – Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, Cherry Poppin’ Daddies, Who’s Your Daddy (OK, I made that last one up) – Roomful understood the power of dynamics… of slowly building the tension in a song or solo to the point where you can’t help but run over to the stereo and crank it well into the red zone: The Chill Is On

You can argue that, creatively, Duke and Roomful didn’t break any new ground. Most of the songs were covers, and they never strayed too much from the original versions. But for me, those first two Roomful of Blues albums had the same impact that many young guitar slingers felt when they first heard Cream play Crossroads – they opened me up to a lot of music I didn’t know existed. Those albums led me to the masters of jump blues, and the seductive sound of Ella Johnson crooning over brother Buddy’s fearsome horns and relentless rhythm section: (Gonna Go) Upside Your Head/Buddy & Ella Johnson

Roomful had a big influence on many blues bands that followed – including the Fabulous Thunderbirds, which used Roomful’s horn section on their “Butt Rockin’” album, and Stevie Ray Vaughan, who followed up on Roomful’s cover of Texas Flood with his own version some six years later.

Duke, today

After leaving Roomful in 1980 for personal reasons, Robillard went on to a fairly successful solo career and even joined the T-Birds for a short spell. He eventually recorded with Bob Dylan and toured with Tom Waits, and remains a sought-after session player.

Roomful of Blues continues to record and perform, having gone through a number of lineups over the years. In fact, some 50 musicians have played with Roomful since it was formed as a four-piece back in 1967 – including blues guitarist Ronnie Earl, T-Birds drummer Fran Christina and the late trombonist Porky Cohen, who played with Tommy Dorsey and Artie Shaw, among others. Today, Rich Lataille is the only remaining member from the original band.

Roomful also rose to the challenge of recording with a few of their idols, mainly Big Joe Turner, Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson and Earl King (I especially like the King album, “Glazed”). The band has earned five Grammy nominations and many more blues awards – but I keep going back to those first two albums with Duke Robillard. That’s a band for the ages.

Didn’t hear enough Duke on guitar? This’ll take care of that.

You might be able to find a few vinyl copies on ebay, but CDs of Roomful’s second album are only available on the band’s web site.

As you can tell from the title, I really didn’t feel like writing much this week. So I decided to take the easy way out by featuring some video clips that people have been kind enough to send me over the last few months.

Since I play harmonica, I get a few from folks who apparently are trying to shame me into never playing again. This first clip, from Brother James, features the wonderful Toots Thielemans and an ultra-cool Peggy Lee makin’ a little whoopee together on TV. Even with Toots stepping all over her, Peggy still comes across as the very definition of class:

Extended family member Bill Smith from Tampa sent me this clip of the amazing Buddy Greene, mainly because he thinks I look a lot like Buddy. This was filmed at a Gaither Gospel Show at Carnegie Hall – definitely not something I’d put on my “must see” list. But it really is stunning what guys like Buddy and Howard Levy (founding member of Bela Fleck and the Flecktones) can do with your standard diatonic harmonica. I had the great pleasure of seeing Buddy play in a small club in Macon, GA, back in the mid-’70s. Made me want to hand out all my Hohners at the senior center:

Nephew Dan sent in this rare clip of Roy Buchanan playing with the legendary Johnny Otis, with Johnny’s son Shuggie on rhythm guitar. It would’ve been nice to hear more of Shuggie, but it’s still a fine slice of blues goodness from the early ’70s. By the by, Johnny played drums on the original version of Driftin’ Blues by the late, great Charles Brown:

Next up: Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown and Roy Clark, together in 1981 on Austin City Limits. Roy is in full “Hee Haw” mode on this one… and if you want to see even more country corn, check out his version of The Pretender from the same show.

I saw Gatemouth perform several times, mostly in small blues clubs, and he always delivered. At one show in Columbus, a guy sitting in front of me kept pelting this woman at another table with ice cubes. Gate was blasting through one of his red-hot instrumentals but noticed what was going on. He stopped right in the middle of a solo, calmly rested his guitar against his amp, walked over to the guy, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragged him through the club and threw him out the front door onto High Street. Then he calmly walked back up on stage, picked up his guitar and jumped right back in where he left off. I was floored… The crowd wend wild. R.I.P., Gate:

Joscha from Germany keeps asking, when are you guys going to do a post on Link Wray? Since I haven’t decided yet how to tackle that one, I’ll give myself a little breathing room with these next two videos.

The first is a 1978 performance on Musikladen, a West German music TV show that ran from ’72 to ’84. Link is in great form and seems completely unconcerned with the fact that his guitar is out of tune. I enjoy some of Link’s recordings with rockabilly singer Robert Gordon, but when you hear him belt out this song, it makes you wonder why he didn’t do this more often. The second clip starts with a live version of Rumble, then segues into a rare interview on a UK TV show. The length of time you stick with the interview is probably in direct proportion to how you feel about Link Wray (even though the audio is slightly out of synch and the interviewer’s a little annoying, I was fascinated by the clip and hung with it ’til the bitter end… “The Rumble Man” seemed to be in a very playful and expansive mood). At least stick around until the 3:35 point where he shows us how to do the “Jack the Ripper” dance:

In our previous post, I went on at some length about Cleveland’s favorite late-night TV host, Ghoulardi. This next clip shows the original B-movie beatnik going through his mail during a 1963 broadcast. “Next time you write me a note, try to be less obtrusive”:

I was going to stop right there, but then it seemed like I had to find a way to pay tribute to soul man Solomon Burke, who passed away on Sunday. How about this clip from ’87 with Burke tearing into the country standard I Can’t Stop Loving You in front of a TV audience in Baden Baden, Germany? R.I.P., Solomon:

Couldn’t resist – one of my favorite Solomon Burke songs, recorded in NYC in August ’63: Won’t You Give Him (One More Chance)

Earl Hooker, dining out

Much has been said and written about the great blues singers – Muddy, B.B., Bessie, Wolf, Big Mama, Sonny Boy… But I think it’s time to praise one of the more overlooked subgenres of the form, the blues instrumental.

I’m a huge fan of surf guitar… can’t get enough of that melodic twang swimming in a sea of reverb and tom-toms. But my singing siblings, who comprise sort of a Yankee-hillbilly version of the von Trapp family, remain unimpressed. As sister Keena likes to point out, a guitar solo is merely the amount of time it takes before someone starts singing again. I’ll place this site’s graphic integrity at risk (Keena’s our Web Wrangler) by politely disagreeing.

There’s really not much difference between a great surf instrumental and a great blues instrumental. In fact, the line between the two was completely blurred in the early ‘60s by the fabulous Freddie King. Songs like Hide Away and San-Ho-Zay are good examples of what a classic instrumental is all about – cool rhythms, hot solos and a memorable hook that Paulie Walnuts couldn’t pry out of your head with an ice pick. And Freddie’s unique genius involved taking the sparse yet playful arrangements of West Coast surf and marrying it with the hard-driving sound of Chicago blues. You can find the next tune and 23 other surf-blues workouts on an outstanding collection of Freddie King instrumentals recorded at King Studios in Cincinnati, “Just Pickin’”: Side Tracked/Freddie King

Years ago, I read an interview with Bruce Iglauer, founder and head of the Chicago blues label Alligator Records. As I recall, he talked about starting every day by listening to blues instrumentals by either Freddie King or Albert Collins. Now, I’m not real crazy about a few Alligator releases. But I think if you take Iglauer’s basic approach to daily living, then consider his patronage of the great Charles Brown and the Ice Man himself, Albert Collins – then add the fact that he created his label simply to record blues legend Hound Dog Taylor… well, I think you have all the makings of a man who deserves his own wing in that glass pyramid up in Cleveland.

Which brings us to Collins – the Master of the Telecaster. A bluesman with a strong, soulful voice, Collins also was a keen and witty observer of life in the ‘hood, as evidenced in songs like Master Charge and When The Welfare Turns Its Back On You. But Collins built his career on the blues instrumental, starting with Frosty back in 1962. One of my favorite albums is “Truckin’ with Albert Collins,” a collection of some of his best instrumentals (and one vocal performance) first released as “The Cool Sounds of Albert Collins” in ’65. The Ice Man was a complete original on guitar, using his bare fingers to brutalize his guitar strings – as well as unconventional tunings, custom pickups and Fender’s mightiest amp, the Quad Reverb, to augment his stinging, trebly tone. It didn’t surprise me when his song Kool Aide showed up on a beer commercial… Like many of the best blues recordings, “Truckin’” has that classic yet contemporary sound that only gets better with age. Shiver ‘N Shake/Albert Collins

Of course, Freddie King and Albert Collins owe a huge debt to Little Walter, who made the blues instrumental a minor sensation back in 1952 when he first rocked the R&B charts with his number one hit, Juke. And he followed up the success of that single with other first-rate instrumentals, like Off the Wall, Roller Coaster and Sad Hours. Like Collins, Walter was an effective vocalist with a singular style, but it’s hard to overstate the impact that his well-crafted instrumentals had on urban black listeners. I’ll go back to a quote from another Chicago blues harpist, Billy Boy Arnold, from the book “Blues with a Feeling” by Tony Glover, Scott Dirks and Ward Gaines (featured in this post): “…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.” Here’s one of them: The Toddle/Little Walter

Even a terrific singer like B.B. King jumped on the blues instrumental bandwagon with a handful of singles recorded for the Kent label in ’60 and ’61. I’m sure hard-core collectors had been aware of these songs for years. But the rest of us can thank the reissue experts at the British Ace label for bringing all these instrumentals together in one place with “Spotlight on Lucille” (released on CD in ’92). It’s a wide-ranging collection, with B.B.’s guitar locking in tight with a powerful horn section as they shuffle, swing, rock, rhumba… and even romance a couple of slow blues. If you’re looking for some of the best expressions of B.B.’s undying love for his woman Lucille, you can stop right here. Just Like A Woman/B.B. King

Guitarist Earl Hooker, second cousin of John Lee, is possibly the most underrated of all Chicago bluesmen – and he cut some blazing instrumentals over the years. If Hooker had a weakness, it actually might have been his amazing virtuosity. He was one of the few blues guitarists who could play country and western music (“I used to watch Gene Autry and Roy Rogers when I was a kid,” he told Arhoolie Records founder Chris Strachwitz), even recording this standard for Sam Phillips’ Sun label in ’53: Guitar Rag He also dabbled in jazz and rock, experimenting with wah-wah pedals and a double-necked guitar before Jimmy Page even thought about adding them to his arsenal. And his wild stage antics, including the tribute to good dental hygiene at the top of this post (and below), didn’t miss the attention of a young Jimi Hendrix.

But Hooker was especially fearsome on slide, which he learned while performing gigs in Arkansas with the great bluesman Robert Nighthawk. He toured constantly with his band The Roadmasters during the Fifties and Sixties and recorded for a number of different labels including Chess, where he added some fine slide to Muddy Waters’ You Shook Me (later covered by Led Zeppelin). But my favorite Hooker cuts are his classic instrumentals – The Hucklebuck, Blue Guitar, Frog Hop, Blues in D Natural, Off the Hook, Tanya… You can’t find all of them on one CD, but if you don’t mind spending a little scratch, I highly recommend “Blue Guitar: The Chief/Age/U.S.A. Sessions 1960-1963” on the Japanese P-Vine label. Or pick up the more affordable “Simply the Best: The Earl Hooker Collection,” which features this slinky instrumental: Drivin’ Wheel/Earl Hooker

The blues instrumental is in good hands with younger players like guitarist Rick Holmstrom, a native Alaskan who cut his teeth backing up West Coast harp players like William Clarke and Rod Piazza (the Mighty Flyers) as well as Delta bluesman Johnny Dyer. I caught Holmstrom live with the Mighty Flyers up in Cleveland, and it was clear he’d mastered their tasty, swinging repertoire. But I was really knocked out by his ’96 solo release, “Lookout!” – a fresh, fun take on the blues instrumental, with lots of unexpected twists and turns throughout: Tacos De Pescado As you can tell, Holmstrom is advancing the form while remaining firmly based in the blues tradition of great guitar slingers like T-Bone Walker, Freddie King and Albert Collins. He followed up “Lookout!” with an even more adventurous disc, 2002’s “Hydraulic Groove,” featuring special guests John Medeski on keyboards and DJ Logic. I’m looking forward to finding out what other goodies Holmstrom has in his trick bag. Knock Yourself Out/Rick Holmstrom

Earl Hooker on video… Here’s another one of those fascinating American Folk Blues Festival clips (a few others are featured here). Kind of a sloppy performance, but still riveting. Keep in mind, Hooker suffered from tuberculosis during most of his adult life – and TB eventually killed him the following year – so the fact that he was pulling off half of these stunts is pretty remarkable.

As I was trolling around for other videos of Hooker, I came across this whacked-out artifact, probably put together by someone from my neck of the woods. It starts with an audio clip of Ghoulardi, a late-night movie host who practiced a unique form of anarchy live on Cleveland TV from 1963 to 1966. Ghoulardi was a big influence on countless musicians and artists from northeast Ohio, including Devo, Lux Interior of the Cramps and film director Jim Jarmusch – and we touched on his undeniable greatness in our very first post one year ago. The man behind the schtick was Ernie Anderson, who went on to a successful career doing voiceover work in L.A. (he was the voice of the ABC-TV network for two decades). His son, indie film director Paul Thomas Anderson (Boogie Nights, Magnolia, There Will Be Blood), carries on the tradition through his production company, The Ghoulardi Film Company. The rest of the following clip is naughty in a Bettie Page sort of way, but pretty tame compared to Lady Ga Ga’s latest video. Oh, and it features Earl Hooker’s nasty instrumental, Frog Hop.

What kind of town do you live in, musically speaking? Is it classic rock, country, jazz, polka, Tuvan throat-singing? I’m not referring to the kind of music you hear on the radio. I’m talking about the songs that seem to make the most sense when you’re driving around town; that make you think, yeah, this sound starts to get at the heart of what this place is all about.

I, of course, live in Akron – a city that’s incredibly easy to live in, but over the last couple of years has taken on a little bit of the “suck factor.” Don’t get me wrong, I love it when we get a rare visitor or two and I can upend their perceptions of my hometown as a 60-square-mile Superfund site. I live about five miles from a national park… we have no traffic to speak of… and all of our self-inflicted environmental calamities are well behind us.

I remember when my friend Andy came to visit from NYC on one of those spectacular fall afternoons that turn my tree-lined street into an orgy of color. I interrupted our catch-up talk to fly down the road on a two-seat bike and pick up my daughter, who was walking home from school. When I came back, the blimp was hovering over our house. Of course, that never happened again and the weather went south right after Andy and his wife left town.

Beyond the occasionally dicey weather, the minus column includes a few more recent entries. Despite what some financial experts are saying, the economy has yet to turn the corner… The Black Keys have made Nashville their new home base… and the Cleveland sports scene has hit rock bottom. I’m beginning to think that professional sports teams should only exist in the four or five metropolitan areas big enough to support them. Cities like New York, Chicago and L.A. would have dozens of football teams that you’d watch on television, using some sort of digital contraption to place your bets.

I’ll leave the sports musings to the experts, like Gary Benz. We’re here to talk about music, and I’ve decided that the most appropriate soundtrack for driving around Akron is stone-cold, tough-as-nails honky tonk music.

That might speak volumes about the parts of town I tend to cruise. It also might add some logic to the lure of Music City USA, which stole the hearts of Dan and Pat (a city seemingly at odds with their heavy rock swagger, but I can assure you Dan is a big fan of classic honky tonkers like Lefty Frizell, Buck Owens and Merle Haggard). But I think it has more to do with the thousands of folks from Kentucky, Tennessee and West Virginia who came to Akron to work in its massive rubber factories – and the kind of music they listened to in the small corner bars they called home.

So if you happen to live in the Rubber City, or plan on visiting America’s Newest Vacation Mecca anytime soon, I encourage you to slap these tunes on a CD and head down Kenmore Boulevard. You’ll quickly fall in love with the idea of a city that’s blissfully out of synch with the rest of the world.

Unlike our neighbors to the north, we’re a fairly hopeful lot here in Akron. When the Tribe drops six games in a row, we don’t start ranting about “The Curse of Rocky Colavito.” We just stop making the 30-mile drive to Progressive Field and head over to Canal Park, where you can watch the pros play and save a little cash too. On the political front, we have a few bad seeds, but none facing hard time in prison like virtually half of Cuyahoga County’s elected officials. We’re like the Buck Owens to Cleveland’s Johnny Paycheck – and some of us don’t even own guns. So when things start to look bad, we can just put a little more spring in our two-step with Buck and his Buckaroos: We’re Gonna Let The Good Times Roll/Buck Owens

But some problems are a little harder to ignore, like a bad housing market. And many of the stories behind those padlocked doors and sheriff’s auction signs can be pretty heartbreaking. I’m sure most of this hard luck has to do with a lost job or an investment gone awry. But a few can be traced back to a more basic form of heartbreak – that is, the final stop in a dead-end relationship. Nobody has driven down that cul de sac more often than George Jones. I don’t care if country music isn’t your thing. If you’re not moved by George’s Grand Tour of his empty house, then you have a small, black heart that’s barely beating. The Grand Tour/George Jones

For those older folks who are fortunate enough to sell their homes, the next stop is usually a trailer park in Florida. But a surprising number decide to ride it out in the Rubber City, where the relative lack of traffic makes it easier for octogenarians to navigate their sturdy land-yachts down the exact center of our streets. Then there are the characters all of us know who never make it to old age – who take Buck’s advice to the next level and decide to party their way into oblivion. No need to bother these folks with retirement plans or the value of investing in low-risk savings bonds. They’d rather blow it at the bar and leave beautiful memories. Live Fast, Love Hard, Die Young/Faron Young

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the bold, spirited women of our town. Women who refuse to turn the other cheek and are willing to fight for what they believe is right. Women like my mom, who came here from the Deep South and left a long trail of busted-up Yankees in her wake. So if you’re one of those painted floozies hoping to come here to steal our men, think twice (or call first). Because you’re about to take a one-way trip to Fist City… Fist City/Loretta Lynn

As this song might suggest, towns throughout the Midwest are well-populated by folks who – how do I say this carefully? – have a certain penchant for sleeveless T-shirts, filterless cigarettes and instant lottery tickets. Oh what the hell… I’m talking about white trash. And no one has chronicled the lifestyle of the Appalachian transplant longer or more lovingly than Akron native David Allan Coe. He rode with the Outlaws motorcycle gang and did time in the Mansfield Reformatory, which later served as the backdrop for the movie The Shawshank Redemption. And he channeled those experiences through songs like The Ride, Take This Job and Shove It, and this next one, which seems to describe the parts of town where being “off the grid” is not a desired outcome. If That Ain’t Country/David Allan Coe

Of course, our city’s elders have decried the continued exodus of Akron’s best and brightest to other communities, mostly those that offer warmer climates. Then again, no one’s asking David Allan Coe to move back… but certainly the recent departure of Dan and Pat has left a void. I think there’s more than a little denial in all this hand-wringing. And I wonder how many of those same elders would stick around if someone handed them all the cash generated by The Black Keys’ latest album, “Brothers”? Even if you don’t have a pot to piss in (let me rephrase that: especially if you don’t…), it makes perfect sense to long for a life far away from where you live. And that’s true no matter what town you call home. It’s all about that age-old yearning for a new start, expressed by the protagonist of this Steve Earle song: Someday/Steve Earle

Truth be told, most people in this town are refreshingly free of attitude and live here because it’s a solid, stable place to raise their kids. They work hard all week, get a little over-served on Saturday nights and usually practice a form of religion that doesn’t involve snake handling. And they didn’t lose any sleep over LeBron’s “Decision.” So this last tune is for them. It’s a little gospel number by someone who wrestled with more than a few snakes during his 29 years, the Right Reverend Hank Williams: I’ll Have A New Body/Hank Williams

“Enjoy Akron” t-shirt courtesy of Rubber City Clothing.

Penn Says David Allan Coe is bat-shit crazy… This is good stuff – and who would’ve thought that Coe was a big influence on Penn & Teller’s act? There’s another funny clip on youtube of Penn talking about bringing Coe backstage at one of their Vegas shows.