Do you have little patience for country music of any stripe? Do you think of Western Swing tunes as bouncy, brainless singalongs for Texans who drink too much? If you just answered yes and yes, you’re probably missing out on the many joys of Lester Robert “Junior” Barnard.

To describe Barnard as a really good country guitarist is like calling Prince a nifty little dancer. It just doesn’t begin to capture all of the influences that came together in the blazing leads that Junior contributed to recordings by various members of the Wills family back in the Forties. Of course, the most notable of those songs were recorded by the undisputed kings of Western Swing, Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys.

One of the great “go for broke” soloists of all time, Barnard joined Wills at a perfect moment in the band’s career. Prior to World War II, Wills led one of the most popular swing bands in the country and had no trouble keeping up to 18 musicians on the road and gainfully employed for months on end. But, like many bandleaders during the war, he downsized considerably – ending up with a smaller group of 10 or 12 musicians, including a few who were experimenting with different forms of amplification to fatten up their sound.

In the meantime, Barnard was perfecting a fiery style of playing based in swing but borrowing heavily from the blues and more visceral jazz guitarists like fellow Oklahoman Charlie Christian (here with Benny Goodman): Breakfast Feud  And he’d landed on a thick, greasy and often distorted sound that involved using two small amps (a Fender Pro and an Epiphone) wired to separate pickups on his Epiphone guitar. He also used a volume pedal so he could boost his sound at a moment’s notice… Apparently, most of the bands that hired Barnard had little use for formal arrangements, and he never knew when he’d get the call to cut loose.

A native of Coweta, Oklahoma, Barnard was no stranger to the Wills family. At the age of 15, he’d already made a name for himself as a staff musician on a Tulsa radio show. He eventually was hand-picked by Bob Wills’ father, John, to play in his Lonestar Rangers. And from there, the supremely talented and somewhat mercurial Barnard drifted from one band to another – including swing outfits led by Bob Wills’s cousin, Son Lansford, and brother, Johnnie Lee. Sort of like being owned by the Texas dancehall mafia.

Johnnie Lee Wills & His Boys (Junior at far left; Cotton Thompson just right of Wills)

Barnard landed in the studio just long enough to record my favorite version of Milk Cow Blues, featuring the incredibly soulful voice of fiddler Cotton Thompson – and, of course, some bluesy fills courtesy of Junior: Milk Cow Blues/Johnnie Lee Wills & His Boys

Although Barnard played with Bob Wills as early as 1942, his most fruitful years with the Texas Playboys were right after the war. That’s when Wills, looking to generate new business for his band, entered into a unique partnership with Oakland-area songwriter/businessman Cliff Sundlin and San Francisco radio personality Clifton “Cactus Jack” Johnson. The three decided to form the Tiffany Music Company, with the idea that Bob Wills and band would host a syndicated radio program.

As an HBO programmer might say, those shows needed plenty of content. So Wills and the Playboys recorded more than 370 tunes on the fly (usually on Mondays, when the band wasn’t booked) in a studio located at the top of San Francisco’s Nob Hill, in the Mark Hopkins Hotel. But only a portion of those transcriptions (basically songs recorded live in the studio) were released to radio stations before the Tiffany partnership went under. Thankfully, many of the Tiffany Transcriptions survived and were released in several volumes by Kaleidoscope Records in the ‘80s (vinyl) and Rhino in the ‘90s (CD). The Tiffanys capture the Bob Wills band and their hot-shot guitarist at their best – fast, loose, and just lettin’ it rip.

The great Tiny Moore, a Texas Playboy who often played his mandolin through an amp, had this to say about the Tiffanys (from the liner notes to Rhino Vol. 1):

“The Tiffany Transcriptions are a special joy to me. This is the way the Wills Band sounded on the many dances we played. In not trying for the ‘perfect take,’ we had a relaxed yet driving quality that is hard to get on a record. I don’t remember any pressure at all during these recordings… In my opinion, the true Bob Wills music feeling comes through on these recordings.”

They definitely capture Barnard under the best possible circumstances. The informal, easygoing nature of the sessions played to his improvisational strengths, giving him the freedom to head in any direction that struck his fancy. You can hear Barnard’s country roots, but you also can hear him exploring hard blues, jazz, R&B… and laying the foundation for countless rock ‘n roll guitarists who were inspired by his fearless and aggressive attack. Here’s a blues that Wills probably threw together on the spot to showcase Junior’s prodigious chops (with some fine solos added by Moore and pedal steel player Herb Remington): Barnard Blues

The Wills tune most closely associated with Barnard is sort of a jump blues/swing hybrid, an instrumental named after Bob’s favorite moniker for his 230-pound guitarist: Fat Boy. Bob’s brother Luke, who played bass on some of the Tiffany sessions, describes how the largely improvised Fat Boy Rag came together (Rhino Vol. 7):

“In other recording sessions for records, tunes were set out in advance, and rehearsed and timed and everything. But not in the Tiffany sessions. And mostly the guys worked out the arrangements – Bob would give them suggestions. They’d take it from there and if they worked out something they would try it out on Bob. And if it worked… That’s how we got Fat Boy Rag, you know. Bob just turned to Junior and said, ‘hit us something here, Junior.’ Junior’s mouth flew open, like ‘What am I going to do?’ That’s where it started.” Fat Boy Rag

Obviously, Barnard wasn’t the only soloist on these sessions, and on many of these tunes you only get a few precious measures of his sheer brilliance. Other Wills band standouts included Remington and Noel Boggs on pedal steel, Moore on mandolin, Millard Kelso on piano, Louis Tierney on fiddle, Eldon Shamblin on guitar, the smooth Tommy Duncan on vocals… and, of course, Bob Wills hootin’ and hollerin’ throughout. Wills introduces musicians in the middle of their solos, registers his approval of a choice lick or two, and even gently sticks it to his hired hands (“Junior’s pony throwed him… You’re meeting yourself coming back,” Wills says after Barnard seemed to lose his place and then regain it during a solo).

But in my mind, the real star of the Tiffany sessions is Junior. So let’s set aside all the hoopla going on around his solos (including a little too much Kelso and happy trumpet for my taste… but you won’t hear me complain about Wills’ many asides). I thought it would be fun to isolate some of my favorite examples of Junior’s genius.

Here’s a sampling of Barnard’s solos on The Girl I Left Behind Me, Blackout Blues, What’s The Matter With The Mill, Ida Red and San Antonio Rose (nice extended run on the last one): Junior’s Greatest Licks, Part 1

These next solos are lifted from Sweet Jennie Lee (another lengthy workout), Keep Knockin’ (But You Can’t Come In), Roly Poly, Steel Guitar Rag and Worried Mind: Junior’s Greatest Licks, Part 2

And if you’re wondering where the Allman Brothers Band and its many southern rock progeny came up with the twin guitar attack, listen to this opening run by Junior and steel guitarist Noel Boggs: I Hear You Talkin’

Junior’s driftin’ ways continued even before the Tiffany work dried up. In late 1946, he joined Luke Wills and his Rhythm Busters, lending some of his wildest stringbending to the band’s recordings: Bring It On Down To My House During this time, he also kept recording and performing with the elder Wills.

Barnard also played with Tommy Duncan’s band after the singer left the Texas Playboys, and even formed his own band in Fresno called the Radio Gang. On April 15, 1951, while searching for a place to play in nearby Riverdale, Barnard was killed in a two-car accident that involved other family members (including his wife, Sue) and six members of the Cal Poly track team. His brother-in-law also died in the crash.

Eight years prior, Barnard was at the wheel and seriously impaired when he killed a Tulsa woman in a hit-and-skip accident. Through the grace of god and (maybe more important) the considerable clout of the Wills family, he somehow made it out of that mess relatively unscathed. Looks like old-fashioned karma finally caught up with him in Riverdale. Lucky for us, he left some amazing fretwork to remember him by.

So how much Junior can you find on youtube? About 15 seconds, that’s how much. Better than nothing I guess. Here’s a movie short from 1946 with Wills and band (along with special guests the McKinney Sisters) performing Goodbye Liza Jane:

Junior’s spirit lives on with bands like Asleep at the Wheel, Big Sandy & His Fly-Rite Boys and the Hot Club of Cowtown. Here’s Austin’s Hot Club wondering what’s the matter with the mill. Is Elana James’ t-shirt a nod to Junior??

Here’s a re-post of an item we first published back in October 2009 (RCR’s third post… we’re now up to 115). It remains the most visited page on our site, by far – and it doesn’t even include a photo of Kim Kardashian. Maybe we should just devote our entire blog to Little Walter.

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.

Let’s say you’ve put together a little bar band – something that won’t set the world on fire but might get you a gig at some corner dive. Or maybe you’re the manager… work with me.

A couple folks in the band are starting to write originals, but they’re not quite there yet. So rather than spend countless hours trying to take a handful of songs from “mediocre” to “promising,” you need to come up with a couple sets’ worth of material, fast. Songs that play to every little strength your band can muster – maybe a soulful singer, flashy guitarist, funky rhythm section, nasty harp player, yakety sax… And maybe more important, songs that don’t make you want to hide in stall #3 every time you play (or hear) them.

As always, RCR is here to help. A couple of us have been in this very situation, with a bandmate or two who you’d struggle to describe as “not offensive.” The easy way out would be to flog a few old warhorses, like Mustang Sally or Got My Mojo Working or, for you bluegrass pickers out there, Rocky Top (or, how about a time- and soul-killing medley, like Gimme Three Steps on the Stairway to Freebird?). But that, my friends, is what those of us with the proper musical training like to call a big ol’ bowl of suck. If your day job leaves you pondering whether it’s physically possible to rip off your own head, why pursue a hobby that reveals the answer? That’s what bowling leagues are for.

I’ll risk yet another argument with bro’-in-law Chuck “If It Ain’t Original, It Ain’t Shit” Auerbach by pointing out that there’s a real art to picking the right songs to cover. Hell, Ry Cooder’s made a whole career out of it. And it really boils down to a few basic rules that should guide all of your song selections:

1. Don’t play the obvious. Some of us have played Stormy Monday every goddam day of the week. When I played it for the 1,214th time, I pictured a mighty eagle soaring into the bar to gouge out our guitar player’s eyeballs at roughly the 15-minute point in his solo. A fleeting image of great beauty, then it was gone. And the song had barely started.
2. Cover tunes that everyone will think you wrote. Don’t worry – most people in the bar stopped listening to new music back in the Eighties, when men were, eh, how do I put this… fabulous? Find a song you can sell like Gordon Gekko. I’ve got literally thousands to choose from. Songs about love lost or a lover found… about faith and freedom… hard living and heavy drugs… songs about camels, pointy boots, snack crackers and girls named Little Debbie (wait, that’s all in the same song: Camel Walk). Tell the audience you wrote it in prison. Then try to win them over as they head for the door.
3. Leave Stevie Ray Vaughan alone. Guys who want to play guitar like Vaughan remind me of those hapless jazzbos from the Fifties who tried to play alto sax like Bird. Just put it down and walk away. Nothing good can come of this. And remember, even SRV got sick of playing Pride & Joy (in the end, he was more interested in sounding like Kenny Burrell than Albert King).
4. Find new meaning in an old song. Turn a happy song into a dirge, and vice versa. Give a soul nugget a reggae beat (see “Toots in Memphis”) or turn a reggae song into a steamy little shuffle, like Charlie Hunter did with this Bob Marley tune: Lively Up Yourself Take some hoary, over-produced rock song from the ‘80s and reinvent it as a stark acoustic ballad. People will know you didn’t write it, but they’ll go insane trying to figure out where they’ve heard it before.
5. The Stax-Volt catalog is still the motherlode. Back in 1979, ZZ Top scored a huge hit with a fairly obvious Stax number, Sam & Dave’s I Thank You. Seven years later, The Fabulous Thunderbirds climbed the charts with a more obscure Sam & Dave tune, Wrap It Up. Then Michael Bolton… OK, I can see this is going nowhere. If you’re looking for more unsung Memphis soul, I highly recommend “The Complete Stax-Volt Singles: 1959-1968.” That’s where I found this hidden gem by a largely unknown soulman, Prince Conley (with the legendary Steve Cropper laying down a snaky guitar riff in his first session at the label): I’m Going Home

The previous example underscores another important point about picking the right covers. Sure, 10-minute blues tunes can be fun to play, especially after several hours of self-medication. But they’ll only take you so far as a band. I once read where John Mellencamp made his bandmates learn a whole boatload of soul and garage-rock songs from the Sixties so they’d be in the right frame of mind to tackle his rootsy originals. Now if Mellencamp had dropped dead during rehearsals (not an unlikely scenario), the band would still be far better off for the effort. I’d certainly book them for my next house party.

Here’s just a short list of some tunes that I’ve been able to persuade other band members to cover, mainly so we wouldn’t have to suffer through yet another rendition of Sweet Home Chicago.

How about a cover of a cover? I know, sounds pointless. But we couldn’t resist jumping all over this remake of a ‘60s classic by Buffalo Springfield – a song that I’ll forever equate with paranoia. Louisiana bluesman Tab Benoit takes that trippy, California vibe and drags it through the swamp in the middle of the night. Now I’m really worried. For What It’s Worth/Tab Benoit

Here’s a tune by Bob Marley’s son Ziggy that sounds like it came from Memphis instead of Kingston. But it still has enough of the island in it to not sound the least bit rushed. Deliberate, maybe… but still laid back. And who can argue with a universal lyric like “got to be true to myself”? Never quite nailed this one live. I’ll blame the drummer, who picked a bad time to give up ganja. True To Myself/Ziggy Marley

Everybody loves rockabilly. It might not be queued up in your car stereo, but when you hear it done right in a club, you want to trade in your Nikes for a pair of two-tone mesh-top swing shoes. Here’s a tune I never got tired of playing. It combines a Secret Agent Man groove with a killer turnaround riff. It’s actually a cover of a far more obscure tune by Johnny Faire. Clint Miller’s remake entered the Billboard 100 in 1957. Miller went on to pursue a career in law and politics and even ran for Governor of Virginia in 1996. Apparently, voters weren’t at all interested in conjugating with him. Bertha Lou/Clint Miller

If you’re going to cover a blues tune, stay away from the ones that seem to say “caution: shitty white blues band at work.” The Excello label is a good source of obscure blues nuggets, performed by Louisiana masters like Slim Harpo, Lonesome Sundown, Lightnin’ Slim and Lazy Lester. Then there’s journeyman harp player Frank Frost, who recorded this number in 1966 for the Shreveport-based Jewel label as a tribute to Harpo’s Baby Scratch My Back. The session was produced in Nashville by Elvis Presley’s original guitar player, Scotty Moore, who must’ve convinced Frost to crank up the tremolo on his amp. Sheer genius. My Back Scratcher/Frank Frost

The Tailgators (original lineup)

I’ll close with a little something for you garage-rockers out there. I’ve played this song in two different bands – one now defunct, and the other now playing mostly original material – and I’ll give Ray Fuller credit for running it down. It’s by a “swamp rock” band from Austin called The Tailgators, fronted by the very dangerous Don Leady (guitar, lap steel, fiddle and accordion). The original lineup from 1985 included the late Keith Ferguson on bass (who also was a founding member of The Fabulous Thunderbirds) and Gary “Mud Cat” Smith on drums. I’m not sure if The Tailgators are still active, but at least they have a web site. You’d be hard-pressed to find another band on the planet covering this tune – mainly because you’d be hard-pressed to find this song. It’s total nonsense and great fun to play. Mumbo Jumbo/The Tailgators

Let’s give it up for our favorite bar band, Blues Hammer. From the film “Ghost World,” directed by Terry Zwigoff. A classic piece of movie music, along with a cringe-inducing encounter between Steve Buscemi’s character and a potential date. I couldn’t post this on my site, but you can watch it here. On second thought, bring back the opening act and have him play Stormy Monday.

John McVie, Danny Kirwan, Peter Green, Mick Fleetwood and Jeremy Spencer

There’s a curious scene in the movie “Cadillac Records” when the Rolling Stones show up at 2120 South Michigan Avenue to record at the legendary Chess Studio. Of course Mick and the boys were diehard fans of Chicago blues, and their American idols were probably more amused than flattered by the sight of five scruffy Brits at their doorstep in search of Muddy’s mojo and the Wolf’s howl.

The Stones cut some rockin’ tracks during their stay at the house that Leonard Chess built. I wouldn’t call any of it essential, but you can’t deny the joys of hearing the sound of Chicago filtered through some fairly capable white punks – enjoying their first stay in the states, no less: Little Red Rooster

Good stuff… but not deep, dark, bone-chilling blues. No, it would take another guy from England to show the rest of the Brits how to play with the big boys in Chicago, and maybe even give them a little kick in the arse too. That guy was Peter Green, the amazingly expressive guitarist and singer for Fleetwood Mac, circa 1967-1970: Watch Out/Fleetwood Mac in Chicago

That song was recorded at Chess Studio in 1969, some five years after the Stones visit. They were among the last blues recordings by the Green-led lineup, and also among the final tracks issued from the Michigan Avenue studio. The band was joined on the sessions by Chicago’s best, including Otis Spann on piano, Willie Dixon on bass, Walter “Shakey” Horton on harp and long-time Elmore James sideman J.T. Brown on sax.

Unlike the Stones’ take on Chicago blues, Green sounds firmly rooted in the tradition, like he’d been playing sessions for Muddy, Wolf, Sonny Boy and Little Walter since the Fifties. He sang with the same passion and authority, and none of the punk-ass posturing that makes Mick, well… Mick.

In his autobiography “Fleetwood: My Life and Adventures in Fleetwood Mac,” drummer Mick Fleetwood describes the band’s experience at Chess Studio:

“At first our heroes seemed condescending to us. But Peter Green dazzled the Chicagoans with the sheer feel of his playing and somehow pulled us through. Pete surprised them, I think. They learned that without the stacks of Marshall amps and that dread label – ‘English Blues Band’ – we were still a good little band, a cut above what they usually saw.”

Fleetwood Mac recorded a number of songs at Chess in ’69 – not all of them as successful as Watch Out. But they certainly gave Spann, Dixon, Horton and Brown a run for their money. Another fairly respectable player, B.B. King, wasn’t there when the Mac invaded Chess, but he later had this to say about Green: “He has the sweetest tone I ever heard; he was the only one who gave me the cold sweats.” I assume he’s referring to British musicians and not comparing Green to, say, Buddy Guy.

It wasn’t the first time that Green and band played with Chicago royalty. In ’67 and ’68, they recorded a couple albums’ worth of material with pianist Eddie Boyd, who built a solid reputation largely on the merits of his signature song, Five Long Years. But during the Boyd-Mac sessions, the elder bluesman was continually upstaged by the young Jewish upstart from London better known to his family as Peter Greenbaum: The Big Boat

Green also played a mean harmonica, with a gutteral moan that reminds me of Sonny Boy II. In fact, I’d put this next tune (a Green original) right up there with some of the best performances by the kings of Chicago harp: Looking For Somebody

For those of us who can’t get songs like Don’t Stop, Go Your Own Way and Rhiannon dislodged from our craniums, it’s hard to imagine that Fleetwood Mac started out in 1967 as a formidable blues band, definitely the best one in England. Green and Fleetwood were refugees from John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers (Green replaced Eric Clapton after he left the band in 1966). The founding lineup also included Bob Brunning on bass – who eventually was replaced by Mayall alumnus John McVie – and Jeremy Spencer, a hard-charging slide guitarist who modeled himself after the great Elmore James. As you can tell from this cut, Spencer came scarily close to capturing Elmore’s sound: Doctor Brown

Peter Green and Willie Dixon

Spencer also could expertly mimic Fifties artists like Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley. A colorful and unruly character, he eventually left the band to join a religious cult called the Children of God (for more on Spencer, I highly recommend this piece over at the Hound Blog).

So on the one hand, you had a B.B. King-influenced guitarist who combined an impeccable touch with a beautiful, piercing tone. And on the other, there was this rowdy, pint-sized maniac whose X-rated behavior managed to get Fleetwood Mac banned from several clubs.

To make things even more complicated, Green later added a third guitarist, Danny Kirwan – another powerful, bluesy player with a singular style that seemed to live somewhere in that space between Green and Spencer.

Although the band started out playing strictly blues, they began adding several distinctive originals to the mix – including Green’s Black Magic Woman, famously covered by Santana in 1970, and this dreamy instrumental that became a huge hit in England in 1969: Albatross

During this period, Fleetwood Mac recorded for two British labels: Blue Horizon and Immediate. But the band started to gain notice in the U.S., especially when they released this moody Green original in ’69: Man of the World

By the end of the year, they had signed with the Warner Brothers affiliate Reprise and released the wide-ranging album “Then Play On,” which included a rockin’  little number called Oh Well that became a staple in the band’s live shows (video at bottom). Here’s another Green classic from the same album: Show-Biz Blues

But as the band gained a greater audience, Green was riding on a crazy train to nowhere – largely fueled by acid use that worsened what might have been pre-existing schizophrenia. He became more and more unpredictable, and began demanding that the band devote all of its earnings to charity. By the time Fleetwood Mac was launching a sold-out European tour in February 1970, Green had effectively checked out. I’ll let Mick Fleetwood pick it up from there:

“Somehow Peter had gotten surrounded by a bunch of rich German hippie brats, a group we call the Munich jet set. They had a commune in a big old house with a lot of LSD floating around. During our stay in Munich, Pete was whisked out of there and spent all his time getting stoned. We never even saw him, except for the gig, and to this day, John (McVie) and I always say that was it. Peter Green was never the same after that.”

Peter Green today

Although he officially left the band a few months later (a band that he founded and named), Green recorded and performed sporadically with Fleetwood Mac in the early ‘70s. Within a few years he had quit playing altogether and was working as a gravedigger. His descent into madness has been well-documented elsewhere. One story had an angry, gun-toting Green ordering his manager not to send him any more royalty checks for Black Magic Woman. Musicians love to share stories like that – maybe because it’s harder to face the fact that, despite several attempts at a comeback, Green will never again play with the fire and depth of feeling that you hear in his best recordings from the late ‘60s.

Of course, Mick Fleetwood picked up the pieces and launched a new version of Fleetwood Mac into the pop stratosphere in the late ‘70s (“Rumours” remains one of the best-selling albums of all time). For some of those latter-day fans, Peter Green is a sad footnote in the band’s remarkable history. For me, he was the real deal – a natural bluesman whose phenomenal gift would have been wasted on Stevie Nicks.

Peter Green live in ’69 on the British TV show “Music Mash,” introduced by The Animals’ Alan Price… Kirwan gets all the leads on this one, and Green already looks a little daffy. But still a fascinating look at the band in its prime.

Peter Green solo, playing one of his heartfelt originals. Can Green play the Blues? I think this is all the evidence you need. Stunning.

Alright, had to tag this on the end… Hugh Hefner on Buckminster Fuller’s theory of environmental conditions, and Fleetwood Mac’s ode to the joys of sexual self-gratification: