Rubber City Review

Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown

Rolling Stone recently came up with another list of the “100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time.” The new list was compiled by “a panel of top guitarists and other experts” – including RCR supporter Dan Auerbach of The Black Keys, Steve Cropper, Dave Davies of The Kinks, Eddie Van Halen, James Burton, Carlos Santana, rock writer Peter Guralnick, RS contributing editor Anthony DeCurtis, and many others. It follows up on a previous list assembled in 2003 by the magazine’s senior writer, David Fricke.

Both lists share some obvious choices – including the consensus #1 pick, Jimi Hendrix. And you don’t have to head too far down either list to find Eric Clapton, B.B. King, Jimmy Page, Duane Allman and Jeff Beck, to name a few perennial favorites. But once you get past the first 20 or so picks, things get far more debatable and, in a few cases, downright puzzling.

Now I’ve never placed much value on “best of” lists, the Grammys, CMA Awards, blues competitions, battles of the bands, etc. etc. To me, ranking artists seems like a fairly useless and highly subjective exercise (ranking athletes, no problem – stats don’t lie). But if someone else is doing the ranking, I have every right to throw stones, don’t I?

I have three major problems with the new list (which made me want to call Dan and bitch, but he probably deserves some credit for Clarence White showing up at #52). My concerns are as follows:

1. No Robert Quine (#80 on Fricke’s list). My main problem here is that Lou Reed, not exactly an awe-inspiring stringbender (important in other respects, but not for his fretwork), shows up at #81. Keep in mind Reed, who had practically given up playing guitar, hired Rob back in ’82 to play on his critically acclaimed album “The Blue Mask.” And Rob goaded his boss into playing more guitar – with Reed quickly assuming a supporting role to his far-superior hired hand. After battling through two more albums and several tours with Reed, Rob went on to contribute to seminal recordings by Tom Waits (“Rain Dogs”), Marianne Faithfull (“Strange Weather”) and Matthew Sweet (“Girlfriend”), among others. For further evidence of this injustice, check out our Quine posts here and here.
2. No Danny Gatton (#63 on Fricke’s list). This is inexcusable. I’ve already made the case here that Gatton was simply the most amazing guitarist I’ve ever witnessed. Read it (and listen to the samples)… If you still don’t mind that John Frusciante (ex-Red Hot Chili Peppers) is taking a spot away from Gatton, then click here to exit site.
3. No Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown (not on either list).

Unfortunately, this final indignity is just one of several heaped on Gatemouth both during and after his time on earth. Maybe it’s time to set the record straight (yeah, that’ll happen!) on one of the most effortlessly soulful and satisfying pickers of all time.

But first, another one of our “bio briefs” (this stuff is readily available elsewhere… no need for me to plagiarize): Born in Vinton, Louisiana – April 18, 1924… quickly moved to Orange, Texas…  learned to play fiddle from his multi-instrumentalist father… dubbed “Gatemouth” by a teacher, who claimed he had a voice like a gate (?)… played his first professional gigs as a drummer (with William H. Bimbo and His Brownskin Models, which belongs in the Band Name Hall of Fame)… switched to guitar when he was blown away by the great Texan T-Bone Walker in San Antonio… sat in with T-Bone’s band at a club in Houston – an impromptu performance that earned him a record deal with Don Robey, owner of the Peacock label. According to Gatemouth, he improvised this next tune on the spot including the opening line: “My name is Gatemouth Brown, just got in your town. If you don’t like my style, I will not hang around.” Gatemouth Boogie

Well, Gatemouth hung around for the next 48 years, recording for a number of labels and taking his distinctive brand of what he liked to call “American Music” (he hated the blues moniker) around the world several times.

I was first exposed to Gatemouth’s music during a trip to Austin in 1980, and I’ve been a fan ever since. In performance he was a revelation – playing fluid single-note runs that he’d punctuate with punchy chords that sounded like a full horn section (a style he reportedly landed on when he couldn’t afford to tour with horns). And those long, talon-like fingers – not a pick in sight – that would barely move as he burned through hyperactive showstoppers like Pressure Cooker and Flippin’ Out. He also played harmonica and was an exceptional fiddler, even contributing to the groundbreaking and Grammy-winning collaboration “Talking Timbuktu” with Ry Cooder and Ali Farka Toure: Ai Du

But Gatemouth’s greatest legacy remains the red-hot sides he recorded for Don Robey from 1947 to 1960. Much like fellow guitar shredder Pee Wee Crayton, Gatemouth came up with his own take on the elegant stylings of his mentor T-Bone – tougher, more visceral and far closer to the nascent sound of rock ‘n roll: Ain’t That Dandy

Here’s a rare blues fiddle workout he recorded in 1959 during one of his last sessions for Peacock: Just Before Dawn

The Peacock recordings alone should earn Gatemouth a spot on the “top 100” list. But his career took a number of interesting twists and turns over the next five decades. Those of you of a certain age might remember his legendary duels with country picker Roy Clark on the hit TV show “Hee Haw” (and the fine album “Makin’ Music,” an out-of-print treasure). And he asserted his dominance over a small army of contemporary blues wankers with several albums he recorded for the Rounder label in the ‘80s. Here’s a blistering cover of an Albert Collins original from Gatemouth’s 1981 Rounder debut and comeback of sorts, “Alright Again!” Frosty

One of my favorite latter-day Gatemouth releases was a Texas swing-flavored session from 1975, “Blackjack.” The album captures Gatemouth at his best, moving seamlessly from cajun fiddle stomps to fiery swing tunes that feature some mind-boggling interplay between Gate and pedal steel guitarist Don Buzzard. I especially like the title cut, which borrows heavily from a soul-jazz classic by Kenny Burrell but ends up as pure American music, Gatemouth-style: Blackjack

A few of Gatemouth’s final recordings lapse into some fairly listless and formulaic schtick (including one of those dreaded “guest artist” outings that somehow always involve Eric Clapton), but he’d long ago established his reputation as a true original and roots-music legend.

Gatemouth’s final years were difficult. Although he fought lung cancer and heart disease (he smoked for many years), he ultimately was a casualty of Hurricane Katrina. His home in Slidell, Louisiana, was destroyed by the storm – and even though he beat a retreat to his brother’s house in the familiar surroundings of Orange, Texas, he never recovered from the debacle.

“He was completely devastated,” said Rick Cady, Brown’s booking agent (AP story). “I’m sure he was heartbroken, both literally and figuratively. He evacuated successfully before the hurricane hit, but I’m sure it weighed heavily on his soul.”

Gatemouth passed away in Orange on September 10, 2005, at the age of 81. At least he didn’t have to live through another snubbing by the list-makers at Rolling Stone.

Gatemouth doin’ the Okie Dokie Stomp – live on “The !!!! Beat” TV show (Dallas), 1966.

From the same show – Gatemouth and Freddie King doing a short version of Funky Mama…

Here’s Gatemouth throwing down on fiddle, circa 1990… Nice footage of black cowboys too. I think Gate’s prowess on fiddle – not to mention his eclecticism – actually worked against his legacy as a guitarist. Pisses people off when someone’s that good on two instruments and can cover so many different styles.

Here’s a tasty guitarist I lost track of a few years back. Then when I recently looked into his newer stuff – expecting to hear more variations on the rock-solid blues he recorded in the ‘90s – I was surprised to find out he’d reinvented himself as a 21^st Century Rastaman… in a very sincere and soulful way. Let’s put it this way – the California native didn’t slap on a reggae beanie and start chunkin’ so he could get a gig on a cruise ship.

My first introduction to Rusty Zinn was a fine album he recorded for the Black Top label back in ‘96: “Sittin’ and Waitin’.” It was produced by Fabulous Thunderbird Kim Wilson, who also sings and plays soaring harp on a few tunes. I pulled the album out of cold storage after listening to Steve Cropper’s tribute to The “5” Royales, “Dedicated” – which I liked, but felt Rusty did a better job covering the band with his gritty remakes of 30 Second Lover and this classic: Think

Rusty the bluesman

As you can tell, Zinn really didn’t need any help from Wilson in the vocals department. Although he started out as a sideman in the Bay Area for blues-based artists like Mark Hummel, Larry Taylor (Canned Heat) and Wilson, Zinn started singing in the ‘90s, probably in anticipation of a solo career. And his voice has only gotten stronger and more assured with each release.

As I revisited some of Zinn’s stuff, I also remembered a conversation I had with bluesrocker Patrick Sweany about 15 years ago when I met him in a small club in Akron. After we shared a few niceties, he jumped right into a lengthy description of all that’s good and right about Rusty’s playing – a rootsy sound that combines the muscle and economy of a Cropper with the daredevil spirit of someone like Mickey Baker… a sound that seems to come from an era when Swing was King and shredding à la Stevie Ray was a disaster yet to happen: Stand By Me

Zinn put out another satisfying album for Black Top, “Confessin’” – a wide-ranging affair that included this great organ combo workout: Confessin’ About My Baby

He also did a brief stint at Alligator, recording “The Chill” in 2000 before moving on to a couple of smaller labels (Bad Daddy and 9 Above). That’s when things started to get real interesting…

His first post-Alligator release, “Zinfidelity, Vol. 1,” took a detour into classic ‘70s soul, including long-lost nuggets like Sammy Taylor’s Ain’t That Some Shame. Then the reggae influence began to take hold on 2007’s “Reggaeblue.” And the artist now simply known as “Rusty” hasn’t looked back since. He’s teamed up with some of Jamaica’s finest – including the legendary Sly Dunbar on drums and Mikey Chung on guitar – playing the island’s greatest export with surprising conviction. Here’s the title cut from his latest release, 2009’s “Manifestation”:Manifestation

Rather than try to guess what inspired Rusty’s move to reggae, we decided to ask the artist himself…

T.Q.: How did you get into the whole reggae groove? What were your main influences?

R.Z.: I was raised in Santa Cruz, which has always been a reggae-friendly town. I was exposed to reggae at an early age, and all my friends listened to a lot of reggae. However, it wasn’t until the mid-‘90s when my pal Bob Welsh turned me on to rock steady and early reggae through the music of Jimmy Cliff, Desmond Dekker and early Wailers. That started an almost “in the closet” fascination with Jamaican music, which eventually became a passion I couldn’t keep contained anymore! My biggest influences in Jamaican music have been classic singers such as Alton Ellis, Ken Boothe, Delroy Wilson, Slim Smith, Joe Higgs, Milton Henry and Clinton Fearon, just to name a few.

Rusty and Sly Dunbar

Do you still play the occasional blues gig, or are you solely devoted to reggae?

I am totally devoted to my reggae, rock steady and ska music. I turn blues gigs down left and right, unless it’s a gig I really want to do. Most of my blues playing now is only on recording sessions (they generally pay well!).

With the reggae influence now dominant, what’s changed about your guitar playing and singing?

The obvious change would be that I’ve committed myself to learning to play the music authentically, just like I did in all of my years playing blues. I sought out the pioneers of Jamaican music and have befriended many of my idols and have learned a lot from them. I never sing in patois but sing in my own voice to keep it real and be sincere with the genre. My guitar playing has taken a total back seat to my vocals. I do a lot of gigs with two guitar players, and I often will just merely sing on these gigs, which is very liberating! I have two guitar players in my group. One is Bob Welsh, who really is responsible for turning me into a bonafide Jamaican music nut. The other is the legendary Hux Brown, who played guitar on thousands of sessions with players like Bob Marley, Jimmy Cliff, Toots & The Maytals and Desmond Dekker, just to name a few. It’s funny, even though I don’t always play a lot of guitar on the shows, I have learned a lot about the guitar from Hux. My singing has become more intense and passionate singing this music because I never was really happy singing blues, and I feel like I’ve really found my voice. I always enjoyed playing blues on the guitar but was never satisfied singing blues. For about a year before I really took the plunge and started only playing reggae, I was singing soul music on the road with a seven-piece band including horns. I was also mostly just singing in that project as well and playing guitar on numbers that really needed it.

What do the old blues cats think about your reggae stuff? (I’ve noticed some blues players and fans can be a little parochial.)

I haven’t gotten much feedback from the old blues performers, as most of the older ones I used to perform with have passed on! Although Willie “Big Eyes” Smith got a kick out of it and laughed and told me he knew I went over to reggae cause that’s where all the weed was… He! He! Which is funny cause I don’t smoke herb at all. I have mostly gotten resistance from younger blues fans and performers. A lot of folks are always chatting behind my back. It often gets back to me. I grew dreadlocks and wore them for about five or six years and embraced many elements of the Rastafarian lifestyle for a time as well, and this seemed to terrify many “blues” folks. People told me I couldn’t switch to another genre and that I would be a bluesman forever, but I felt I needed to be singing something different that better suited my voice and songwriting talents. It has ultimately made me stronger to come up against this resistance. I’ve always loved music, not just blues. My first passions were R&B, soul, etc… and The Beatles when I was a young boy, which inspired me to learn the drums first. Not very many people know that! I even played drums in an after-school Motown cover band with girl singers when I was a teenager! We did one public performance back then before we all went our separate ways.

How has the move been from a business standpoint?

From a business standpoint it has been like starting all over again… I’ve been accused of being “crazy” and “courageous,” among other things. Some amazing things have happened to me in my reggae career already! The future looks bright, but the bottom line is I am happy singing and playing what I want. Check out www.rustyreggae.com and come join me on the journey.

More Rusty reggae… a live performance from “Parti Gras” in Toronto. Stick around for Rusty’s solo – he really burns it:

We’ll kick things off with our own little version of “name that riff”: Mystery Riff

John Lennon’s snarling intro to Revolution? Guess again… Blues guitarist Pee Wee Crayton laid down this radioactive riff back in ’54 on Do Unto Others – one of the first recordings to feature Leo Fender’s new toy, the Stratocaster. And it was waxed some 14 years before Lennon came up with the same idea. Am I trying to point out the Beatles weren’t original? Of course not… just suggesting they stole from the right sources.

Connie Curtis “Pee Wee” Crayton is one of those blues guys who, every 20 years or so, gets the attention he deserves – including a lengthy two-part feature in Living Blues magazine from ‘83 and this more recent appraisal by our friend The Hound – but then he drifts back into obscurity. For example, a quick search of Crayton on Amazon brings up a couple of second-rate domestic releases and a few pricey, out-of print imports, but you can find virtually all the B.B. King and T-Bone Walker you need. RCR says it’s time to right this wrong… and we won’t stop until this blistering workout finds its way into the next Nike commercial: Pee Wee’s Wild

Back in the Fifties, a live showdown between Crayton and Walker would generate the same amount of hype that a heavyweight title bout now brings to Vegas – with Crayton gladly playing the role of trash-talking upstart. Here’s a great example of Pee Wee getting up in T-Bone’s grille (from a ’56 edition of the Pittsburgh Courier):

“‘I think I’m better than he is,’ Crayton told The Courier. ‘He can play with but three fingers. I use all mine. He may be a better showman – he does the splits and puts his guitar behind his head – but I can play better… Anyway,’ he continued, ‘when he puts his guitar behind his head, he can’t play anything. He may hit a few chords, but that’s all.”

Walker gives a little back too: “Pee Wee might say anything. I can take T-Bone Jr. here (R.S. Rankin, T-Bone’s nephew) and run him off the stage. Pee Wee plays two or three pretty good numbers, but the rest of them he stole from me.” Pee Wee and T-Bone… the first gangstas?

Chest-thumping aside, Crayton had the greatest respect for his mentor and fellow Texan. But it’s interesting to place the two legends side-by-side. Walker: the elegant stylist with an impeccable sense of time… like an expensive bottle of French Bordeaux wine: T-Bone Shuffle Then Crayton: bold, brash and maybe even a little belligerent… think warm muscatel, fermented while you wait: Crayton Special

I’ll defer to the Hound for the thoughtful and entertaining bio. Suffice it to say that, like Walker (four years his senior), Crayton was born and raised in Texas and then migrated to L.A. in the mid-‘30s. But while Walker hit the ground duck-walking through the music clubs along Central Avenue, Crayton was a late-bloomer – working in a shipyard during the war before moving to Oakland, where he made a name for himself both as a bandleader and a sideman (most notably for R&B hitmaker Ivory Joe Hunter).

The commond ground for Walker and Crayton was the emergent sound of West Coast R&B. It was the land of honkers, shouters and bar-walking showmen – and Crayton fit right in with his fiery guitar and 300-foot-long chord. In short order, he became one of the few guitar-shredding frontmen in a sax-driven form.

You could argue that Crayton’s style was a near-perfect amalgam of all the influences that came together in L.A. before jump blues was eclipsed by rock ‘n roll. He played it down-home and dirty like a true son of the south, but threw in just enough jazzy sophistication to show he had no intention of moving back to Texas. With his distinctive croon, he also mastered that unique West Coast artform known as the blues ballad (think Charles Brown and Nat King Cole). Here’s one of the best examples of the form, Pee Wee’s sweet cover of a T-Bone original: I’m Still in Love with You

He eventually added a few other spices – including chitlin’-circuit soul and some fancy fretwork that he learned from the great jazzman Kenny Burrell during an extended stay in Detroit during the late ‘50s and early ‘60s. But you wouldn’t sell Pee Wee short by lumping his best stuff into three golden eras:

• The Modern Recordings – singles that Crayton recorded for the Modern, R.P.M. and Flair labels from 1948 to 1951
• The Aladdin/Imperial Recordings – featuring some of New Orleans’ best session players
• The Later Years – OK, this category is a bit of a cop-out, but I’m sticking with it

Crayton moved back to L.A. in the late ‘40s mainly for the opportunity to record for Modern, where artists ranging from Etta James to John Lee Hooker created some of the era’s finest blues and R&B singles. Crayton’s Modern recordings were no exception. Ranging from slow-burning ballads to full-blown meltdowns, they helped pave the way for the first generation of rockers – including Elvis, who reportedly was knocked sideways by a Pee Wee performance in Memphis.

On many of the Modern singles, Pee Wee was backed by the legendary band leader, arranger and sax player Maxwell Davis, who also is responsible for some of B.B. King’s finest moments on record. Crayton also rubs up against jazz royalty – including Count Basie band members Harry “Sweets” Edison on trumpet and Ben Webster on sax, and the king of Kansas City piano, Jay McShann. Here Pee Wee uses some fat chords (and not always the right ones) to punctuate McShann’s boogie woogie: Boogie Woogie Upstairs

Crayton came up with a few hits during the Modern years – including Blues After Hours and Texas Hop – but he soon lost favor at the label as B.B.’s star began to rise. After floundering around for a few years, he landed in New Orleans in ’54 to record at Cosimo Matassa’s Rampart Street studio. There he teamed up with city’s finest producer, Dave Bartholomew, and his band to cut some first-rate singles for the Aladdin and Imperial labels. Among other highlights, Crayton and Bartholomew came up with the flame-throwing riff at the top of this post… not to mention a few New Orleans-flavored rockers, shuffles, the requisite ballads and this outstanding instrumental featuring Salvador Doucette on piano: Blues Before Dawn

I’d loosely define Pee Wee’s later years as running from 1971 – when he recorded a well-received album called “The Things I Used to Do” for the Vanguard label – up to his death in 1985, a year that found him still actively performing and recording. During the lean years (mainly the Sixties), he lived mostly in L.A. and supported his family by working as a truck driver. But as he enjoyed a modest revival into the Eighties, he was befriended by next-generation bluesmen like harp players Kim Wilson (The Fabulous Thunderbirds) and Rod Piazza (the L.A.-based swing-blues outfit The Mighty Flyers).

Piazza even managed to give the elder Crayton a new lease on life by backing him with the retro-sounding Flyers on a session in ’83 (with the wonderful Debra “Honey” Piazza on piano): Come On Baby

He was the first Strat-wielding bluesman – the guy who showed the way for Clapton, Hendrix, Vaughan, Knopfler and many other Strat-handlers who followed. But he was far from your typical blues legend… a sharp-dressed crooner who also drove a truck and loved to play golf (yeah, you heard it right – the guys at the country club probably had no idea who they were playing with). Low handicap aside, he still belongs on any meaningful list of guitarists who matter.

No Pee Wee videos on youtube… so we’ll have to settle with the full version of the song we teased at the top (on 78 no less):

Stevie Ray and Jimmie Vaughan

Want to stare into the very depths of someone’s soul, or at least find out if a long drive together is a bad idea? A few of the following questions about music preferences might help. Beatles or Stones (which we covered here)… Jimmy Cliff or Bob Marley… Loretta Lynn or Tammy Wynette… Allman Brothers or Lynyrd Skynyrd… John Coltrane or Miles Davis… Radiohead or Coldplay… Captain or Tennille…

And don’t let your subject off the hook. If someone can’t take a stand either way, that just means he/she is unworthy of your trust.

I’ll throw another one into the mix – Stevie Ray or Jimmie Vaughan… The former, obviously, is one of the most celebrated guitarists of the last 30 years. A guitarist who, for better or worse, had an impact on virtually every blues-based stringbender who followed. A once-in-a-generation talent who might even be more popular dead than he was alive.

But put me down for Jimmie, and not because I didn’t have utmost respect for his brother. Like thousands of other students of the instrument, I made several pilgrimages to see SRV live and left convinced that I’d witnessed the Most Amazing, Death-Defying Act Under the Big Top. But Jimmie’s the guy you come across on your way to the parking lot… He’s sitting on the edge of a rail car playing gutbucket blues through a broke-dick amp as a few strippers and circus freaks slow-dance nearby. In other words, a little closer to the blues according to Charlie Patton and Robert Johnson.

Actually, one of the first times I heard Jimmie Vaughan’s guitar was back in ’81 at a strip joint in Newport, Kentucky – across the river from Cincinnati. Of course I was dragged there by my friends to see Miss Nude Memphis (which seemed slightly more promising than paying to see Miss Nude Paducah across the street). And I have to admit, Memphis didn’t disappoint. Most of the other girls danced to bad ‘80s rock, but the Memphis Belle whipped out The Fabulous Thunderbirds’ first album and what seemed like an entire vat of massage oil, and I’ve been a fan ever since – of Vaughan that is… not sure what happened to Belle, or the oil. Rich Woman

Eventually I caught Vaughan and the T-birds at a small club in Dayton. Even though the band went on to become a minor sensation in the mid-‘80s with songs like Powerful Stuff and Wrap It Up, they always seemed a little uncomfortable playing larger theaters and summer “sheds.” They were right at home in that Dayton dive, though… and I was a little worried at one point that Vaughan’s thick, smoky guitar would set off the club’s fire sprinklers. I’m a Good Man

Vaughan eventually left the T-birds behind – which I always respected because I’d already lost interest in the band when they torqued up their sound for a major label. And at least from a creative standpoint, his career as a solo artist has been far more rewarding than even I would’ve predicted.

First, we found out that he has a soulful and expressive voice – an instrument that he never used with the T-birds (granted, Kim Wilson is a tough act to follow). Here’s one of his early forays into lead singing: Love the World

He also had the extreme good taste to hire Bill Willis on organ and George Rains on drums.

Rains, Vaughan and Willis

Willis is a guy who clearly deserves his own blog post, having served as a staff bassist at King Studios and contributed to many of the label’s legendary recordings by James Brown, Freddie King, Little Willie John, Bill Doggett (responsible for one of the great instrumentals of all time, Honky Tonk) and many others. Here Willis lays down the low end for one of Freddie’s signature songs: I’m Tore Down

Willis eventually persuaded Doggett to show him a few tricks on organ, and he’s been ridin’ the B3 ever since, recording and performing with the likes of LaVerne Baker and Floyd Dixon. He does it Jimmy Smith-style, kicking out funky bass lines on the B3’s foot pedals. Here he locks in tight with Vaughan and Rains (and special guest Joe Sublett on sax) on a tune that recalls the glory years of the organ combo: Tilt A Whirl

Vaughan’s other secret weapon, Rains, should be considered a legend simply for joining the San Francisco lineup of the Sir Douglas Quintet back in ’68. The Texas expat helped made border-rock history on cuts like Mendocino and Nuevo Laredo before moving back to Austin and joining the city’s fertile blues scene back in the Seventies. Rains served as de facto house drummer for Clifford Antone’s record label and club, where he probably sat in with Vaughan more times than he can remember. Clearly, he never met a shuffle he couldn’t nail down tight: Kinky Woman

That’s the solid core Vaughan started with back in ’94 with his first solo release, “Strange Pleasure.” Everything else was gravy. Rich, tasty gravy. Gospel/doo-wop vocals, second guitar (including flamenco on one tune), vibes, sax… and one very dangerous blues mama, Lou Ann Barton, who adds plenty of spice to a few of Vaughan’s best moments as a solo artist: In the Middle of the Night

My favorite Vaughan album – “Do you get the blues?” – had the unfortunate distinction of being released on September 11, 2001. But it didn’t take me long to appreciate its many joys, which probably served as little subconscious reminders that all was not lost post-9/11. Let’s put it this way – it damn sure gave me more of a healing feeling than Charlie Daniels’ “This Ain’t a Rag, It’s a Flag.” I especially latched onto this soulful little number that finds Vaughan settling into a slow groove with his son, Tyrone, on rhythm. In fact, I’d like to hear more of Vaughan exploring that same sweet spot that his idol, Johnny “Guitar” Watson, found between blues and funk: Without You

Speaking of Watson, I’m not sure if anyone captures the bite and sass of that bluesy-funky sound better than Vaughan. Exhibit A: Motor Head Baby

Vaughan recently followed up on his fine 2010 release, “Plays Blues, Ballads & Favorites,” with “Plays More Blues, Ballads & Favorites.” OK, maybe not the most innovative marketing concept… but definitely more vintage Vaughan – smart, in-the-pocket blues-based goodness. And definitely a few cuts above your standard contemporary blues fare. Here’s a taste from the earlier release – a blazing instrumental that proves Vaughan is only getting better with age: Comin’ and Goin’

Vaughan live, with his tribute to brother Stevie Ray. Abrupt ending, but pretty sweet slice of JLV in action…

Just when you thought two-piece bands had run their course, into the sandbox jumps Husky Burnette. And yes, he’s part of the same bloodline that brought us Johnny and Dorsey Burnette (if you don’t know who those two guys are, you probably should head on back to Drunken Vegan right now). Husky calls Chattanooga home, but he’s currently on tour with his drummer Tony “Tonky Ponk” Jones supporting their new release on the Cracker Swamp label – “Facedown in the Dirt.” They take North Mississippi Hill Country blues, drag it through a few hollers, douse it with kerosene and blow it up real good (here’s a taste: Mile Marker 68). R.L. Burnside and Charlie Feathers would be proud… not to mention cousins Johnny and Dorsey. But rather than bore you with the many virtues of this fine effort, I thought I’d let the man speak for himself.

T.Q.: Almost found myself facedown last weekend, so I’m really enjoying the new album. Sounds like it was recorded live – thick, greasy and in your face. Fill us in on how you made it.

H.B.: The album was recorded at Fry Pharmacy Studios in Nashville, TN. 16-track tape machine, reel to reel, like the lord intended! It was done live off the floor which I love doing cause you get that “feeling,” as opposed to tracking it where you can’t play off of each other. Plus, there’s only two of us… with the exception of Zach Shedd on upright bass on two tracks. So if someone messes up just do the tune over, no big deal. Very comfortable place to record.

Leo Kottke famously described his singing as reminiscent of “geese farts on a muggy day”… How would you describe your voice?

I have no idea how to describe it. I’ve heard lots of things, but maybe too much greasy chicken, whiskey with a glass of nails chaser and cigarettes… and not enough training.

Johnny and Dorsey Burnette

I see you’re a third cousin of Johnny and Dorsey Burnette. I don’t hear too much of the rockabilly influence, but definitely some hillbilly. How did you get into the whole Hill Country dirty blues thing?

I was introduced to more modern (at the time, late-80s) Chicago and Texas-style blues by my Uncle Tim. So I decided to find exactly where that came from after hearing about other artists… And also after seeing who really wrote certain songs in liner notes, I went looking for those particular artists. Went as far back as Son House, Furry Lewis and Robert Johnson etc then eventually settled in a Hill Country style cause it made me move and stomp more than anything. Gotta love the stomp-trance style.

When it comes to primal, honest-to-god rock ‘n roll, the Johnny Burnette Trio is as good as it gets. Rumor has it Johnny started yelping during Paul Burlison’s guitar solos when he backed into one of Burlison’s lit cigarettes (Rockbilly Boogie)… Any truth to that rumor?

Man I have no clue. I seriously doubt it but how funny would that be? All these singers still doing it today all cause of a cigarette burn… haha. Truth is, I know nothing all that deep about them – only the stories I heard from my grandfather and his brothers (all first cousins to Johnny and Dorsey), from their father, and from my uncles Tim and Rick.

Love the opening to Preacher Man. Is that a nod to David Byrne (Once in a Lifetime), or did Byrne lift that rap from an actual sermon?

The preaching – that’s my last drummer, Dave Dowda, before I got Tony, my current drummer in the lineup. Before I even knew Dave I heard he would get drunk and “preach” 80s pop song lyrics like a baptist preacher (being from Lafayette, GA in the bible belt I guess he was too familiar with it). So I made him do it at certain shows as an intro and definitely wanted it for the recording. I still give a nod to Byrne though.

Taking potshots at preachers is a fairly dicey proposition in the Deep South (half my family is from Milledgeville, GA)… What’s your take on organized religion?

Well Tim, it’s kind of like that game, Just The Tip, Just For A Minute. Know what I mean? OK.

Interesting answer – and I have to say, I like how you southern boys roll (up here it’s “just for a second”)… You take it down a few notches on McCoy’s Blues. What’s the story behind that tune?

I actually wrote the song after hearing the troubles a close friend of mine, Roland McCoy, had just gone through before and during his divorce. I really dig that tune.

In another interview (with a far-less-important blog, no doubt), you mention that your van was almost run over by another band’s tour bus… Would you like to expand on that?

We played Chicago last year a day before Exodus and Malevolent Creation. The club told us to crash there for two nights and watch the shows, so we went roaming around and sightseeing during the daytime. While out I had two people calling and calling and calling and raising hell saying the Exodus bus driver was about to physically move my van with their bus. I guess I was parked too close to load-in. It was a huge ordeal cause I couldn’t get back to the club for an hour or two and my cell phone was dying. I love Exodus though. Not that juicy of a story though…

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.

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:

The Ohio Untouchables with Robert Ward (far right): Toledo, 1964

In previous posts, we covered a lot of fertile ground in southwest Ohio – King Records, Fraternity Records, Lonnie Mack, Roger Troutman… But the picture wouldn’t be complete without the man who introduced Lonnie to his first Magnatone amp – Robert Ward.

I first discovered Ward through his recordings for the New Orleans-based Black Top label, starting with the much-acclaimed “Fear No Evil” in 1991. Then I tracked down an outstanding collection of singles that Ward recorded in the Sixties. The compilation was released in ’95 on the tiny Relic label, an offshoot of a vintage record store in Hackensack, NJ. And the title, “Hot Stuff,” actually falls short of describing the raging inferno within. This is hard-grinding, hair-raising soul music of the highest order.

Let’s start with an incendiary workout recorded in 1962 at Cincinnati’s King Records studio. It features Ward and the Ohio Untouchables backing up one of the greatest vocal groups ever assembled – The Falcons, with eventual soul stars Wilson Pickett (lead), Eddie “Knock on Wood” Floyd and Sir Mack Rice: I Found a Love/The Falcons

I suppose a little background is in order here… It’s not hard to find a decent bio of Ward (and “Hot Stuff” includes excellent liner notes by Bill Dahl), so I’ll try to stick with the high points:

• Born in Luthersville, Georgia, in 1938 and grew up in poverty with four brothers
• Inspired by gospel-singing dad and guitar-pickin’ mom, who gave him his first axe when he was 10 years old (a gift from a white family whose house she was cleaning)
• Also exposed to blues and gospel through his parents’ 78 RPM records – Sister Rosetta Tharpe, the Dixie Hummingbirds, John Lee Hooker, Jimmy Reed and Muddy Waters, among other favorites
• Played on a local radio station with a country and western band, using his slide guitar to mimic a pedal steel
• Served in the Army from ‘57 to ‘59
• Returned home to form his first serious band, the Brassettes, which shared a gig with James Brown before touring steadily with the legendary bluesman Piano Red

Which brings us to Dayton, Ohio, where Ward moved in 1960 to find “a better way of living.”

Down the road in Cincinnati, Lonnie Mack was perfecting his lightning-fast runs on guitar with stunning instrumentals like Wham and Memphis. Meanwhile, in Dayton, Ward had formed the Ohio Untouchables with bassist Levoy Fredrick (replaced by Marshall Jones in ’61) and drummer Cornelius Johnson – and later rounded out by Pee Wee Middlebrook and Clarence Satchell on horns. “I was thinking about Robert Stack and ‘The Untouchables’ on TV,” he told Dahl. “I said ‘Well, they’re the untouchables in stopping crime. I want to accumulate a band where we’ll be up there with the best and be unstoppable.’”

Here’s more evidence that Ward had achieved his stated goal: Forgive Me Darling/The Ohio Untouchables

Ward’s signature sound involved the thick, organ-like vibrato of the Magnatone amp. And Mack didn’t hesitate to get his own Magnatone after catching Ward’s act in Indiana. On this tune, recorded in Cincinnati in 1963, you can hear Ward’s obvious influence on his protégé Mack: The Bounce/Lonnie Mack

After listening to Black Top-era Ward, it was a revelation for me to hear earlier versions (both with and without the Ohio Untouchables) of his originals like Fear No Evil, Your Love is Amazing and My Love is Strictly Reserved for You. These and other standouts first appeared in the early to mid ‘60s on Detroit-based labels LuPine (whose producer, Robert West, first signed the Ohio Untouchables in 1962), Thelma and Groove City. Here’s the original version of My Love, with powerful singing by Ward. Should’ve been a massive soul hit… My Love is Strictly Reserved for You/Robert Ward

Ward and the Ohio Untouchables parted ways in 1965, with his former band destined for fame and fortune as the superfunky Ohio Players (Love Rollercoaster) and Ward eventually moving on to Detroit to do session work at Motown. If you think you’re new to Ward, think again – you probably heard him on Papa was a Rolling Stone by the Temptations and this unavoidable hit from 1971 by the Undisputed Truth: Smiling Faces Sometimes/the Undisputed Truth

Ward’s life took some tragic and unfortunate turns in the ‘70s and ‘80s with the death of his first wife in ’77 (cerebral hemorrhage) and a year in a Georgia prison, where he played in a band with former hitmaker Major Lance. But much like our recent subject Snooks Eaglin, Ward was rescued from near-obscurity by Black Top co-owner Hammond Scott.

Those who take their blues straight up tend to have pretty strong opinions about the Black Top sound. I’ll share the musings of our friend The Hound about Robert Ward’s recordings for the label:

“I find Black Top one of the most offensive labels of the 90′s blues revival in that they could make lame records with some of the finest artists of all time (Snooks Eaglin being another who comes to mind) by attempting to make their discs 90′s radio friendly, as if Robert Ward’s record was going to get airplay next to Madonna.”

A little harsh? Maybe… and I’ll cop to being a fan of Ward’s ‘95 release, “Black Bottom,” which includes a rock-solid remake of Johnnie Taylor’s soul classic Toehold: Toehold/Robert Ward

But my favorites on that album are a couple of heartfelt ballads with spiritually inclined lyrics and soulful singing by Ward. Here’s one that always knocks me out: Silver and Gold/Robert Ward

On Ward’s final album – the 2000 Delmark release “New Role Soul” – he dispenses of heavy horns and other Black Top flourishes in favor of a more stripped-down sound. With a little less production gloss, this number wouldn’t sound out of place on a Groove City single: Never Found a Girl/Robert Ward

In his last years, Ward lived in rural Dry Branch, Georgia (not far from my mom’s hometown Milledgeville), with his second wife, Roberta, who contributed to “New Role Soul” as both a singer and songwriter. He suffered a stroke in 2001 and never really recovered. Ward passed away in 2008 – leaving behind an amazing musical legacy that seems to grow more vital as each season of American Idol drifts by.

Here’s the only live footage of Ward on youtube – from the Chicago Blues Fest, probably not long after he signed with Black Top. Many youtube videos of tattooed nimrods aping Stevie Ray Vaughan, and only one of Ward. Guess that’s why I do what I do. It’s not even a particularly great video of Ward. Just good enough to remind you how special this guy was. What a wonderfully soulful voice. Crank it up…

Don’t get me wrong… I like to hear John Lee Hooker do the boogie over a driving beat or Allen Toussaint comp behind a funky New Orleans horn section or Thelonious Monk make seasoned jazz professionals sound like a group of toddlers with toy instruments (and I mean that as a compliment).

But every once in a while, I need to hear the artist straight up, no chaser.

Nothing lays bare a musician’s strengths and weaknesses more than a solo performance. No overblown arrangements to hide behind. No programmed beats or pointless gospel choirs. Just the artist, usually with an instrument of choice – stepping out on the thinnest tightrope imaginable. And several foul-smelling carnies nearby to clean up the mess.

Washington Phillips

Going solo was far more common in the country blues tradition than it is today – partly because it was difficult for highly original artists like Charlie Patton, Robert Johnson, Skip James, Blind Lemon Jefferson and Son House to play with other musicians (not to mention travel together in the pre-WWII south). And the most distinctive country bluesman of all might have been zither-strumming evangelist Washington Phillips.

Here’s a guy who “completists” like me can appreciate… Although the native Texan lived for 73 years, Phillips only recorded 18 songs (16 of which survived) during a two-year period – from 1927 to 1929. So if you pick up a copy of “I Am Born To Preach The Gospel,” you’ve got the whole deal in one package. That’s not to say we could’ve used more of these quirky originals that were built around Phillips’ gospel sermons. This one was covered by guitarist Ry Cooder on his 1971 album “Into The Purple Valley.” It’s an ecumenical plea that seems especially appropriate today: Denomination Blues/Washington Phillips

Bluesman John Lee Hooker might be my favorite solo performer. His earliest recordings have an almost trance-like intensity to them, with one foot in Africa and the other literally pounding out the future of amplified, urban blues. So many great performances to choose from (in a previous post, we included one that may have given birth to the power chord). For my money, Hooker’s best solo stuff was recorded for the Modern label from 1948 to 1954. Occasionally, Eddie Kirkland (who passed away in February) filled in on second guitar. But Hooker did just fine by himself, thank you… Boogie Boogie/John Lee Hooker

They called Etta Baker the Queen of Southern Appalachian Piedmont-style guitarists (that’s a mouthful). And she was a big influence on contemporary artists like Bonnie Raitt and Taj Mahal, who covered this next song on his album “Ooh So Good ‘N’ Blues.” It’s a traditional ballad that Baker rearranged into a brisk finger-pickin’ workout that many guitarists have tried (including yours truly) and few have mastered. Safe to say that Baker’s version remains the gold standard. Railroad Bill/Etta Baker

Big Walter Horton

You don’t often come across a recording session that features non-stop blowing on harmonica, from beginning to end. Thankfully, this one features blues harp virtuoso Big Walter Horton – with minimal backing by Robert Nighthawk on guitar (OK, I cheated a little here). In the early ‘50s, Big Walter recorded for Sam Phillips at Sun Studios in Memphis, where he cut the classic instrumental Easy. Then he moved to Chicago, where he collaborated with Muddy Waters, Jimmy Rogers (Walking By Myself: another classic), Eddie Taylor and Johnny Shines, among others. He even showed up in “The Blues Brothers” movie, playing with John Lee Hooker on Chicago’s Maxwell Street. I have no information on when and where the sessions with Nighthawk were recorded (they were released on “An Offer You Can’t Refuse” along with live cuts by The Paul Butterfield Blues Band) … Anyone? Walter’s Boogie, This Is It/Big Walter Horton

When I think of the lonely, tortured jazz artist, I always go back to the iconic image of Sonny Rollins blowing his horn while strolling on the Williamsburg Bridge, where he reinvented his sound for the groundbreaking album “The Bridge.” But I have an even better example of unadorned jazz sax. It’s by one of Rollins’ mentors, Coleman Hawkins. The Hawk’s big, burly tone was there for virtually every major development in 20^th Century jazz – big band, be bop, post-bop, avant garde (although he didn’t have much affinity for the last category, he gamely went toe-to-toe with a very adventurous Rollins on the album “All The Things You Are”). Here’s Hawk alone with his horn on a majestic tribute to another great artist: Picasso/Coleman Hawkins

Django

Gypsy guitarist Django Reinhardt is best known for his stunning duels with violinist Stephane Grappelli, backed by a swinging bass and a couple of chunking rhythm guitars. It’s also hard to ignore the fact that he played for the Nazis during the French Resistance (even those heartless bastards couldn’t fathom screwing with an otherworldly talent like Django). But let’s not head down that rabbit hole… I’d rather focus on one of his “improvisations” on solo guitar. These performances seem to place his amazing gift in a whole new light. Then again, I’d pay to hear him play scales. Improvisation/Django Reinhardt

Miles Davis practiced his black magic with hand-picked accomplices like John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley, Bill Evans, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Ron Carter, Tony Williams… essentially, the best musicians available. So there’s really no such thing (that I’m aware of) as a truly solo performance by Miles. But once again, I’ll cheat a little bit by singling out the stark opening to Generique – one of 10 compositions by Miles on the soundtrack to the 1958 Louis Malle film “Ascenseur Pour L’Echafaud (Lift to the Scaffold).” It’s an achingly beautiful sound that transcends both the man and his instrument… Proof of a higher force: Generique/Miles Davis

Allen Toussaint

A few posts back, we featured Dr. John’s legendary solo sessions on piano. Now it’s Allen Toussaint’s turn. His name crops up quite a bit in this blog – both as a performer and producer. And when you consider all of the brilliant arrangements he’s done for artists ranging from Lee Dorsey to The Band, it’s easy to forget the guy can captivate an audience with just a piano and a few basic ideas. Here’s a solo performance from “Our New Orleans,” a compilation released in 2005 that also served as a benefit for Katrina relief efforts. It’s a minor-key version of a Crescent City classic that Dr. John also covered in his solo sessions: Tipitina and Me/Allen Toussaint

When my oldest daughter was married in 2008, everything about the experience tested my natural cynicism. I get a little twitchy in churches, but that feeling went away when I walked Meghan down the aisle. I like to critique the sermon, but was too busy admiring the sight of my family and friends in one place. Tuxedos usually give me a rash, but mine felt pretty damn good as I posed for pictures with my wife and the new couple. Of course I started to revert back to wiseass mode at the reception as the drinks flowed and chops were being busted. Then the DJ played this next song, and I started crying like a baby. It’s by a 700-pound man who played a tiny ukulele – and despite that jarring image, it somehow reminds me of everything I love about being a dad. This one goes out to Meghan, David and everyone who joined us for the Big Day in Cincinnati, and to the memory of Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, who passed away at the young age of 38. R.I.P., IZ. Over the Rainbow-What a Wonderful World/Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole

The one-man Son of Dave band… Here’s a guy I found out about through our good friend Rick Saunders at Deep Blues (and brother James). Not only is it a mind-blowing solo performance, it also answers the question posed in our previous post: Has blues music evolved since Guitar Junior taught us how to crawl? If only Doctor Ross had a digital looping delay:

Is there anything scarier than singing a capella? Probably images of the coal miners Hazel Dickens fought for as a singer and activist since the 1960s, when she left her 10 brothers and sisters in West Virginia to join the bluegrass and folk music scene in the D.C. area. Clearly, her heart and soul remained in Appalachia. Dickens passed away in April at the age of 75. R.I.P., Hazel.

In honor of Zimmy’s 70th b-day – from the Rolling Thunder Revue tour. With a guitar, harmonica and a pen, Dylan forever changed the art of performing solo.

John Primer

Let’s deal with a few basic facts about the Windy City. The Cubs are hopeless. Rahm Emanuel’s approval rating can only go down. There will never be another Muddy, Wolf or Walter (Big or Little). And it’s time to pay more attention to Chicago’s second generation of hard-working blues artists.

I have to admit, I wasn’t looking forward to another album featuring a makeshift group of all-stars, even in my favorite genre. But I’m really digging into “Chicago Blues: A Living History – The (R)evolution Continues” – a two-CD set available June 7 on the Raisin’ Music label. It follows up on a Grammy-nominated project in 2009 that featured local luminaries Billy Boy Arnold, John Primer, Billy Branch, Lurrie Bell and Carlos Johnson.

Those guys are back with the new release, and this time they’re joined by a few special guests, including Buddy Guy, James Cotton, Magic Slim and Ronnie Baker Brooks. “The (R)evolution Continues” also benefits from the unifying presence of a rock-solid backing band – Billy Flynn on guitar, Matthew Skoller on harmonica, Johnny Iguana on keyboards, Felton Crews on bass and Kenny “Beedy-Eyes” Smith on drums.

Billy Boy Arnold

Guy and Cotton are blues royalty who need no introduction. In a more perfect world, Arnold would be as well-known as those two, having played on some essential recordings by Bo Diddley and penned a few classics himself. I Wish You Would was covered by The Yardbirds, Eric Clapton and even David Bowie, but none of them could top Arnold’s original from 1955: I Wish You Would

Most of the other “Living History” artists have led their own bands in Chicago and have joined forces on a number of other projects – including the Sons of Blues, which featured Bell (son of harp wizard Carey) and Branch. More important, all of them have direct ties to the first generation of Chicago bluesmen and women. Primer played in Muddy’s band for a number of years and also was a member of Willie Dixon’s Chicago All-Stars, which included blues harpist Branch. Bell played guitar with the Queen of the Blues, Koko Taylor. And Flynn recorded with Otis Rush and John Brim, among others.

Thankfully, everyone came to play for the follow-up album – especially slide guitarist Primer, who tears into Muddy Waters’ Canary Bird like an underfed alley cat: Canary Bird

Guy revisits one of his signature songs, First Time I Met The Blues – singing and shredding like a man much younger than 74: First Time I Met The Blues

Billy Branch

And Branch gets to strut his stuff on Yonder Wall, an Elmore James tune that Junior Wells “funkified” on his groundbreaking album from 1965, “Hoodoo Man Blues”: Yonder Wall

I wouldn’t describe anything on the new album as groundbreaking, and I’m sure some will debate whether the blues has evolved as the title implies. Just for argument’s sake, let’s take the form through two generations of the Brooks family.

Those of us who can’t get enough of Louisiana swamp blues might be partial to the elder Lonnie’s early recordings as Guitar Junior – and especially this blistering workout recorded for the Goldband label in ’58: The Crawl

Lonnie "Guitar Junior" Brooks

Lonnie went on to become one of the more memorable characters in the Chicago blues scene, with his tall cowboy hat, gritty voice and slashing guitar. Meanwhile, son Ronnie Baker Brooks took a different path, even working with a hip-hop producer and rapper to give his blues a more contemporary sound. He plays it fairly straight on “(R)evolution,” though, with this hard-driving remake of a tune by his dad Lonnie. Has mankind evolved beyond “the crawl”? You be the judge: Don’t Take Advantage of Me

Me? I’ll take an old swamp record over new jack blues any day of the week. But I can appreciate “The (R)evolution Continues” for what it is – a joyful romp through virtually every style of Chicago blues. It’s also good to know that the city’s greatest cultural asset is in the capable hands of some serious players who love this music more than life itself.

Then again, maybe it’s all about the everlasting power of the jelly roll. Let’s close with Billy Boy Arnold’s take on a song by the legendary guitarist Lonnie Johnson, who lived and recorded in Chicago during much of the ‘30s and ‘40s. It sings the praises of the most popular man in town: He’s a Jelly Roll Baker

Both “Living History” albums were produced by Raisin’ Music’s Larry Skoller and recorded by Blaise Barton at Chicago’s JoyRide Studios. Look for “The (R)evolution Continues” in stores and online beginning June 7.

Primer and Branch with the Living History Band – at the 2009 San Javier Jazz Festival in San Javier, Spain:

The original Chicago blues rebels – Buddy Guy and Junior Wells, at the 1974 Montreux Jazz Festival (the “Drinkin’ TNT ‘N’ Smokin’ Dynamite” band, with Pinetop Perkins, Bill Wyman and Dallas and Terry Taylor):

Bobby "Blue" Bland

Big-band blues. Urban blues. Blues that knows somebody.

Call it what you want… and blow it off at your own risk. Sure, any attempt to move Robert Johnson into a high-rent neighborhood is going to have its shortcomings. But if you root around a little bit, you’ll find some funky gems that belong in any self-respecting blues collection.

If this neighborhood had a first resident, it would be the great Texan T-Bone Walker. And his blues pedigree is inarguable. As a kid in Dallas, he’d walk the legendary bluesman Blind Lemon Jefferson from gig to gig – an important job by any measure. But he also was influenced by (and played with) the great jazz guitarist Charlie Christian. And he really hit his stride in the clubs of Los Angeles, where blues and jazz musicians were rubbing shoulders in the early ‘40s and coming up with swing-based stompers like this one (which helped set the stage for jump blues and its baby, rock ‘n roll): Hey! Ba Ba Re Bop/Lionel Hampton

T-Bone Walker

T-Bone’s greatest contribution involved marrying the sound of swing – usually emphasized by a small horn section – with his newly electrified and highly percussive attack on guitar. And there are few sounds more pleasing to my ears than the sides he recorded on the L.A.-based Black & White and Imperial labels from 1946 to 1954. Here’s a tune he recorded in ’46 at one of the first sessions for Black & White: Don’t Leave Me Baby

Few bluesmen are more identified with the uptown sound than B.B. King, an obvious disciple of T-Bone Walker (in her book “Stormy Monday: The T-Bone Walker Story,” Helen Oakley Dance quotes King as saying “Once I’d heard him for the first time, I knew I’d have to have [an electric guitar] myself. Had to have one, short of stealing!”)

Now I’m not real wild about a lot of B.B.’s latter-day recordings… I tend to gravitate toward earthier shades of blue. But some of the sides King cut for the RPM and Kent labels back in the ‘50s and ‘60s find that sweet spot between the juke joint and the night club – or, to be more accurate, between Memphis (where B.B. recorded for Sam Phillips, pre-Sun Studios) and L.A. (where this next tune was recorded in ‘66): Early Every Morning

Even more satisfying are the soul-based classics of chitlin’ circuit regulars Bobby “Blue” Bland, Little Milton and Johnnie Taylor.

Etta James

But first, I’d be remiss if I didn’t include a song by one of the great blues divas of all time, Etta James. She certainly has enough class to kill us softly with sensitive ballads like At Last and A Sunday Kind of Love, or carefully interpret any number of jazz standards (My Funny Valentine leaps to mind). But as a former heroin addict and the illegitimate daughter of Minnesota Fats, Etta is always two steps away from the blues. On this next tune (recorded live in L.A., 1986), she’s joined by another uptown cat, jump-blues legend Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson. Listen to how Etta schools the sophisticates at Marla’s Memory Lane Supper Club as she applies her rich contralto to this Great American Songbook favorite… Pass the Louis XIII, please: Baby, What You Want Me To Do?

Bland’s singles from the 50s and ‘60s for the Houston-based Duke label practically raise the uptown blues subgenre to the level of, dare I say, great art. In a weird way, they remind me of the mini-operas that honky-tonker George Jones recorded with Nashville producer Billy Sherrill in the ‘70s (here’s an example from a previous post: The Grand Tour) – tautly arranged songs filled with drama and emotion. Songs that make you feel sad, but also thankful that a three-minute ditty can elicit a response stronger than “is that a cowbell?” or “who decided to run tape on this?”

Bland’s main musical foils throughout this period were his first-rate guitar players, starting with wildman Pat Hare (who followed up on the promise of his Sun single, I’m Gonna Murder My Baby, by indeed murdering his girlfriend and eventually dying in prison) on Bland’s first hit, Farther Up the Road. Then Clarence Holliman took over, breathing some blues fire into Bland’s best singles from the ‘50s. And Oklahoman Wayne Bennett took over in the ‘60s with a more polished, jazzier touch. Here’s a signature Bobby Blue song, with a very subtle Bennett on guitar, that Greg Allman covers on his new album, “Low Country Blues”: Blind Man

Like B.B. King, Little Milton recorded for Sam Phillips and was heavily influenced by T-Bone Walker. But his best sides were released on Chicago’s esteemed Chess label. If you don’t have a good sampling of those Chess albums – “We’re Gonna Make It,” “Sings Big Blues” and “If Walls Could Talk” – RCR’s phone lines are open to take your order. Milton went on to record for Stax and Malaco, but many of those tunes tended to favor soul and even disco at the expense of Milton’s considerable blues cred (a guy who once backed Sonny Boy II should not play disco). Here’s Little Milton at his best: Ain’t No Big Deal

Maybe we should cut Milton a little slack. He signed up with Stax in ’71, a little past the label’s sell-by date. By then, its most explosive blues-based sides had already been recorded by master stringbender Albert King and silky soulman Johnnie Taylor. And those guys had the unfair advantage of being backed by the world’s greatest band – Booker T on keys, Steve Cropper on guitar, Duck Dunn on bass and Al Jackson Jr. on drums. Taylor also went on to record with the Southern soul-blues label Malaco, but I think he did his best work uptown (Memphis, that is): Little Bluebird

From the movie Wattstax, a documentary of the ’72 music festival organized by Stax Records at the Los Angeles Coliseum to recognize the 7th Anniversary of the Watts riots. Stax collapsed three years later, probably due to a lot of the conspicuous consumption seen in this clip, which features Johnnie Taylor in a small-club performance.

And just in case you thought T-Bone Walker wasn’t a real bluesman… Another great clip from the American Folk Blues Festival. Just T-Bone with Shakey Jake on vocals, 1962.

Speaking of March Madness, who’s idea was it to borrow so heavily from the President’s brackets? All top seeds? All gone. Although I must admit, it’s made the games far more entertaining. I don’t usually find myself agreeing with Charles Barkley, but I liked his comment at the end of a drama-filled weekend of Elite 8 match-ups: “If you didn’t like these four games, you don’t enjoy sports.” Not that enjoyment of sports is a civic duty. For example, I don’t care much for the fashion industry. I think all Americans should be required to wear uniforms with our names sewn on our shirts… might help stop bullying. But I digress.

Let’s jump back to jump blues: Here’s an act I knew next to nothing about until I came across a post on the Hound Blog. The Treniers were identical twins Cliff and Claude from Mobile, Alabama, usually backed by assorted relatives and hired hands. And as you can tell from this clip, their stock in trade was tearin’ it up onstage – mostly in Vegas or Atlantic City lounges. “The modern world knows no equivalent of the Treniers, who like Louis Prima with Sam Butera & the Witnesses, were all about entertaining their audience,” The Hound wrote. “They didn’t need a dozen tractor trailer trucks full of crap like U2 carry around…” Here’s a wild performance from ’53 on a show called “Night Music” (anyone familiar with that one?).

One of my favorite jump blues artists is Amos Milburn, a wonderful piano player who also performed some top-shelf drinking songs, including One Scotch, One Bourbon, One Beer and Let Me Go Home Whiskey. Here’s another one, and Milburn plays it with a smile on his face, despite losing his happy home and having to borrow Paul Williams’ band.

Blues doesn’t get much better than this clip from “And This is Free: The Life and Times of Chicago’s Legendary Maxwell St.,” a cinema verite-style documentary filmed in 1964 by director Mike Shea with assistance from guitarist Mike Bloomfield. Robert Nighthawk was a fixture on Maxwell Street during the early Sixties, and this slow-burning original shows why legends like Muddy Waters and Sonny Boy Williamson couldn’t get enough of Nighthawk’s deep, dark blues. It’s strong stuff, as you can see from the very personal ways that people experience his music. And the video captures a time and place that’s long gone.

Buddy Guy, Junior Wells and Magic Sam led the next wave of Chicago bluesmen. And tunes like Sam’s Boogie show what the fuss was all about – hard-driving, relentless, rockin’… Muddy wasn’t exactly running scared, but he was definitely paying attention. This clip starts out with a brief interview on a train as Magic Sam talks about his roots, playing the one-string “diddley bow” down in Mississippi. Then it moves to his signature song, All Your Love, followed by the show-stopping Sam’s Boogie. Essential blues – and amazingly, still available on youtube.

Couldn’t write much this week. Too busy taking side bets on my March Madness brackets.

When you know as little as I do about college basketball, you have to be fairly resourceful in filling out your brackets. I follow a simple rule: borrow heavily from an expert (in my case, President Obama) while making a few exceptions based on emotion. Last year, I picked my lowly alma mater, Ohio University, to win in the first round. And when the 14th-seeded Bobcats did, people thought I was a basketball genius… that is, until the second round, when all my other emotional favorites tanked. This year, I relied a bit more on the President’s picks. But I think he was slightly distracted by global issues of a non-basketball nature. Next year, I’ll use a more sophisticated approach – a system that ranks the teams based on total merchandising revenue divided by annual recruiting violations.

In the meantime, let’s check out a few vintage videos that our research team has deemed blog-worthy. And in this round, it’s the men vs. the women.

Don’t you love the fact that, back in the Fifties, guys like Big Joe Turner and Bill Haley were rock stars? What are the chances of that happening today? Zero… even if Bill Haley wore assless chaps and had Autotune surgically attached to his vocal cords. Another reason to treasure this video of Big Joe struttin’ his stuff live at The Apollo, ’55. Watch it now before youtube replaces it with a clip of someone’s cat watching TV.

Some of the great Louis Jordan’s videos from the ’40s and ’50s have kind of a minstrel show vibe to them… that eyes-buggin’-out shuckin’ and jivin’ that made Miles Davis vow to never smile in front of an audience. This one is fairly reserved by Jordan standards. Looks like the director wanted to recreate a late-night, backstage jam session. Although I can’t figure out why he decided to trot out the three white chicks at the end of the song.

Here’s another one of those wonderful American Folk Blues Festival videos – this one from 1965 with Big Mama Thornton backed by the legendary Buddy Guy. I totally agree with one of the comments following the video – a sentiment that was reiterated last week on CBS Sunday Morning by the guys who wrote Hound Dog, Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller: Why would Elvis screw up something this good?

Two years later, Koko Taylor was filmed during another AFBF tour performing Wang Dang Doodle with Little Walter and Hound Dog Taylor. It’s one of only two live clips I’ve been able to find on youtube featuring Walter (we included the other one in this post). 10,000 videos of cats doing flips, but only two of the world’s greatest blues harmonica player.

If the Grammys had an award for Ridiculously Talented, Incredibly Versatile Roots-Music Wunderkind, Mike Henderson would be a hands-down favorite to win every year.

But here in America, 2011 – where fame is simply a measure of Charlie Sheen’s tweets and Snooki’s teats – Henderson remains a virtual unknown.

Here’s a guy who grew up in Independence, Missouri, playing garage rock on guitar and harp… then picked up bluegrass mandolin and fiddle while attending the University of Missouri… then toured the Midwest playing slide guitar and harp in a blues band, the Bel Airs… then moved to Nashville to pursue a career in country music as a distinctive singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist – throwing dobro into the mix along with electric and acoustic (flat-picking) guitar, harp, mandolin, fiddle… he probably shreds on the hurdy gurdy too.

I first found out about Henderson back in the early ‘90s, when I picked up a couple of albums by alternative-country artist Kevin Welch on Reprise. The material wasn’t exceptional, but Henderson already was building a reputation as a bold, fiery guitarist. His singular sound came from setting his strings relatively high off the fretboard on his mandolin. “You gotta crank the action up on a mandolin to get it to be loud, to sound out,” Henderson said. So as he gained strength in his fretting hand, he also began using heavier-gauge strings on his guitar (à la Stevie Ray Vaughan) to get a full, warm tone.

Henderson also began writing his own material and was soon picked up by RCA, which released his first solo album, “Country Music Made Me Do It,” in ’94. Although over-produced, the album featured ten strong originals including The Restless Kind, a tune that showed up on an earlier release by Welch: “Well I’ve seen the country and I’ve been to town; I’ve rode in limousines with the tops rolled down. I’ve walked down the roads where the rivers freeze… I know what it takes to do what I please.”

If anything, these lyrics anticipated Henderson’s next move. Later that year, he joined Welch and other like-minded Nashville artists – Kieren Kane of the O’Kanes, fiddler Tammy Rogers and drummer Harry Stinson – to start their own label, Dead Reckoning. Although Welch, Henderson, Kane and Rogers each released solo albums on the label, Dead Reckoning mainly served as a loose musical collective based on the artists’ shared frustration with the Nashville establishment and the sad state of country music. One of my favorite releases on the label is Welch’s “Life Down Here on Earth,” which featured all five founders along with other guest artists like Vaughan keyboard player Reese Wynans.  Here’s some tasty guitar work by Henderson on a Welch original: The Love I Have For You/Kevin Welch

One of the better qualities of the Dead Reckoning albums is the way they blur the lines between country, blues and bluegrass – sometimes in the same song. And that mirrored the way artists like Henderson were leading their own musical lives, playing bluegrass at a local coffeehouse one night and then blazing through blues standards the next night at a corner bar. Henderson likens it to the music he heard on the radio as a kid in Independence – “the old Top 40,” as he calls it. “There was Slim Harpo, Ray Price, Ray Charles and The Beatles and everybody was on one station,” he said. “So, I grew up hearing a really wide variety.”

Henderson’s solo release on Dead Reckoning, “Edge of Night,” is especially eclectic, moving seamlessly from roots rock (I Wouldn’t Lay My Guitar Down) to blues (Nobody’s Fault but Mine) to honky tonk (Drivin’ Nails in My Coffin). And in his other role as producer, Henderson finally figured out how to capture the snarl and bite of his own guitar in a studio setting: You’re So Square

I love country music, but I’m flat-out hopeless when it comes to blues. So the Henderson albums that really pinned my ears back were the two he recorded on Dead Reckoning with his straight-ahead blues band, the Bluebloods. You’d be hard-pressed to come up with better examples of first-rate contemporary blues – which I know is akin to making one of those “highest mountain in Indiana” claims. But this band had the kind of swagger and soul that should be required to play tunes called Bloody Murder and Give Me Back My Wig.

The original lineup featured two Nashville studio cats – bassist Glenn Worf and drummer John Gardner – as well as Wynans on piano (replaced by virtuoso John Jarvis on the second album). And it came together as a casual side project, just four highly accomplished musicians blowing off some steam playing bar-band blues. The two albums, “First Blood” and “Thicker than Water,” have that go-for-broke spirit – and a level of confidence that you rarely hear from guys who don’t exclusively play Muddy’s music (not to mention one of the best rhythm sections in the business): When The Welfare Turns Its Back On You

Long-time Henderson fan (and former journalist) Mark Knopfler of Dire Straits offers high praise in his liner notes to “First Blood”: “There really aren’t that many people around who carry with them an understanding of the music, black and white, who can write, sing and play country and then deliver a cracking blues set without so much as a pause to buy another pack of camels.”

Henderson also blows some hair-raising harp on a few tunes – another strength that didn’t miss Knopfler’s attention: “When Mike asked me to write these notes, I took the tapes and played them. ‘Who’s playing that amazing harmonica?’ I asked Glenn. ‘It’s Mike,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t play it on gigs because he can’t be bothered to put his harp amp in the car.’ What do you do with a man like this??” Here’s a harp-driven original from “Thicker than Water” that proves the band isn’t afraid to stretch outside standard blues and conventional arrangements: Slow Your Motor Down

The SteelDrivers

If you’re lucky, you can still catch a rogue lineup of Mike Henderson & The Bluebloods rattling the walls at some joint in downtown Nashville. Or you might be able to find Henderson fixing guitars at Glaser Instruments. But his main gig these days is the SteelDrivers, a hard-driving bluegrass band that features his long-time accomplice Tammy Rogers as well as Muscle Shoals guitarist/singer Gary Nichols, banjo player Richard Bailey and bassist/singer Mike Fleming.  Here’s a bluesy tune from their latest release on Rounder, “Reckless” (with former vocalist Chris Stapleton): Peacemaker

Henderson also remains a successful songwriter in Nashville, having written tunes for the Dixie Chicks, Garry Allan, Randy Travis, Tricia Yearwood, Travis Tritt and others.  So although widespread fame may continue to elude him, he ain’t doin’ too bad.

Mike Henderson & The Bluebloods on video… Special thanks to Ray Fuller for slapping this on his facebook wall and reminding me to get off my ass and write this post.

The SteelDrivers live at The Station Inn in Nashville, 2008… I like how they laugh through Bailey’s flubbed note at the end of his solo. Great vocal by Stapleton; wonderful harmonies and fiddle solo by Rogers:

The real Leonard Chess (seated) with Phil at right

A few months ago, my blogging buddy April asked me what I thought about the movie “Cadillac Records,” a glossy look back at the birth of modern electric blues at Chicago’s Chess label in the ‘50s and ‘60s.

My quick response was “not much,” given the project’s main goal of bringing some blues cred – and the thespian merit badge for portraying a tortured druggy artist – to the worldwide franchise that is Beyonce, who plays R&B singer Etta James in the movie. But after I gave it more thought, I decided any film that brings a little Wolf, Walter and Muddy to the masses ain’t such a bad thing.

Most people have a passing familiarity with Chess blues, even if they don’t realize it. They’ve probably heard the Howlin’ Wolf classic Smokestack Lightning in a Viagra commercial. Or maybe they remember Led Zeppelin’s version of Sonny Boy Williamson’s Bring It On Home from ‘69. Or maybe they had too much to drink in a corner bar while the cover band mangled Got My Mojo Working by Muddy Waters.

If “Cadillac Records” encouraged some of these folks to dig a little deeper into the Chess catalog, then it was probably worth the $12 million it took to make it. And it appears the movie accomplished this objective, generating brisk sales of a companion CD (forget the official soundtrack) called “Best of Chess: Original Versions of Songs in Cadillac Records,” featuring prime slabs of Chess goodness by Muddy, Wolf, Etta, Little Walter, Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry.

The fact is, there are very few clunkers in the Chess blues catalog, which shouldn’t be surprising given the artists involved and the street smarts of Leonard Chess, who founded the label in 1950 with his brother Phil. Then again, the two men often employed an operating philosophy best described as “DIY.” And Leonard was prodded into recording the label’s bread and butter – primal yet tightly arranged electric blues – by the artists themselves. Also, despite the success of those songs, he would often record harp virtuoso Little Walter without his signature amplified sound.

But by the time Muddy teamed up with bassist/songwriter Willie Dixon and started recording with his game-changing band in 1953 – Little Walter on harp, Otis Spann on piano, Jimmy Rogers on guitar and Elgin Evans on drums – the label had hit its stride. Hoochie Coochie Man, I Just Want To Make Love To You, I’m Ready, Mannish Boy… The only thing that came close to rivaling those amazing songs was the major fuss that Ray Charles created over at Atlantic Records, recording primarily in New York City with a group of hired studio hands. Let’s put the two artists back-to-back in this next sample to get a better sense of how Brother Ray was feeding off the hard stops and starts that had become a staple of Muddy’s working band in Chicago (Hoochie Coochie was recorded in January ’54; Greenbacks in November of that year): (I’m Your) Hoochie Coochie Man/Muddy Waters-Greenbacks/Ray Charles

Chess even scored with the occasional attempt to latch onto the folk music craze. “Folk Singer” was just as vital as other albums Muddy released in the ‘60s, and “The Real Folk Blues” records sold well too – although I’m sure the coffeehouse crowd was thrown for a loop by these convenient excuses to repackage some fairly menacing and hard-driving blues singles by Muddy, Wolf and Sonny Boy.

Let’s put the hits aside for now and listen to a few tunes that were featured as part of the “Chess Collectibles” series, along with a couple other out-of-print releases.

“One More Mile” (Chess Collectibles Vol. 1, released in ’94) pulled together 41 rare and previously unreleased recordings by Muddy in a wide range of settings. My favorite cuts in the collection feature Muddy either solo or backed only by Louis Myers (original sideman for Little Walter with his band The Aces) on acoustic guitar and Mojo Bruford on harp. Blues promoter Willy Leiser recorded these tunes for a radio broadcast in ’72 while Muddy and band were in Europe to play at the Montreux Jazz Festival. As Mary Katherine Aldin points out in the liner notes, “Perhaps the forced semi-acoustic format of the radio broadcast brought back memories of some of Muddy’s earlier songs and styles, since the majority of the tunes he chose to do that day had very old roots in his repertoire.” Here’s a powerful solo performance of a song Muddy first recorded in 1948: Feel Like Goin’ Home/Muddy Waters

Howlin’ Wolf also got the Collectible treatment in ’94 with “Ain’t Gonna Be Your Dog.” And, once again, I was drawn to the bare-bones stuff that sounds unlike anything else in the artist’s Chess catalog. Ironically, the four acoustic tunes (and an accompanying interview) were recorded in ’68 as part of a promo for his psychedelic album, which clearly inspired The Black Keys when they were trying to come up with a cover for their album “Brothers” (artwork for Wolf’s album at left). Wolf famously referred to the album as “birdshit.” Others loved it. I’ll stick with the acoustic songs – the only time Chess recorded Wolf solo. Maybe the setting put Wolf (like Muddy) in a pensive mood, thinking about the past and songs like this one, which is about as psychedelic as Don Draper’s wardrobe: I Ain’t Gonna Be Your Dog No More/Howlin’ Wolf

Volume 3 in the Chess Collectible series belongs to Little Walter – my personal favorite of the three. And if you share my obsession with all things Walter, you should just go ahead and spring for the five-disc “The Complete Chess Masters (1950-1967).” Given Walter’s phenomenal jazz-like chops (and unlike many of his blues brethren), he rarely fell back on a rote set of licks or solos. Which makes this set a fascinating listen when you compare the masters with various alternate takes. Case in point: the blazing instrumental Juke… In this next clip, listen to the opening riffs in the first sample (the master) and the second (alternate take). If I were Leonard Chess, I’d be hard-pressed to pick which one to release. Both are exceptionally strong, and the alternate certainly deserved a better fate than the 43 years it remained on the shelf in the U.S.: Juke (master)-Juke (alt.)/Little Walter

A few posts back, I waxed poetic about a four-disc set of Sonny Boy Williamson’s complete recordings on Chess’s Checker Records subsidiary. And one of the great joys of this collection is listening to the alternate takes on disc four, complete with some typically profane studio chatter between Sonny Boy and Leonard Chess. We featured the famous Little Village conversation in a previous post. Here’s another exchange involving the song 99 (or “do the 69,” as Leonard says at the top). When it came to music, Leonard Chess only knew what he liked. So he offered very little in terms of specific instructions to Sonny Boy – other than “sing it like you mean it” and “not so much blowin’ on the intro.” And, of course, Sonny Boy would give it right back, which would lead to more personal comments about women on the side and Chess having his “nose in that man’s ass.” Oh, to have been a fly on the wall in that place… 99/Sonny Boy Williamson II

I’ll close with a couple cuts from another great (and hard to find) release – “Wrinkles: Classic and Rare Chess Instrumentals.” The first is a tune credited to Otis Spann but it prominently features Jody Williams on guitar. Spann doesn’t show up until about the one-minute mark, but it’s well worth the wait: Five Spot/Otis Spann The second is a Bo Diddley tune called Mess Around, which bears no relation to the R&B hit that Ray Charles recorded in ’53. Just another typically satisfying workout by Bo and his band – and another fine example of the undeniable power of the maraca: Mess Around/Bo Diddley

Muddy at Montreux in ’72… during the same trip that resulted in the solo recording of Feel Like Goin’ Home. Kind of an odd assortment of musicians – looks like Muddy’s band teamed up with some Euro-rockers. What the hell… it’s still Muddy.