New Orleans R&B might be a close second, and you can’t deny the lasting, global impact of jazz greats like Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk and Sonny Rollins. But think of that strange cultural looping effect that took place in the ‘60s as the Beatles and the Stones co-opted Chess artists like Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf and then taught us poor, misguided Americans a thing or two about our own musical heritage (and don’t forget Led Zeppelin’s ’69 cover of Sonny Boy Williamson’s Bring It On Home). Throw James Brown into the mix and it’s the basis for virtually everything we listen to today – unless you’re partial to dead German composers or Kenny Chesney.

Alright, it’s not quite that simple… but pretty damn close in my book. And I started developing this fairly narrow wordview at an early age, when I first came across an odd-looking album stashed over at my sister’s house – a two-record set of Little Walter’s “greatest hits.” Walter’s wailing harp shook me to the core: Roller Coaster …and I quickly decided to dive a little deeper into the Chess catalog.

Of course that led me to Muddy and Wolf, and I’ve been a lost cause ever since. You can have your techno trash and indie troubadours… I need something a little closer to the truth – or at least the version documented by Leonard and Phil Chess at 2120 South Michigan Ave., Chicago.

Given the power and majesty of Little Walter’s amplified sound, I initially didn’t take to the more countrified, acoustic harmonica of Sonny Boy Williamson II. But I used a well-paying gig in Columbus as an opportunity to buy a 4-CD overview of Sonny Boy’s Chess years (including some interesting outtakes, which we’ll cover shortly). And I was quickly hooked on the many pleasures of the Sonny Boy songbook.

Let’s start with the voice. Like every other facet of the man and his music, there’s nothing else quite like it in the world of blues. It’s a deep, soulful, almost purring sound – somewhere between a croon and a moan. And when he throws in that funky vibrato… man, I’m gone. I’m always floored when that voice sneaks up on me (which is pretty rare, since his songs are seldom licensed for commercial use and he doesn’t even get much play on blues radio shows). Sonny Boy never got his due as a singer… Bring It On Home

Then there’s the harmonica. He was a masterful player who used a deceptively simple, unadorned approach to convey a whole lot of emotion. Little Walter may have taught many of his followers how to rock a Fender with a cheap PA mic, but Sonny Boy’s the guy you want to sound like when the plugs are all pulled and the lights are low. Like hearing a grown man cry, which I can assure you is a very good thing. You Killing Me (On My Feet)

Sonny Boy and Robert Lockwood Jr.

Then there’s the supporting cast. During the Chess years, Leonard consistently surrounded Sonny Boy with the best players in Chicago. Otis Spann on piano. Willie Dixon on bass. Fred Below and Odie Payne on drums. And what phenomenal guitar players: Jimmy Rogers, Luther Tucker, Buddy Guy, Matt “Guitar” Murphy… and Sonny Boy’s secret weapon, the great and underrated Robert Lockwood Jr. I had the pleasure of seeing Lockwood play many times in Cleveland, where he lived for nearly five decades. But it took me a while to find out about his essential contributions to Sonny Boy’s Chess recordings. Lockwood could swing with sting, playing with a jazzy sophistication that belied some serious (and hard-earned) blues chops. I can’t imagine a more sympathetic accompanist to his quirky frontman (this one also features some fine playing by Spann). Cross My Heart

Let’s not forget the songs… so many blues classics, like the next one. “When I walk, walk with me. When I talk, you talk to me. Oh baby… I can’t do it all by myself. You know if you don’t help me darling, I’ll have to find myself somebody else.” Sort of a weird combination of braggadocio and pathos. Probably a true reflection of the man himself, who often was described as irascible, difficult, distrustful of most people… and maybe even a little evil. His best songs create this dark, subterranean vibe. Even the titles intimidate: Your Funeral and My Trial. Keep Your Hand Out of My Pocket. One Way Out. Don’t Start Me Talkin’. Sonny Boy was a true badass of the blues. Help Me

Sonny Boy had already put in some serious miles before he showed up at Chess Studios in 1955. Depending on who you believe, he was born in 1899 (Sonny Boy’s claim), 1908 (on his headstone) or 1912 (possible census evidence). Very little is known about his first 30 years on the planet, other than he probably spent a lot of time in Tallahatchie County, Mississippi under his given name, Aleck “Rice” Miller. He also gained a strong taste for virtually all the major vices – booze, gambling, womanizing – while running across the southern U.S. and beyond with blues legends like Robert Johnson, Robert Nighthawk, Elmore James, Homesick James and Lockwood.

In Helena, Arkansas, Sonny Boy and some of his musical buddies (including Lockwood) developed a long and storied partnership with the Interstate Grocery Company as the King Biscuit Entertainers. They were the official band of King Biscuit Time, a show on KFFA radio that was mainly established to promote the company’s flour. It was during this stint in the ‘40s that Sonny Boy – probably goaded on by Interstate’s owner, Max Moore – appropriated the name of John Lee “Sonny Boy” Williamson, one of Chicago’s most successful and widely recognized bluesmen (Good Morning Little School Girl). And I’m guessing this grand act of identity theft is one of the main reasons why Sonny Boy II (who had little in common with his namesake) never received the same level of respect as Muddy, Wolf and Walter.

Sonny Boy recorded a few incendiary sides for the Trumpet label – most notably, the classic Mighty Long Time. But his greatest musical legacy is the time he spent at Chess from 1955 to 1964, cutting one blues gem after another. I have my personal favorites – some obvious ones, like Help Me, One Way Out and Checkin’ Up on My Baby, as well as a few more obscure yet equally satisfying numbers like this spot-on impersonation of Howlin’ Wolf: Like Wolf

I also enjoy the now-legendary outtakes, which feature some spirited banter between Sonny Boy and his boss Leonard Chess. I spliced together a couple of my favorite moments on this next sample… Don’t play it for the kids. Outtakes

Sonny Boy closed out his career at Chess with some fairly listless recordings, but took London by storm as part of the 1963 American Folk Blues Festival. He even stayed on after the tour, eventually recording and performing overseas with the Animals, the Yardbirds, Jimmy Page and other British bluesrockers. In the folk-blues concerts, he was fairly laid back and reserved. But in the clubs, he was the consummate showman – whipping out his old juke-joint bag of tricks that included playing his harmonica sideways and with no hands. Probably not what the kids expected from an elderly statesman of the blues – especially someone who began sporting a fine two-tone suit and bowler hat in honor of his new surroundings!

Sonny Boy probably knew his time wasn’t long when he returned to Helena in the spring of 1965. He played a few gigs and hung out with some of his old running buddies before passing away on May 25 of that year from a heart attack (apparently “hard living” wasn’t one of the options for the death certificate). You can find his grave under a large, well-kept headstone in Whitfield Cemetery, Tutwiler, Mississippi.

As British blues producer and writer Neil Slaven pointed out in the expansive liner notes to the Chess box set, “It’s ironic that such a private man in life should now have so many friends after his death. His music is his most durable memorial.”

Great video of Sonny Boy, solo – from the American Folk Blues Festival in Europe:

No need to try to hunt down that “Chess Years” box set (I couldn’t find a copy on Amazon or eBay). “The Essential Sonny Boy Williamson” (below) delivers the goods with 45 prime cuts from the Chess catalog (you blues vinyl nerds out there will know these tunes were originally released on the label’s Checkers subsidiary). “Bummer Road” includes a few other Chess tunes as well as the sprawling 12-minute outtake Little Village, in which an exasperated Sonny Boy explains to Leonard Chess the song is about a small town. “King Biscuit Time” pulls together most of his Trumpet recordings, live cuts from one of his final appearances on the radio program, and the earliest recorded version of Elmore James’ Dust My Broom.

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:

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…

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…

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…

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.