Rubber City Review

America’s greatest musical export? That’s easy – Chess blues and rock ‘n roll.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Earl Hooker, dining out

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve played blues harp for years… not on the same level as, say, Charlie Musselwhite, but I can get the attention of a bar full of drunks.

One band I played in never seemed to make it through a gig without some cocky amateur, usually with just one harp, asking if he could get up on stage and jam on some blues. Since I was the resident cocky amateur, I was always put off by these requests… “Go out and start your own crappy white blues band.” Finally, our frontman came up with the perfect response: “Look, we’d love to have you sit in, but every guy in this band plays harmonica, and we’re pretty damn sick of it.”

Which was basically true, underscoring one of the challenges of the instrument and harp players in general. Let’s face it, most of us pick it up out of sheer convenience – who the hell wants to drag a piano up a flight of stairs? And it takes literally minutes for a newbie to play like Bob Dylan or Neil Young. Unfortunately, very few harp players are willing to take the time to move beyond stringing together a few blues riffs and basic tricks and actually learn a melody, no matter how rudimentary it might be. Then there’s Butter… Work Song

Paul Butterfield grew up in Chicago’s Hyde Park neighborhood, not far from the tough South Side clubs where blues royalty like Muddy Waters, Little Walter and Howlin’ Wolf held court on a regular basis. Butterfield’s background was decidedly middle-class – as a kid, he took flute lessons from a member of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, which might explain his more melodic approach to the harmonica. But I wouldn’t describe his playing as “pretty.”

In the notes to Robert Gordon’s excellent book “Can’t Be Satisfied: The Life and Times of Muddy Waters,” you can find a quote from Butterfield that underlines the futility of his parents’ early efforts to turn him into a classical musician:

“What we played was music that was entirely indigenous to the neighborhood, to the city what we grew up in… There was no doubt in my mind that this was folk music; this was what I heard on the streets of my city, out the windows, on radio stations and jukeboxes of Chicago and all throughout the South, and it was what people listened to. And that’s what folk meant to me – what people listened to.”

A wise man (probably someone who wrote the liner notes to an album I no longer own) once compared Butterfield’s style to that of a great prizefighter, which seemed to ring true to me. Always dancing around, bobbing, jabbing, waiting for the right opening for that big hook… you get the point. Here’s Butterfield, boxing his way through a knockout performance on 1972’s “Better Days”… Highway 28

Obviously, by the time Butterfield recorded that number, he’d long been under the spell of his blues idols, especially Muddy Waters and Little Walter. He’s often credited with exposing them to a huge new audience – mainly white college kids who couldn’t get enough of what they were hearing in Chicago blues clubs.

Butter even stole Howlin’ Wolf’s rhythm section – bassist Jerome Arnold and drummer Sam Lay – back in the early ‘60s to form one of the first interracial blues bands. But he made up for that slight by landing gigs for Muddy and Wolf on Chicago’s predominately white North Side, and later in concert halls on the east and west coasts. And that helped lay the groundwork for their resurgent careers in the late ‘60s and ‘70s.

“Blues With A Feeling: The Little Walter Story,” by Tony Glover, Scott Dirks and Ward Gaines, offers a less-than-flattering portrait of Butterfield and his relationship with his idol Walter:

“(Little Walter’s guitarist) Luther Tucker recalls Butterfield coming to gigs and plying Walter with a half-pint of whiskey, trying to find out how he played certain numbers. ‘You think Walter was a helpful kind of guy who’d show you stuff?’ Butterfield asked. ‘Well he wasn’t, he was a nasty sonofabitch who’d tell you to get the fuck away from him.’” Then the authors claim that Butterfield “may be a less-than-reliable informant… many people found him difficult and arrogant.”

Later in the book, a Chicago blues enthusiast disputes Butterfield’s account of how Walter treated him, noting that Walter loved Butterfield and thought he was a good player. Butterfield, on the other hand, was just “looking for a place where he could perform.” Sound familiar?

Muddy and Butter, from "The Last Waltz"

Even if Butterfield wanted to help him, Walter was too far gone by then (mainly booze) to benefit from his support. But Muddy and Wolf clearly seized the opportunity – especially Muddy, who maintained a long-standing relationship with Butterfield over the years. They played together on The Band’s 1976 swan song, “The Last Waltz” (Muddy’s performance is by far my favorite from the movie). And Butter blows like mad on this cut from “Fathers and Sons” – recorded live with Muddy in ’69… Baby Please Don’t Go/Muddy Waters with Paul Butterfield

Like Walter, Butterfield wrestled with some serious demons during his short life, and he eventually passed away in 1987 due to complications from long-term alcohol abuse. He was only 44, but looked much worse for wear and tear.

Butterfield’s greatest legacy may have been ensuring that a lot more folks listened to the artists who inspired him… guys like Muddy and Wolf and Walter who invented electric blues in the clubs of Chicago.

Nothing can replace the legendary Chess recordings by the originators of Chicago blues. But I’ll put Butterfield up there with the best of the second-generation bluesmen, based on the gritty, hard-driving sound of his harp alone. He also had a soulful voice and, at least in the early years, managed to put together and run bands that simply destroyed the competition – especially the hippie shoegazers they shared the bill with at the Fillmore in San Francisco.

Here are just a few of my favorite moments from albums Butter recorded as both a bandleader and sideman…

Butterfield is probably best known for the recordings he made in 1965 with Mike Bloomfield and Elvin Bishop on guitars, Arnold and Lay holding down the rhythm, and Mark Naftalin on keyboards – basically, his first album on Elektra. Born In Chicago, written by Nick Gravenites, became his signature song… here’s a taste: Born In Chicago

The title cut to Butter’s next album, “East-West,” was a 13-minute Indian-influenced freakout that was first titled The Raga. Written by Bloomfield, the instrumental was their most pronounced departure from the Chicago blues that informed the band’s earliest recordings. It might have been a calculated nod to their fans at the Fillmore – and it sounds a little dated today – but East West definitely has its moments. And I’ll give Butterfield and Bloomfield credit for being so determined to break out of the blues mold. East West

By the late-‘60s, Butterfield had put together a big, 10-piece band with five horn players, including a guy who eventually became a staple on smooth-jazz stations – David Sanborn. You really get the sense of this band’s fearsome reputation on “The Paul Butterfield Blues Band Live,” recorded in 1970 at the Troubadour in L.A. But my favorite moment is Butterfield alone with his harp, on the powerful opening to Everything’s Gonna Be Alright… In just a short minute, he shines a light on all that’s good and right about the Mississippi saxophone. Everything’s Gonna Be Alright

“Better Days” (1972) isn’t often listed among Butterfield’s best albums, but it’s one I always come back to – mainly because it brings him together with blues chanteuse Maria Muldaur, the great guitarist Amos Garrett and New Orleans piano legend Ronnie Barron. The album shows the full range of Butterfield’s talent, moving seamlessly from roadhouse rockers to more meditative blues like this remake of Nobody’s Fault But Mine… Nobody’s Fault But Mine

“The Muddy Waters Woodstock Album” is another underrated gem – one of Muddy’s best latter-day recordings (1975). It’s hard not to like an album with The Band’s Garth Hudson playing blues accordion and Levon Helm pounding away on what sounds like a Civil War-era drum kit. It also features the great Pinetop Perkins on piano. But none of them bring it like Butterfield, who attacks a few of these old warhorses (Caldonia, Kansas City, Let The Good Times Roll) like he’s got something to prove. And maybe he did, because personal problems had derailed his career by the mid-’70s. You couldn’t tell by listening to Butter’s blazing solo on this one… Going Down To Main Street/Muddy Waters with Paul Butterfield

Paul Butterfield on the TV show “To Tell The Truth” – probably around ’65. Sort of a remedial blues comprehension test. I like how the celebrity panel members try to “out-hip” one another with their questions… “Do you happen to know the name of (a jug band) that comes from Boston?” ”Do you know a Negro blues guitarist from Houston?” “What are the instruments in the Modern Jazz Quartet?” Don’t tell me Orson Bean and Peggy Cass smoked dope and hung out in the West Village… my head would explode.

Another big, sprawling topic – more than one post can handle. And another cheap excuse to share a few of my favorite examples of the form.

But what is jump blues, exactly? Some would describe it as post-Thirties (mostly post-war, with a few major exceptions), pre-rock ‘n roll, small-combo, primarily horn-driven R&B… true, honest-to-god rhythm and blues, that is, as opposed to what you might call a more contemporary urban act like Boys II Men or even John Legend. And the undisputed king of jump blues is the great Louis Jordan.

Jordan was a huge influence on blues giants like B.B. King, Muddy Waters and Little Walter. In fact, Walter credited his tone and attack to spending countless hours trying to play harmonica just like Jordan played alto sax. Which makes sense, because Walter transcended his peers with a hard-driving yet melodic sound – basically the same approach that Jordan used on a long list of hits that directly preceded the golden years of Chess Records.

Jordan’s best tunes serve as the most obvious examples of what makes jump blues – done right – such a beautiful thing: great musicianship, rockin’ rhythms and plenty of attitude, all cooked up in a spicy stew of jazz and blues – and, on this number, even a little taste of the Caribbean… Run Joe/Louis Jordan

If you don’t have any Louis in your life, my deepest sympathies. I’ll direct you immediately to a huge but affordable collection of his recordings on Decca from 1938 to 1950: Louis Jordan and His Tympany Five (on the JSP label). You might say, “I don’t want to spend $29 for five discs of Jordan in his prime,” and I’d agree, but only if you decide to buy the entire collection of 131 songs on amazon’s mp3 store for the ridiculous price of $8.99. I know, it seems almost criminal, but it’s legit. We’re talking essential stuff like Caldonia, Five Guys Named Moe, Choo Choo Ch’Boogie, Let The Good Times Roll, Blue Light Boogie, and duets with Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby. If there’s such a thing as a Great American Songbook, many of these tunes would be in it – and you’ll find very few duds in the mix. I’m starting to sound like a late-night TV pitchman.

Some even would argue that Jordan was the original rapper. I’ll let you decide by listening to this number 5 R&B hit from 1948: Pettin’ and Pokin’/Louis Jordan

Anyway, that’s my amazon sales pitch for the week (but I’ll also mention that JSP offers excellent box sets featuring Charlie Parker, Django Reinhardt, Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown and essential country blues artists like Son House and Skip James… you can find them here).

Now that we have Jordan covered, let’s look at a few other gems in the jump blues canon.

Roots of rock 'n roll: Big Jay McNeely

But first, a cautionary message. Seems this genre in particular has been hard-hit by the economic downturn (ironic, given that many small R&B combos were formed as economical alternatives to big bands). In other words, stuff that was readily available a few years ago is especially hard to find today, because record stores are disappearing and iTunes needs all that bandwidth for Grizzly Bear and Lady Ga Ga. So good luck finding Tiny Bradshaw – and I apologize in advance for sharing any songs that are long out of print.

Back to the goods. Generally, you don’t listen to jump blues for the lyrics, especially if you’re turned off by the occasional ode to misogyny (Shut Your Big Mouth or Upside Your Head, anyone?). But it’s important to point out that jump blues gave rise to a lot of great women singers and instrumentalists – Dinah Washington, Ella Johnson, Little Esther Phillips, Helen Hume – and big-time piano pounders like Camille Howard and Julia Lee (who were solid singers too). Here’s Camille radiatin’ the 88s with one of the era’s most popular jump blues band leaders, Roy Milton… Milton’s Boogie/Roy Milton with Camille Howard

I thought about including this next one on our “Great Moments in Modern Music” post. Next to Jordan, my favorite jump blues artist is probably Buddy Johnson, also known as the “King of the One-Nighters” (he played thousands of gigs over a 20-year period throughout the South). His specialty was dance music, and more than a few of his signature songs featured his younger sister Ella on vocals. Listen to how Ella’s coy come-on is answered by a powerful blast from Buddy’s road-tested horn section. Crank it up! That’s How I Feel About You/Buddy and Ella Johnson

You can find a lot of great instrumentals in jump blues – Flamingo by Earl Bostic, Honky Tonk by Bill Doggett, Cole Slaw by Frank Culley, Walk ‘Em by Buddy Johnson… But this next one by barrelhouse piano player Sammy Price is hard to top. It features the dangerous guitar of long-time New York session man Mickey Baker and the soulful sax of the one and only King Curtis. Price also played in a lot of sessions in New York, primarily as house pianist for Decca records. But his recordings with Baker and Curtis sound almost live – like someone threw out a few basic riffs and they took off with the tape running. Recorded in ’56, Rib Joint combines a rock ‘n roll attitude with Price’s deep roots in Texas blues and boogie-woogie (he cut his first record in Dallas in ’29)… Pick up the song on iTunes for 99 cents, or buy the whole album on amazon for $100: Rib Joint/Sammy Price with Mickey Baker and King Curtis

Even a giant of jazz like Dizzy Gillespie couldn’t resist the joys of jump blues. Maybe he wanted to move beyond the tired conventions of be-bop, or maybe he was just selling out. I’m guessing the latter is closer to the truth – he’d just started his own label (Dee Gee) when he recorded School Days in ’51. And, since he always had his ear to the rail, Dizzy probably knew that R&B 45s were very popular among urban blacks and easy to find in barroom jukeboxes. Louis Jordan scored an R&B hit with this number just the year before, so Dizzy certainly didn’t break any new ground here. But if you were putting together a jump blues combo, wouldn’t you want the world’s greatest trumpet player in your band? Vocals by Joe Carroll. And, like I said earlier, you’re not here for the lyrics. School Days/Dizzy Gillespie

Brother James, who has a hot little swing band in St. Augustine called the House Cats, turned me on to Julia Lee. James covers her tune Lotus Blossom, which was first recorded as the less-than-subtle Marijuana. But subtlety wasn’t one of Lee’s strong suits – she also recorded a fair amount of risque rhythm & blues, like My Man Stands Out (yes, we’re talking slack size) and I’ve Got A Crush On The Fuller Brush Man. Novelty tunes aside, Lee could flat-out play the piano. In fact, she honed her chops in the clubs of Kansas City, where you didn’t even show up unless you could hang with the likes of Bennie Moten or Jay McShann. The German Bear Family label paid tribute to Lee with a five-CD set called ”Kansas City Star”… Great stuff, but you can probably live with far less. Here’s a taste… If It’s Good/Julia Lee

This is the third time Wynonie Harris has shown up in one of our posts (also check out “King of the Independents” and “There Stands the Glass”), so obviously we have our collective finger on the pulse of popular culture. That, and we’re convinced Wynonie is highly underrated. Like Big Joe Turner and Roy Brown, Harris was an unreconstructed blues shouter. But I’ve always been partial to the power and grit in Harris’ voice, which comes across like the human equivalent of an overdriven tube amp. Here’s one of my favorite Wynonie tunes, recorded in 1953 at Cincinnati’s King Studios. It’s from “Battle of the Blues,” a compilation that pits Harris against Brown in an imagined juke-joint cutting contest. Wynonie wins in a knockout. Bring It Back/Wynonie Harris

Here’s another tune recorded at King. It features The 5 Royales, a group from North Carolina that combined a strong gospel influence with driving R&B rhythms and the gutbucket guitar of Lowman Pauling, who was a big influence on a young Steve Cropper. Their tunes were covered by James Brown (Think), Ray Charles (Tell The Truth) and the Shirelles (Dedicated To The One I Love, which also was covered by the Mamas and the Papas). Think was recorded in ’57, but I consider it part of a direct line that leads from Louis Jordan right into the rock ‘n roll era. Although they never got the recognition they deserved, The 5 Royales have one of the richest and most satisfying catalogs in R&B. American roots music at its very best. Think/The 5 Royales

Louis Jordan on Video… Surprisingly, quite a few available on youtube. Some of these clips were filmed by William Forest Crouch, who directed a short musical about Jordan called “Caldonia” as well as a number of three-minute “soundies.” Here’s one for Buzz Me Baby, from 1945:

Time to dig through the old mail bag and respond to a few comments about previous posts… Most of these comments show up on the blog, but a few others take a more direct route – either via email or in conversations with friends and family members.  And, of course, a few are better left unsaid, either because I didn’t understand them or don’t need explicit instructions on how to pound foreign objects into a certain orifice.

If reader comments are any indication, I could have posted many more Christmas favorites on “Those Chimeless Holiday Classics.”  Here’s a couple… Mark from Owensville believes I overlooked Charles Brown’s Merry Christmas Baby with the enduring line “I’m all lit up like a Christmas tree.”  And Bill from St. Augustine is partial to the Blind Boys of Alabama’s “Go Tell It On The Mountain” – one of those projects that pulled together a small army of special guests from every conceivable genre (Bill Clinton???).  I don’t have that one, but I do have a cut from the Blind Boys’ 2001 release, “Spirit of the Century”… What’s Christmas without a song written by Tom Waits?  (The nasty slide is a little gift from David Lindley.) Jesus Gonna Be Here/The Blind Boys of Alabama

The video of Free with a young Paul Rodgers – from “Superhits of the Seventies (and Pass the Sausage)” – seemed to resonate with those of you who grew up listening to that vitally important sub-genre of music known as “stoner rock.”  Dan didn’t (unless you count G Love and Special Sauce), but he prefers another Free/Rodgers video on youtube – Fire and Water…

Many comments about the Wood Brothers cut from “Loaded,” featured on “Tim’s Top Six.”  They truly are a great find and I have to give full credit to Brother James for turning me on to them.  As I mentioned in the post, I was familiar with Chris Woods’ funky bass on cuts by Medeski, Martin and Wood, but I had no idea he had some Stanley Brothers in him too.  The first Wood Brothers release might even be better than the second, if that’s possible… Here’s one of my favorite tunes from “Ways Not To Lose”: Glad/The Wood Brothers

Young Joscha from Germany thought the opening to Storm Warning by Dr. John had an influence on Dan’s Heartbroken, In Disrepair from his 2009 solo release, “Keep it Hid.”  I’ll let you be the judge.  Storm Warning is featured on “New Orleans Nuggets,” and here’s the video for Heartbroken – filmed near Marfa, Texas, with members of Hacienda, who hail from San Antonio… and My Morning Jacket’s Patrick Hallahan, who’s a Louisville boy.

Joscha complained about my poor treatment of his beloved Led Zeppelin in “Superhits.”  But I fully admit to being under the spell of the blimp back in my high school days (hey, I’m from Akron).  By the way, I recently saw Lucinda Williams and her hot-shit band on Austin City Limits… Right in the middle of her tune Joy (from “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road”), they launched into the signature riff from Zep’s Heartbreaker.  It was freakin’ awesome!  Here’s another riff that’s been rattling around in my head for 30-some years… The Ocean/Led Zeppelin

In his comment to ”Little Walter, By the Book,” Jose mentioned that his dad turned him on to Walter by playing him Muddy Waters’ Forty Days and Forty Nights.  Here’s Walter’s scorching harp solo from that number… Forty Days & Forty Nights/Muddy Waters with Little Walter

Finally, Danny Horn liked the cuts featured on “Superhits” but wanted to hear a little more of the late Jesse Ed Davis, the guitarist with the slippery, soulful touch on Taj Mahal’s early albums.  Here’s Jesse Ed stretching out on a cut written by Garth Hudson and Robbie Robertson from The Band and featured on Taj’s 1969 release, ”Giant Step”…  Mister Davis! Bacon Fat/Taj Mahal with Jesse Ed Davis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bo with The Warsaw Falcons, 1983

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope that helps…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walter on Disc:

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

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

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

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

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

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