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.

Max Baumann, CEO, The Chill Group

My wife and I just spent a week at one of these all-inclusive resorts in Mexico – the kind of place that makes you feel like an alcoholic baby in a really lush crib, constantly reaching out to grab food and blender drinks… and gently sobbing when someone doesn’t show up.

Every afternoon at around 3, some well-tanned guy with a bandana around his head would drag a beat-up PA speaker out by the pool (safety… not a big issue in Mexico) and start playing this godawful music – usually some thumping, merengue-flavored pop confection – in a desperate attempt to get the party started. That was our cue to collect our stuff and find a remote stretch of beach for the rest of the afternoon.

On the last day of our visit, we saw bandana boy at the assigned hour and, like a couple of overstuffed lab rats, launched right into our newly learned response. Then something miraculous happened. As I was reaching for my SPF 185, I heard the big, bold and unabashedly romantic sound of Dexter Gordon caressing a timeless ballad… I think it was Don’t Explain, a song usually associated with the great Billie Holliday: Don’t Explain/Dexter Gordon

It was as if we’d been suddenly transported to a far more heavenly resort, free of whining children and overserved frat boys. The Land of Dex, where everyone is hip and sharply dressed and beautiful and the music springs from the very source of life eternal. The colors around us became more vivid; the sea and sky merging in a deep, electric blue.

Then we were overcome by this great longing to stay… to lie in those lounge chairs and await The Rapture, when the Almighty Dex returns to earth and plays the three perfect notes that can save our wretched souls from an eternity in hell, where the house band is the Black Eyed Peas. Another blender drink? No thanks, I’ve had enough.

Once again, I digress. But while I’m at it… On the flight back, I started paging through Hemispheres (inflight magazine for Continental and United) and came across an article about this surfer dude who developed a specialty drink called Just Chill – “a lightly carbonated peach and citrus drink dosed with 100 milligrams of the FDA-approved tea-leaf compound L-theanine, which has been shown in clinical studies to reduce anxiety while keeping people attentive.”

I was especially impressed with the thought process behind the product. “As you travel, you see a lot of stressed-out people,” said Max Baumann, CEO of The Chill Group. “I just looked around and realized people don’t need more energy drinks or caffeine; they need something to chill them out. Stress, nervousness and anxiety do not help you, as we’ve seen with all that jitter juice and snooze booze on the market.” Amen, Brother Max. As the sign says…

Photo by James Quine

So clearly, a higher force was guiding me to this post – a cheap opportunity to share with you a few of my favorite tunes for chilling the f#&k out.

As I’ve already demonstrated, any ballad featuring the wondrous Dexter Gordon will do just fine. And Dex didn’t approach these tunes lightly. He felt it was essential to know every word of the song – not only to get the phrasing right, but also to play it with the respect it deserves. But not necessarily like someone would sing it either. For example, the opening line of Where Are You, by Harold Adamson and Jimmy McHugh: “Where are you, where have you gone without me… I thought you cared about me, where are you?” First, listen to Frank Sinatra work his magic, then Dexter. Are you starting to feel more relaxed? Where Are You? (Frank Sinatra, then Dexter)

Jazz guitarist Kenny Burrell is another guy who really lays me out. Just staring at the cover of his album “Midnight Blue” makes me mellow. And whether he’s playing a ballad or a mid-tempo blues with a Latin groove (Chitlins Con Carne), Burrell brings everything to a slow burn. Doesn’t hurt to have a couple of Blue Note all-stars in your band – Stanley Turrentine on sax and Ray Barretto on congas. This one features Burrell with just his rhythm section, covering a tune first recorded by McKinney’s Cotton Pickers back in 1930. As Burrell says in the liner notes, “It’s a ballad, but essentially it’s still the blues.” Brother James plays this song with his band The House Cats down in St. Augustine, usually at a joint on Charlotte St. called Stogies. Stop in, get a glass of port, light up a cigar, sprawl out on the couch… if you’re still wound tight, you may need professional help. Gee Baby, Ain’t I Good To You/Kenny Burrell

I’m skeptical of the term “world music,” because it’s often used to bring a little credibility to some fairly lame music. That’s not the case with “The Intercontinentals,” featuring a makeshift band of gypsies put together by guitarist Bill Frisell. The overall flavor is African, mainly inspired by Malian guitarists Ali Farka Toure and Boubacar Traore. “Intercontinentals” features another legend from Mali, percussionist Sidiki Camara. But Frisell delivers on the promise of the title by adding Brazilian guitarist, drummer and vocalist Vinicius Cantuaria and Greek oud and bouzouki virtuoso Christos Govetas – not to mention two other Yanks, violinist Jenny Scheinman and pedal steel player Greg Leisz (heard to great effect on Ray Lamontagne’s Grammy-nominated “God Willin’ & The Creek Don’t Rise”). I know, sounds like a global trainwreck… but it works beautifully: Baba Drame/The Intercontinentals with Bill Frisell

I even have a few straight-up blues albums that I slap on when I really want to chill. One of my favorites is a set of recordings featuring the great blues pianist Otis Spann, mostly joined by Robert Lockwood Jr. on guitar. These sessions from August 23, 1960, are actually compiled on two albums – “Otis Spann Is The Blues” and “Walking The Blues” – that were released on Candid, a boutique jazz label formed in New York City by writer and political activist Nat Hentoff. The sound on these recordings is amazing… It was Spann’s first outing as a solo artist, and he never sounded better. And you’d be hard-pressed to find a more sympathetic partner than Lockwood, another bona-fide blues legend. He learned guitar at the feet of Robert Johnson (who lived with Lockwood’s mother for several years), and he built his reputation with some classy fretwork on essential recordings by Little Walter and Sonny Boy Williamson II. Lockwood was a familiar fixture in Cleveland, where he lived and performed for 45 years. The Candid albums are so warm and intimate, they make you feel like you’re right there in the room with Spann and Lockwood as they make blues history on songs like this (with vocals by Lockwood): I Got Rambling On My Mind #2/Otis Spann and Robert Lockwood Jr.

Another album that makes me feel like a very relaxed and content fly on the wall is the slyly named “Introducing… Ruben Gonzalez,” which was released in 1996 when the Cuban piano master was 77 years old. Although he was “rediscovered” when guitarist Ry Cooder enlisted him to play on the Grammy-winning Buena Vista Social Club project (which also let to the sessions for “Introducing…”), Gonzalez had been playing in Cuban dance bands since the 1930s. He also was a member of Estrellas de Areito, an all-star group of musicians who created delirious Afro-Cuban jam sessions out of a few tired old island standards. Gonzalez’s solo album is a more sedate affair, but with a living, breathing presence that can’t be denied. In other words, it ain’t background music. I’m trying not to overuse the word “timeless” in this blog… but I can’t think of a better adjective to describe how Gonzalez effortlessly weaves his way through these beautiful arrangements. Tumbao/Ruben Gonzalez

Speaking of timeless, let’s close with the remarkable voice of Nina Simone. I melt almost every time I hear a great woman singer like Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan, Billie Holliday, Dinah Washington, Dusty Springfield… but Nina Simone might have the most seductive voice of all. Deep, earthy, strong, sexy, soulful, spiritual… and incapable of sounding like anyone else. She also was a classically trained pianist who could lay down some serious jazz. Here’s a cut from her very first recording – a trio session from 1957 with Jimmy Bond on bass and Albert “Tootie” Heath on drums. It features a lazy, loping rhythm that’s specially designed to lower your blood pressure. On second thought, bring me that blender drink… My Baby Just Cares For Me/Nina Simone

What’s your favorite album for kicking back? Share it as a comment… I’m far too relaxed to question your good taste.

Fabulous video of Peggy Lee with husband Dave Barbour on guitar – the very definition of cool.

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.

Nephew Dan is a busy man – touring the world and all – but he wanted us to check out this awesome clip of Otis Rush in his prime, playing in front of a polite but reverent audience of well-dressed white folk…

After viewing this performance (and, unlike most of the audience members, regaining my composure), I had a few important questions: Had Otis and band stumbled onto the set of a TV game show? Did someone pay him to wear the white sweater? And what the hell was this all about?

Turns out this was one of several performances from the fifth year of the American Folk Blues Festival, which toured Europe almost annually from 1962 to 1972. Five additional festivals were held from 1980 to 1985, but these earlier tours were notable for two important reasons. First, they had a powerful influence on the British blues movement of the early ’60s – especially artists like Mick Jagger, Steve Winwood and Eric Clapton. And second, they provided rare opportunities to capture American blues artists like Sonny Boy Williamson, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, Skip James, Son House, Big Mama Thornton, Bukka White and many others, using some of the best studio and video equipment of the era.

For these and other reasons, we have several people to thank – including German jazz publicist Joachim-Ernst Berendt, who first came up with the idea, and promoters Horst Lippmann and Fritz Rau, who followed through on it.

This particular performance was shot at a small TV studio in Germany, October 1966. And of course, I had to find a few other clips from the same show. Here’s one with Otis and band (Fred Below on drums… not sure who’s playing bass… maybe Sunnyland Slim on piano?) backing up the great Junior Wells.

I’m sure you gearheads know what kind of mic he’s singing and playing through… I need me one of them.

It’s easy to get lost on youtube watching all of these jaw-dropping AFBF shows… I’ll just share a couple more and then tell you where to buy all this stuff on DVD. The first features blues legends Sonny Boy Williamson and Otis Spann playing a very laid-back version of Nine Below Zero. Sonny Boy is far from his peak, but his delivery is the very definition of deep blues – about as soulful as you can get…

Then we get to Howlin’ Wolf, the Taildragger… where the soul of man never dies. Smokestack Lighting – from a 1964 performance in England with Sunnyland Slim, Willie Dixon on bass and Wolf’s long-time musical foil Hubert Sumlin on guitar. The Brits seem far more excitable than the Germans… Joscha, would you like to weigh in on this?

These and many other performance are available on four volumes of DVDs from Reelin’ In The Years Productions… They’re listed below for your shopping convenience. And remember, a small fraction of each purchase goes toward ensuring I have the meds needed to write these posts at 3 a.m.

Dressed up to get messed up… Good friend and photog Rick Zaidan took this shot of Junior Wells in the mid-’80s at the former Palomino Lounge in Cleveland:

“Junior was touring with Buddy Guy,” Rick said. “We got there about four hours before the show to get a table up front. (Rick’s friend) John had my Buddy Guy Checkerboard Lounge T-shirt on, and Buddy noticed it during a sound check. Buddy came up to us and said, ‘where the hell did you get that shirt?’ I told him I ordered it from a catalog. Buddy said, ‘shit man, I’m not makin’ any money off that shirt… I’m going to have to talk to those motherfuckers.’ He was pissed but autographed the shirt anyway… At one point during the show, Buddy did the requisite walk-around solo using a 200-foot guitar cord. Most of the crowd followed Buddy outside while he soloed in the middle of Lorain Ave. Good times.”

For you photo buffs out there: Rick took the shot with an “ancient” Leica M3 rangefinder, “because it was a very quiet camera… I got some good shots but still didn’t have anything great. With my last three frames I just walked up to Junior and snapped this shot. One of my all-time favorites.”

I’m guessing the first drinking song was written not long after the first alcoholic beverage was served. Something about draggin’ stone for the pharaoh – and my baby left me too. In other words, not that different from the drinking songs we enjoy today.

Let’s set aside for now those endless folk songs sung by British rugby teams at the corner pub. That’s a participatory sport that requires more focus than I can muster after five or six beers.

We’re talking about those perfect songs you might hear in a crappy little dive that’s dedicated to the consumption of hard liquor. Not a fern in sight, and no wine selection – unless you’re choosing between red and white. Just a couple shelves of the hard stuff, a jukebox, and a few sad sacks hiding from whatever ails them beyond those swinging doors.

A good drinking song might not bring a roomful of drunks together, arm-in-arm, singing at the top of their lungs… But it helps create a sense of community among those who usually have little in common except for unhealthy lifestyles and bad attitudes. So consider these tunes a form of group therapy – without all that messy “sharing deep, dark secrets with complete strangers” business.

As I put together a playlist of my favorite drinking songs, it became clear that they spring from three basic genres of music – honky tonk, rhythm and blues (circa ‘40s and ‘50s) and blues. Once again, I’m giving short shrift to the Brits, and the Irish too… but when it comes to drinking songs, I’m no different from the average schmoe at the Dew Drop Inn – I don’t like to roam too far from home.

What constitutes a great drinking song? It’s really quite simple. First, it helps to reference alcohol consumption in the title or main chorus of the song. Remember, this is not a subtle form of music – these songs are written for people whose cognitive functions often resemble those of small children (or large ash trays). Second, these songs should convey an overall sense of hopelessness…Think “if drinkin’ don’t kill me, her memory will,” or “what’s the use of getting sober,” or even worse, “tonight the bartender’s on the wrong side of the bar.” Most people don’t drink by themselves just to kill time (then again, maybe that’s the whole point). Third, the music itself should be oddly uplifting, in stark yet effective contrast to the hopeless lyrics. After all, if these songs were sung as dark, minor-chord dirges, you’d just blow your brains out then and there… and who would pay your tab?

With these essential guidelines in mind, the management team and our “subordinassociates” at Rubber City Review are proud to offer you this thoughtfully compiled 12-pack of our favorite drinking songs – based on years of exhaustive, dedicated research. (This time I’ve ganged together the samples at the end of each section – creating separate 6-packs of listening pleasure, if you will.)

Amos Milburn, drinkologist

Amos Milburn: Let Me Go Home Whiskey. Along with being a legend of jump blues, Amos Milburn has written at least four of the world’s greatest drinking songs – Bad Bad Whiskey; One Scotch One Bourbon and One Beer (made famous by John Lee Hooker and, later, George Thorogood); Thinkin’ and Drinkin’; and Let Me Go Home Whiskey. Not sure why I’m partial to the last one… I guess it’s because the lyrics deliver a powerful one-two punch of pathos and denial – I’d come home, baby, but this booze won’t let me go! That, and the fact that the unfortunately named Asleep at the Wheel did a great cover of this tune back in 1975. Also, my sister Caroline sings it at family gatherings, after which sister Mary usually collects sharp objects and pharmaceuticals.

Loretta Lynn: Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’ (With Lovin’ On Your Mind). A cautionary tale for anyone who hopes to get it on with Loretta Lynn after a night out on the town. As Cavs announcer Austin Carr likes to say after LeBron blocks a shot, “get that weak stuff outta here!”

Wynonie Harris: Don’t Take My Whiskey Away From Me. Wynonie Harris is another jump-blues giant who sang more than his share of drinking songs. This tune probably was recorded at King Studios in Cincinnati… It offers a stern warning to anyone who tries to mess with his drink (and Harris seemed like the kind of guy who would deliver on a threat).

The Kentucky Colonels (with Clarence White): Chuck-A-Lug. Consider this one a bonus from our last post. It’s tailor-made for the skewed bluegrass of the Kentucky Colonels – with a solo by Clarence White that should’ve been pulled over for reckless op.

Otis Spann: Going Down Slow. Technically, this isn’t a drinking song… but it sounds to me like St. Louis Jimmy Oden wrote it about someone whose health problems were self-inflicted. It’s been covered by artists ranging from Eric Clapton to Aretha Franklin. St. Louis Jimmy sings this one himself, with sympathetic backing from Otis Spann and Robert Lockwood Jr. (who lived and played in Cleveland for many years). Brother Jack likes to play it at family gatherings… Kill me now. Pop a Top Let Me Go Home Whiskey Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’ (With Lovin’ On Your Mind) Don’t Take My Whiskey Away From Me Chug-A-Lug Going Down Slow

As they say on late-night TV, “But wait… There’s more!”

George Jones: If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will). With this number, we’ve covered the Holy Trinity of drinking song stylists – Milburn, Harris and George “No Show” Jones. There’s nothing quite like a George Jones drinking song… in fact, it probably merits its own genre. A friend of mine likes to point out the difference between pathos and bathos, the latter used to describe the most desperate attempts to gain someone’s pity. Based on this definition, Jones has made bathos an art form… It’s hard to resist a line like this: “With the blood from my body, I could start my own still.”

Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys: Bubbles In My Beer. Music doesn’t get much merrier than Western Swing, which makes this tune a surreal treat. I get the sense that bandleader Bob Wills isn’t too worked up about the fact that singer Tommy Duncan’s life has been a failure… Oddly enough, Duncan eventually was dumped by Wills for complaining about his boss’s drinking problem!

Ted Hawkins: There Stands the Glass. Hawkins just tears me up… partly because I know he had such a rough life. He struggled with heroin addiction and spent years in jail, but eventually was discovered playing for spare change at Venice Beach. Hawkins was able to enjoy some success and recognition late in life, but his voice always betrayed a deep sadness – especially on this number that honky-tonker Webb Pierce first recorded back in 1953.

Tammy Wynette: Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad. George’s former wife knew a thing or two about living with an alcoholic… which is why she decided to take a different approach from Loretta Lynn by threatening to show up at the bar herself, ready to party. George’s worst nightmare?

Ross Johnson: Wet Bar. Of course, we know that some drinking songs, like some drinks (and drunks), are hard to categorize. This one seems like it came from Satan’s rec room – which is basically the case, because It Came From Memphis. That’s the title of a highly entertaining book by Memphis/roots-rock aficionado Robert Gordon, as well as a companion CD that plucked this twisted little number out of some deep, dark hole. Allmusic calls Ross Johnson “a maverick who’s eccentric even by the standards of this subterranean scene.” Sounds like drinking is the least of his problems.

Slim Harpo: Blues Hangover. I’ll close with a talking blues from the great Slim Harpo… Every bar in America should crank up Blues Hangover at closing time. If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will) Bubbles in My Beer There Stands the Glass Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad Wet Bar Blues Hangover

Newly promoted to Keyboard Correspondent for Rubber City Review, Brother Jack is back with this look at the wonderful Otis Spann – a true giant of the blues piano…

If you were looking to broaden your musical horizons back in the Sixties, Ann Arbor was a great place to visit.  I was there at the time doing grad study in mathematics at the University of Michigan, but there were plenty of distractions.

Skip James

Ann Arbor was a hotbed of folk music in those days, thanks to places like the Ark Coffeehouse and the Canterbury House.  Blues players were everywhere – especially guitar pickers who played in the style of Mississippi John Hurt and Rev. Gary Davis.  Great performers like David Bromberg would breeze through town on a regular basis. There were “hoots” and jam sessions where you could test you own skills.  Skip James, a true blues legend, played at the Canterbury House once.  What a treat.  He was known for his guitar playing and keening voice, but he also displayed a unique piano style.

I played the acoustic guitar, but piano was my instrument.  Commander Cody was playing locally then, doing his best Jerry Lee Lewis on the ivories.  His act was good and gave me some inspiration, but guitar players ruled.  It was hard to find a piano to play, but there were a few places where I could sneak in and practice.  In my mind, I knew it was possible to get that great blues feel on the piano, but I had no idea how.

I discovered an Otis Spann LP at my favorite record store near the Michigan campus.  The album was in a series called “Archive of Folk Music” and the notes on the back of the album proclaimed that  “folk music cannot be ‘manufactured.’  Most of these efforts are rather slick and facile popularizations of either traditional tunes or ‘composed’ folk tunes.  Though pleasant, these are not folk music.”

This was the philosophy of the times, so I bought the album and quickly found that Otis was my man.  This was deep blues.  Couldn’t get much deeper.  I dropped the needle on vinyl and began trying to uncover the secrets of his playing.  It was a great sound.  The guitarists could have their Blind Blake and Blind Lemon Jefferson and Blind Willie McTell.  I would take Otis Spann.

In keeping with musical trends in the ‘60s, record companies emphasized the folk traditions of the city blues, and Otis was folk, certainly not manufactured.  He learned his craft from the local Mississippi players and from his mentor in Chicago, Big Maceo Merriweather.  He didn’t stray from the three-chord basis of the blues, but he found new inventiveness within it.  He was slick and facile in the best sense of the words, and earned a reputation as the greatest of the Chicago blues piano players.

Otis Spann was born in Mississippi but moved to Chicago about 1946 – part of that influx of workers and musicians from the South, the same one that brought Muddy Waters to the city.  Otis began playing with Muddy in 1951 and remained a steady presence in his band until he was replaced by Pinetop Perkins in 1969.

He came from a tradition where the piano player was king of the juke joint, but adapted well to the city blues where he had to compete with amplified guitars and harmonicas.  He became Muddy’s mainstay.  Muddy gave him some space and, with his powerful attack, Otis drove the band on many of the tunes.   Listen to how he kicks off I Feel Good and how Muddy starts whooping when the rhythm starts cooking. I Feel Good

To show how the style of Otis developed beyond his mentor Big Maceo, I put together a makeshift jam session where Maceo plays the first chorus of Worried Life Blues and Otis plays the second. Worried Life Blues/Big Maceo and Otis Spann

Otis filled the spaces with blues scales and moved easily from the top to the bottom of the keyboard.  He also clearly learned a few things from another great Chicago piano player who came up from the Delta, Sunnyland Slim.

Spann’s version of Worried Life Blues is from a 1963 session in Copenhagen for Storyville records.  Once again, we owe the Brits and Europeans a great debt for preserving our music heritage (all is forgiven, Brits – 1776, Herman’s Hermits, Engelbert Humperdinck and all that).  The Storyville tracks have been assembled under different titles, and can be found on iTunes as Blues Masters, Vol. 10.  Otis played mostly solo on these, and without drums or guitars to compete with him, he opened up to show the breadth of his vocal and piano style.  These are my favorite recordings of Otis Spann.  Hear how the gentle tapping of his foot and his subtle bass line drive the rhythm better than any drummer. Love Love Love

I loved it when Otis played rumbling solos down in the bass, something you rarely hear from other players.  The smoothness of his playing brings to mind only one other person for me:  Jimmy Smith on the organ. T.B. Blues

If you want to play like Otis, there is help.  First, learn how to play the piano.  Next, get the musical transcription of his solo from the song Diving Duck.  This is from an excellent book of transcriptions called “The Best of Blues Piano,” by Todd Lowry, published by Hal Leonard.

Here’s where things get a little more technical than usual for RCR, but I’ll be brief.  Otis is very hard to transcribe.  He didn’t think in terms of three or four notes to the beat, but played however many notes he felt like squeezing in.  Take a look at part of the transcription of what he’s playing with his right hand.  Don’t worry if you can’t read music – you’ll get the basic idea.

Counting 4 bars to the measure, you can see it shows sometimes 7, 8, 9 or 10 notes to the beat and a lot of notes altogether for 9 measures, especially if you include glissandos and tremolos.  Here is what it actually sounded like (only the first part of the solo is notated): Diving Duck

So Otis wasn’t a pianist or composer in the European sense.  He was just playing the blues.  He was the blues.

With his easy rhythm and poignant lyrics, Otis had a unique style.  As opposed to Muddy’s braggadocio, Otis preferred lyrics like “I been walkin’  ‘side the river, just me and myself alone,” or “If you got to leave me, baby, please set me free.”  But he could still barrelhouse with the best.  It’s easy to see why he is called the Sweet Giant of the Blues.

The story of Otis largely follows the story of Muddy, and there are some great anecdotes about Otis in the book “Can’t Be Satisfied, the Life and Times of Muddy Waters,” by Robert Gordon.  (This book is also mentioned in the Oct. 21 RCR blog “Little Walter, By the Book.”)

Booze finally took its toll, and Otis Spann died in 1970.  He was only 40.  Muddy said of Spann, “There is no one left like him who plays real, solid bottom blues like he does.  We’d better raise another before it’s too late.”  Sunnyland Slim, on the other hand, lived and performed until he was 87.  If Otis had taken better care of himself, maybe he’d still be around delivering that solid bottom blues.

Thanks to footage available on youtube (and also the film “Piano Blues” by Clint Eastwood), you can still be astounded by vintage Otis Spann on video.  I can’t help but think, where was iTunes and youtube when I was digging through the Ann Arbor record stores?

A final note… The only person I know of who took lessons from Otis Spann is rock ‘n roll survivor Al Kooper.   In his book “Backstage Passes and Backstabbing Bastards,” he recounts getting several two-hour lessons from Otis in exchange for dinners.   I hope Al will someday tell us what he learned… maybe write another book called “Otis Spann in Six Easy Lessons”?