Rubber City Review

Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bobby "Blue" Bland

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

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

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

T-Bone Walker

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

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

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

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

Etta James

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In 1977, I’d just landed in Athens, Ohio, to begin my junior year of college at Ohio University. But more important, I started working at a record store uptown – a great opportunity to fill out my collection with plenty of free vinyl.

Unfortunately, it was slim pickings for this unreconstructed blues hound. Guitar-slinger Freddie King had passed away at the end of ’76, and aside from Muddy Waters’ great comeback album “Hard Again” (which earned its title when a first listen gave Muddy a chub in his chinos), there really wasn’t much new stuff to get excited about. So I kept mining the old stuff – mostly on Chess and whatever label John Lee Hooker or Lightnin’ Hopkins decided to sign up with for a few extra bucks.

I really didn’t know much about Kansas City jazz and had yet to discover the many joys of jump blues artists like Buddy Johnson and Louis Jordan. So I was completely floored when I came across the first album by a mighty blues and swing band from Rhode Island called Roomful of Blues, with Duke Robillard on vocals and guitar.

The album was produced by the legendary songwriter Doc Pomus (Save the Last Dance for Me, This Magic Moment, Little Sister, Viva Las Vegas) with able assistance from Joel Dorn, another guy who had already lived the dream – producing more than a few hit records at Atlantic during the late ‘60s and early ‘70s for artists like Roberta Flack and Les McCann.

If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that Pomus and Dorn felt like a couple of love-struck teenagers when they first came across Roomful – a gang of sharp-looking, road-tested hipsters who were completely over the moon for records that rarely made it past the 78 RPM format. Even Count Basie was a fan, calling them “hottest blues band I’ve ever heard” after sitting in with them in ’74.

Maybe the Count was overserved that night. But no question, Roomful of Blues was in a class by itself. At a time when the Sex Pistols were pissing all over Seventies schlock-rock, Roomful of Blues had taken the exact opposite approach – retreating to the hardwood-floored dance halls of the Forties and Fifties to recreate the red, hot and blue sounds of T-Bone Walker, Big Joe Turner and Roy Milton. Red, Hot and Blue

Robillard was the consummate swing-blues guitarist, an old soul who had spent a big chunk of his young 29 years woodshedding with the masters – T-Bone, Lowell Fulson, Buddy Guy, jazz greats like Charlie Christian… Robillard had those and other classic styles down cold. But his soulful voice only added to the timeless feel of that first record, and it was clear that this was Duke’s band. I especially love this rockin’ version of a tune by R&B stroller Chuck Willis (one of three Willis covers on the album): Take It Like A Man

Duke and company also did a wonderful job covering a T-Bone original first recorded back in 1947, during the last of his landmark sessions with the Black & White label. Based on several focus groups I’ve conducted over the years, I can tell you with great certainty that I’m Still In Love With You drives women crazy. Every time I hear a lame version of You Look Wonderful Tonight and You Are So Beautiful and At Last at a wedding party, I wonder why this next tune never makes the cut (especially if the couple has a more complicated relationship than those other songs would imply). And it features some fine sax by guest Scott Hamilton… I’m Still In Love With You

Robillard recorded one more album with Roomful, and it’s every bit as good as the first one. Released in ’79, “Let’s Have a Party” has the same supporting cast – including the very capable Al Copley on piano, sax prodigies Greg Piccolo and Rich Lataille, and swinging drummer John Rossi. As the title and cover suggest, the album is the perfect soundtrack for a booze-fueled house party in some fleabag joint that hasn’t seen a freshly paved road in years. Let’s Have A Party

My favorite moment on the album is the horn-driven climax to Big Joe Turner’s The Chill is On. It makes the point that, unlike many of the retro bands that were part of the ‘90s swing revival – Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, Cherry Poppin’ Daddies, Who’s Your Daddy (OK, I made that last one up) – Roomful understood the power of dynamics… of slowly building the tension in a song or solo to the point where you can’t help but run over to the stereo and crank it well into the red zone: The Chill Is On

You can argue that, creatively, Duke and Roomful didn’t break any new ground. Most of the songs were covers, and they never strayed too much from the original versions. But for me, those first two Roomful of Blues albums had the same impact that many young guitar slingers felt when they first heard Cream play Crossroads – they opened me up to a lot of music I didn’t know existed. Those albums led me to the masters of jump blues, and the seductive sound of Ella Johnson crooning over brother Buddy’s fearsome horns and relentless rhythm section: (Gonna Go) Upside Your Head/Buddy & Ella Johnson

Roomful had a big influence on many blues bands that followed – including the Fabulous Thunderbirds, which used Roomful’s horn section on their “Butt Rockin’” album, and Stevie Ray Vaughan, who followed up on Roomful’s cover of Texas Flood with his own version some six years later.

Duke, today

After leaving Roomful in 1980 for personal reasons, Robillard went on to a fairly successful solo career and even joined the T-Birds for a short spell. He eventually recorded with Bob Dylan and toured with Tom Waits, and remains a sought-after session player.

Roomful of Blues continues to record and perform, having gone through a number of lineups over the years. In fact, some 50 musicians have played with Roomful since it was formed as a four-piece back in 1967 – including blues guitarist Ronnie Earl, T-Birds drummer Fran Christina and the late trombonist Porky Cohen, who played with Tommy Dorsey and Artie Shaw, among others. Today, Rich Lataille is the only remaining member from the original band.

Roomful also rose to the challenge of recording with a few of their idols, mainly Big Joe Turner, Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson and Earl King (I especially like the King album, “Glazed”). The band has earned five Grammy nominations and many more blues awards – but I keep going back to those first two albums with Duke Robillard. That’s a band for the ages.

Didn’t hear enough Duke on guitar? This’ll take care of that.

You might be able to find a few vinyl copies on ebay, but CDs of Roomful’s second album are only available on the band’s web site.

I have more than 21,000 songs on my iPod. And I wrap tin foil around my head to keep out the gamma rays.

Do you think less of me? I’m referring to the iPod, of course. Normal people would find this to be a symptom of OCD. Audiophiles would scoff at the idea of listening to all this music in a highly compressed electronic format. My brother thinks I should be more selective in terms of what I put on my iPod. But my wife likes the fact that hundreds of CDs, records and tapes are now stashed away in the deep recesses of my basement (where I routinely hunt for liner notes to help me with these posts).

One thing about having this many songs on your iPod is that you can put it on shuffle and still feel that sense of discovery. I mean, how many of those tunes could I actually listen to before I dumped them into my library? It’s like tapping into a radio station programmed by a guy with… well, tin foil wrapped around his head.

And that’s the subject of today’s post. No, not mental illness. I thought I’d put the entire contents of my iPod on shuffle and write about what pops up.

This exercise was not audited by the blog authorities. You only have my word that I didn’t screw with the results. As usual, I was surprised by what the little genie in my iPod chose to play. And, as usual, the results reflect the fact that I am completely out of touch with today’s youth culture (Exhibit A: use of term “youth culture”).

But first, let me point out that I typically don’t put my entire iPod on shuffle. It’s simply too dangerous, especially if I’m driving. I once almost drove into oncoming traffic after Coltrane segued into Coldplay, which I’m sure ended up on my music library by accident.

I prefer using playlists – even if they include several hundred songs – and I’ve got some great ones.  Drinking songs (see “There Stands the Glass“)… pure, unfiltered honky tonk… post-war jump blues and R&B, including some rare reissues that appeared on CD for about five minutes (see “Jumpin’ the Blues“)… choice cuts from the glory years of Blue Note… playlists devoted to other great labels like Stax, Sun, Fania, Riverside…

I even have my own genres – mainly because I don’t like the ones provided by the record companies. For example, I think Freddie King, Link Wray and Lonnie Mack belong in the same category as Dick Dale. So I created the genre “Surf & Beyond.” Django Reinhardt doesn’t really go with my jazz stuff… he has his own genre. The Black Keys’ “Chulahoma,” G. Love’s “Coast to Coast Motel” and John Hammond’s “Wicked Grin”? Dirty Blues. And, as I’ve already pointed out, R&B ain’t Kool & the Gang. It’s Louis Jordan, Wynonie Harris and Big Joe Turner. So take that, Mister Genre-Impaired, Think-Inside-The-Box Record Man!

But back to the grand experiment. The first tune selected by my iPod is… Strollin’ With Bone, from T-Bone Walker’s “Complete Imperial Recordings.” Whew… damn good start! I’ve always been a big fan of T-Bone, and this is one of his best numbers. T-Bone started out as a street dancer, which helps explain his almost percussive attack along with a completely original sense of time and phrasing. And he had a huge influence on virtually every blues guitarist who followed – especially flamethrowers like Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown and Johnny “Guitar” Watson. Strollin’ With Bone/T-Bone Walker

Next up – honky-tonk hero Dwight Yoakam, from his 2005 comeback of sorts, “Blame the Vain.” This isn’t my favorite cut from the album (the title song is one of Dwight’s best). But there’s a lot to like on “Blame.” Dwight’s singing is less affected than on his first recordings. And his new hot-shit guitarist, Keith Gattis, has plenty of opportunities to show off… like this nasty little riff he uses to bring the song back down to the key of E: Intentional Heartache/Dwight Yoakam

Now the iPod genie picks the great Professor Longhair, the King of New Orleans Piano. This is from the 2-CD set “The Mercury Blues ‘n’ Rhythm Story 1945-55: Southwest Blues” – actually one of four releases in a first-rate overview of Mercury’s landmark R&B recordings. I’m not sure if there is such a thing as a bad cut by Longhair. I can highly recommend the nine that show up on the Mercury collection… as well as Rhino Records’ “’Fess: The Professor Longhair Anthology” and especially “House Party New Orleans Style,” which features two of my favorite guitarists of all time – Gatemouth Brown and Snooks Eaglin. Been Fooling Around/Professor Longhair

Here’s a tune written by Johnny Cash but performed by the Louvin Brothers, who showed up in our recent post on harmony singing. You have to wonder what pit of despair Cash stumbled into to write this one: “Lord have mercy on me was the kneeling drunkard’s plea, and as he knelt there on the ground I know that God in heaven looked down… Bring my darling boy to me was his mother’s dying plea, and as he staggered through the gate alas he came just one day too late.” Give me a few minutes to recover… I’ll be right back. Kneeling Drunkard’s Plea/The Louvin Brothers

We stagger from that one to Hearsay by The Soul Children – a vocal quartet, split evenly across gender lines, that recorded for the Stax label in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. Both of the male Soul Children – Norman West and J. Blackfoot – still perform today. This tune sounds oddly reminiscent of Soul Man, which is exactly what Stax songwriters Isaac Hayes and David Porter had in mind… They were hoping to strike gold with a different combination after Sam & Dave slipped away (they remained with Atlantic following a split with Stax in ‘68). You can find Hearsay on a two-disc compilation from 2007 celebrating Stax’s 50^th Anniversary. Hearsay/The Soul Children

From Memphis we head up to Chicago – following the same route that Howlin’ Wolf took from Sun to Chess Records back in 1953. A year later he cut the song Forty-Four, one of many interpretations of a blues standard first recorded by Roosevelt Sykes in 1929. The original is more curious than menacing, with “44” used to reference a gun, a train and a cabin. Wolf, on the other hand, has one thing in mind, and that’s pumping lead into the poor sonofabitch who messed with his woman. Essential Chicago blues – with Hubert Sumlin and Jody Williams on guitars, Otis Spann on piano, Willie Dixon on bass and Earl Phillips on drums. Forty-Four/Howlin’ Wolf

And why wouldn’t you follow up that one with the dazzling sax of Sonny Stitt, playing the George and Ira Gershwin favorite Nice Work If You Can Get It? Yeah, I’m starting to get a little whiplash too. But at least this one’s by a master like Stitt, and not Sting (thankfully, I have a very effective “Sting-B-Gone” filter installed on my iPod). This version is from the 3-CD box set “Stitt’s Bits: The Bebop Recordings, 1949-1952”… with liner notes by Cleveland’s Harvey Pekar (“American Splendor”). Nothing groundbreaking on it, so don’t run out and get it – unless you happen to like beautifully executed jazz by one of the greatest sax players to ever roam the planet. Nice Work If You Can Get It/Sonny Stitt

Talk about whiplash… now we’re back in the honky tonks, this time with California cowgirl Heather Myles. I love the collection this song is from: “Rum and Rodeo,” which pulls select cuts from Heather’s first two albums on the Hightone label. She’s got a lot of that hard, Bakersfield sound in her… I’m sure she’s a woman you wouldn’t want to trifle with. An American original with loads of talent – playing music that’s authentic, honest and heartfelt. Wonder why she never caught on in Nashville? The Other Side Of Town/Heather Myles

Now let’s go down to the Crawdad Hole with Big Joe Turner. This tune is from “Big, Bad & Blue,” an essential overview of Big Joe’s storied career as the Boss of the Blues. You could argue that his glory days were long gone by the time he recorded this number in 1983 with R&B revivalists Roomful of Blues. But I would’ve paid good money to hear Big Joe sing along with the organ player at the ballpark. Now strap me in a time machine and take me back to Kansas City, 1935, Big Joe shoutin’ the blues over the boogie-woogie piano of the great Pete Johnson. Crawdad Hole/Big Joe Turner

We should’ve stopped right there… but I let my iPod play one more song, and up pops Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye. Actually, once you get past the crappy production, it’s a pretty damn good song. In fact, I’m not sure if anyone has ever celebrated the joys of getting it on with as much passion as Mr. Gaye. Well, maybe R. Kelly… but the only healing R. has in mind involves Feelin’ On Yo Booty (this is the same guy who recorded Heaven, I Need A Hug??). Come back, Marvin – we need you now more than ever…

R.I.P., Harvey… On the same morning I pushed the button on this one, Harvey Pekar passed away. Here’s a nice tribute in today’s New York Times. I found it interesting that Pekar might have been banned from the Letterman Show for lashing out against General Electric, then Letterman himself started trash-talking GE toward the end of his tenure at NBC. Here’s a clip of Harvey’s tirade… he’ll be missed (now I feel silly for wasting even a sliver of bandwidth on LeBron).