Category Archives: Blues Singers

Can You “Win” at The Blues? Thoughts On “Competing” in the International Blues Challenge

The International Blues Challenge Solo/Duo Competition, presented by the Golden Gate Blues Society, and hosted by Mission Street BBQ, begins at 2pm PST on Sunday, Oct 21, 2018. All are welcome to attend and listen, and those who purchase a ballot may vote on who to send to Memphis to represent the region!

IBC - BANNER

Call it what ya wanna: Folk Blues, Delta Blues, Country Blues, Original Blues, Early Blues, Classic Blues, Vintage Blues, Acoustic Blues, Ragtime Blues, Gospel Blues, Roots & Blues, etc. Ultimately, the name doesn’t matter, as long as we know what we’re talking about.

What we’re talking about is music that doesn’t come from money.

Woody Guthrie, as much of a blues musician as anyone in my book, may have said it best:

“It’s a folk singer’s job to comfort disturbed people, and to disturb comfortable people.”

Underserved and marginalized communities have to stick together. But the powers-that-be don’t want it that way. Divide and conquer. Get folks squabblin’ amongst themselves. That’s how the man runs the plan. The man is comfortable. And we’re here to disturb him.

We take care of each other, and we sound our horns.

The Golden Gate Blues Society is presenting an event this weekend in Santa Cruz, CA. The International Blues Challenge Solo/Duo competition. Three acts will “compete” for the opportunity to represent the region in Memphis, TN.

But do we “compete?” We do not. We celebrate. We exalt. And besides, you don’t “win” at the blues. What this is, is the comin’ together of the community. Where there is good BBQ, where there is good drink, where there is good music, there be the people.

The Westside Sheiks - Photo

The Westside Sheiks are one of the acts that will “compete.” I am a proud half of the core that comprises said Westside Sheiks. The other half is Jonathan “Captain Ahab” Dryden, the most talented musician I’ve ever known. He’s like Jaki Byard, Errol Garner, and Bill Evans meets Garth Hudson, Benmont Tench, and Leon Russel. In the Sheiks, I have the honor of being Scrapper Blackwell to his Leroy Carr.

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Also to “compete” is the incomparable Rob Vye, within whose fingers the ghosts of Blind Blake, Rev. Gary Davis, and Blind Willie McTell roam. He is the ragtimiest of fingerpickers. The gospeliest of soapboxers. The footstompiest of bluesmen. He’s a mendicant at the altar of Mt. Zion. He’s Zen and the Art of a Dog and a Van. He’s a crooner where others might holler. He’s a tune-down when others might tune-up. He’s a syncopating, three-finger alchemist of the country soul. In short, he’s the real deal.

 

maxresdefaultThird in this line-up is Mr. Pete Madsen, accompanied by Celeste Kopel. They have recently bequeathed unto the world a phenomenal album entitled “From The Delta and Beyond,” which aggregates their performances of the almighty delta canon—the canon built on the works of Son House, Skip James, Tommy Johnson, and more. Mr. Pete is a scholar and a teacher, yes, but he’s also a player. A finger-bouncin’, thumb-thumpin’, swinger of the steel strings, yes, but also a rocker, a fiery electric bluesman who can grease up and pull down some Albert King from the sky as needed. That said, this competition is about the down home, the back porch, the boot on the ground; it’s about the intimate on the parapet, and Mr. Pete and Celeste’s rare muso chemistry is meant for rakishly downtrainin’ the downtrodden blues into the wood and steel light.

In short, such a night!

The point is, there is no “competition.” There is only the music. You, and the night, and the music.

IBC

 


Rest in Peace, Robert Lowery

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Robert Lowery’s boots no longer walk the streets of Santa Cruz. Robert Lowery’s fingers no longer pluck and slide on a resonator guitar. Robert Lowery’s voice no longer tells us the stories we need to hear. Robert Lowery’s ears no longer hear the sky songs. Robert Lowery’s eyes no longer watch us as we absorb his lesson. But Robert Lowery’s spirit is still with us, and for this, we are grateful.

Robert Lowery represents a critical thread in the fabric of our musical history and heritage. As I am still sad for myself for having been born too late to have met Mississippi John Hurt in person or seen him play live, I am sad for everyone today who will miss the same experience with Robert Lowery.

I am fortunate. I did meet him in person. I did hear him play live. When he was presented a lifetime achievement award from Santa Clara University, I played with him. Just a few weeks before Robert passed, I was able to play for him, an honor I am all the more grateful for now. With me on stage that night was Virgil Thrasher.

Virgil and Robert occupied a very special world together. This was more than music. They embodied and enacted a story of nobility, humanity, artistry—one that transcended time and place. If history is behaving itself, it is right now dipping its quill into the black ink of time, to write the names Robert Lowery and Virgil Thrasher alongside Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee; alongside Hammie Nixon and Sleepy John Estes; alongside Carey Bell and Louisiana Red; alongside Little Walter and Muddy Waters.

That night but a few weeks ago, when Robert Lowery came to see Virgil and I perform, I asked Robert how he was doing. He said, “not very well.” Honest, straightforward, raw. Just like his music. When he left that night, I spoke from the microphone, and told the small crowd that they had a legend in their midst. The room applauded as he left the building.

“Country bluesman Robert Lowery died today at 85-years-old. His music touched many in Santa Cruz and throughout the blues world. He could tap into the core of Robert Johnson, Blind Boy Fuller, Big Bill Broonzy, and Lightnin’ Hopkins with great authenticity. He was a real treasure. Here is a poster of his last appearance at the New Orleans Jazz Festival, his very favorite event. RIP, Robert.” —Virgil Thrasher

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Answer: Charley Patton, Bukka White, Blind Willie Johnson, Howlin’ Wolf, Dave Van Ronk

Question: Who are your Top 5 Most Influential Vocalists?

 

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Depending on whether you’re at all familiar with my musical career, this may or may not be a surprising list.

But it’s definitely the list. I will never, never, never forget the first moments when I heard each of these singers. Thank you Yazoo Records. Thank you Takoma Records. Thank you Chess Records. Thank you Folkways Records. Thank you to my parents for having a record player in the house. Thank you to Samuel Charters for writing The Country Blues.

And while I’m at it, thank you to my first grade teacher for making fun of my voice when I tried to sing “I Saw Her Standing There.” You set me on a whole different vocal path, lady. And I thank you.

The thing is, if you’ve ever read a review of a Preacher Boy album, you’re probably thinking, why isn’t Tom Waits on this list? After all, virtually every Preacher Boy review in the last 25+ years has managed to mention Tom Waits.

Well, he’s not on my Top 5 list, because he doesn’t belong there.

The thing is, I was intimately and obsessively familiar with the music of the five artists in the title of this post long before I had any idea who Tom Waits was. The reason someone hipped me to Tom Waits in the first place was because they knew the other stuff I was into. It was a former roommate of mine; a college radio DJ. He gave me a Memorex. One side was Mose Allison. On the other, Swordfishtrombones.

Now, was Waits an influence? Absolutely. But not because of his voice per se. He was an influence because THAT voice was writing THOSE songs. That was what made the difference for me.

See, I knew what my voice sounded like. It wasn’t pretty. But that was ok. I didn’t like pretty voices. Charley Patton’s voice made sense to me. Bukka White’s voice made sense to me. Blind Willie Johnson’s voice made sense to me. They were the right voices for their music. That made sense to me.

I knew what my voice sounded like. It wasn’t pretty. But that was ok. I didn’t like pretty voices.

And I knew how I was going to play guitar. I’d heard Mance Lipscomb. I’d heard Fred McDowell. I’d heard Robert Pete Williams. I’d heard Son House. I got it, man. I got it. Ever since I heard Mississippi John Hurt playing Sliding Delta, I knew what I was going to do as a guitarist.

And I knew I was going to be a songwriter.

But that was the problem. How to connect it all? I wasn’t going to write songs like Charley Patton. That wouldn’t have been honest. I knew who I was, and even at a young age, I expected authenticity of myself. So what to do? I didn’t know. I didn’t think I was going to do anything.

Then, I heard “16 Shells From A Thirty-Ought Six.” Vocally, I got it. The man had clearly listened to a lot of the same things I had. And the groove, the rawness, the hypnotic stomping drone-ness of it; I got that. Those were country blues ingredients. But the lyrics. The lyrics. Here was something different. A new sort of language, a new sort of poetry. A sort of rustic, sordid, gritty, earthen, American poetry that was both mystical and soiled. It was at once visionary and hallucinogenic, but also totally raw and present and real and folky and outlandish. A kind of literate and bent hobo prosody. It was Nelson Algren and Gary Snyder and James Wright and Tony Joe White and Jack Kerouac and Carson McCullers and Flannery O’ Connor and Raymond Chandler and Erksine Caldwell and Bob Dylan and Tim Buckley and Townes Van Zandt and Toni Morrison, all rolled into one. I got it. I dug it.

So that’s the Waits influence in a nutshell for me. His music—as represented by that blessed trio of Swordfishtrombones, Frank’s Wild Years, and Rain Dogs— made clear to me it was possible to weld voice and music and lyrics together in ways I hadn’t previously believed entirely possible.

But here’s the thing … and I’m probably gonna get some flack for sayin’ this … but the thing is, Tom Waits can’t play country blues. I can.

So back to my list. Charley Patton. The rawest of them all. Listen to Charley Patton’s vocals on High Water Everywhere. He sounds insane, and like he’s about to die. That’s what I strive for. Bukka White. You can’t get heavier than that. When he sings the line “When can I change my clothes?” you hear the whole history of masculinity and pain in his voice. That’s what I strive for. Blind Willie Johnson. Jesus, listen to my first record. It’s almost embarrassing to me now, how obviously derivative some of my songs are. The Cross Must Move? Please … Still, I’m really proud of that song! It’s still with me today. Derivative or not, it IS authentic to me. I’m still singin’ it and playin’ it today, 21 years after it was released. Howlin’ Wolf. Synonymous with nuanced ferocity. When I first heard the song “Who’s Been Talkin'” I thought, right. That. How do I do that? Dave Van Ronk. This should be obvious. Virtually the only white guy from the whole folk-blues thing in the sixties who could actually sing and play country blues. So yeah, when I heard him, I had hope, man. His approach still informs so much of what I do. But mainly, I just loved that he sung with total and complete full-throated abandon. No mic needed. That’s my barometer of true vocal authenticity. If you NEED a mic? Ain’t interested …

Listen to Charley Patton’s vocals on High Water Everywhere. He sounds insane, and like he’s about to die. That’s what I strive for.

Here’s my recommendations, if you’re not familiar with these voices. Start with these songs:

  • Charley Patton: High Water Everywhere, Parts 1 & 2
  • Bukka White: When Can I Change My Clothes
  • Blind Willie Johnson: God Moves On The Water
  • Howlin’ Wolf: I Asked For Water (She Gave Me Gasoline)
  • Dave Van Ronk: Po’ Lazarus

Such beautiful music, man.


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