If you’ve been following along at all, you’ll have noted that I favor JSP remasters.
In case you don’t want to buy 5 CDs worth of any one artist, I’m recommending this lil’ package for ya. It’s as advertised, Legends of Country Blues. All done up in a JSP bow.
This is pretty much the textbook if you want to study the prewar recordings of some of the most important figures ever to be recorded. A vast amount of early Skip James, and all far better sonically than the Yazoo versions we used to have to rely on. (Don’t get me wrong, I am SO grateful to Yazoo for keeping me alive for so long! But, JSP has straight up outdone ’em here …).
Plus, pre-war Son House (which, in my opinion, isn’t actually as mesmerizing as his later recordings, but still, it’s fucking Son House!), pre-war Bukka White (ditto vis-à-vis mesmerizing, ditto vis-à-vis it’s fucking Bukka White!), the eerie, eerie, eerie magic of Tommy Johnson, and even a slew of Ishman Bracey.
I think we’re all familiar with the idea of “Desert Island” albums. This is one such album for me. And yes, I have this on vinyl. Just like the one you see in the picture. Original. Got it when I was 17 years old. Father of Folk Blues. Not Delta Blues. Folk Blues.
This is one of the greatest albums ever recorded, period.
There are those who will debate whether these recordings are greater or lesser than the Library of Congress recordings from the 40s, or even the Paramount recordings from the 30s. To my way of thinking, there is no debate. This is the album. This is when it all comes together for Son House. He is old enough, worn enough, seasoned enough, mature enough, to be wholly himself. Free of an era, free of influence.
He is also as of yet free of the debilitations that would soon progressively strike him.
This is the lion in winter.
This IS Son House.
Yes, I know Alan Wilson plays on the album. Yes, I’ve heard the quote about Wilson supposedly teaching Son House to play Son House.
Bollocks shit bollocks to all of that. Irrelevant stuff. Twaddle for academics to get book deals with.
There is one thing no book, no critic, no academic, no theorist, no historian can ever change—the music. Just listen. It’s here. The music. It doesn’t matter the motivation, the context, the history, the extenuating circumstances, none of it matters.
The inestimably excellent Virgil Thrasher brought his groovily moody and soulfully squallfull harmonica to the stage this evening, and together we ran down a set list which—upon retrospecting—I rather dig.
Here’s the full list of the songs we spelunked in and out of over the course of two solid hours tonight (please click the hyperlinked tracks to hear live, guerrilla-live recordings straight from the stage to vibrating drums:
If I Had Possession Over My Judgement Day (arr. PB, after Robert Johnson)
Rollin’ Stone (arr. PB, after Rev. Robert Wilkins)
Evil Blues (arr. PB, after Mance Lipscomb)
Revenue Man Blues (arr. PB, after Charley Patton)
Levee Camp Blues (arr. PB, after Mississippi Fred McDowell)
Settin’ Sun (PB, from “The National Blues”)
Comin’ Up Aces (PB, from “Demanding To Be Next”)
I Just Hang Down My Head And I Cry (trad., arr. PB, after Mance Lipscomb)
Catfish Blues (trad., arr. PB, after Willie Doss)
Jackson Street (PB, from “Demanding To Be Next”)
The Dogs (PB, from “The Devil’s Buttermilk”)
Obituary Writer Blues (PB, from “The National Blues”)
Down And Out In This Town (PB, from “Gutters and Pews”)
Red Cedar River Blues (PB, new-unreleased)
My Car Walks On Water (PB, from “The National Blues”)
99 Bottles (PB, Demanding To Be Next”)
That’s No Way To Get Along (arr. PB, after Rev. Robert Wilkins)
Casey Bill Weldon (PB, new-unreleased)
You’ve Been A Good Old Wagon (arr. PB, after Dave Van Ronk)
(Preacher Boy, live at Mission St. BBQ. Photo by Jake J. Thomas.)
Kind of an intriguing set tonight, if I do say so myself. I certainly bookended with a pair of the usual suspects, and there were a few other familiar chirps throughout as well, but all in all, quite a lot of strange birds making sonic appearances tonight. Lots of country blues in here. Here’s the full list of what I ran down:
If I Had Possession Over My Judgement Day (Robert Johnson, arr. PB)
Preachin’ Blues (Son House, arr. PB)
Levee Camp Blues (Mississippi Fred McDowell, arr. PB)
Old Jim Granger (from the Preacher Boy album “The Tenderloin EP”)
Diving Duck Blues (Sleepy John Estes, arr. PB)
Evil Blues (Mance Lipscomb, arr. PB)
A Little More Evil (from the Preacher Boy album “The National Blues”)
Revenue Man Blues (Charley Patton, arr. PB)
Milk Cow Blues (Mississippi Fred McDowell, arr. PB)
Catfish Blues (Willie Doss, arr. PB)
The Dogs (from the Preacher Boy album “The Devil’s Buttermilk”)
Spoonful Blues (Charley Patton, arr. PB)
Down And Out In This Town (from the Preacher Boy album “Gutters & Pews”)
Sliding Delta (Mississippi John Hurt, arr. PB)
Stagolee (Mississippi John Hurt, arr. PB)
A Person’s Mind (from the Preacher Boy album “The National Blues”)
Down South Blues (Sleepy John Estes, arr. PB)
Coal Black Dirt Sky (from the Preacher Boy album “Crow”)
Black Crow (from the Preacher Boy album “Crow”)
Railroad (from the Preacher Boy album “Gutters & Pews”)
Motherless Children (Blind Willie Johnson,/Mance Lipscomb/Dave Van Ronk, arr. PB)
Shake ‘Em On Down (Bukka White)
And for your listening pleasure, two straight-from-the-stage-to-yer-ear-buds guerrilla-live tracks:
Preacher Boy – Sliding Delta [LIVE]
(arrangement based on the Mississippi John Hurt version)
Preacher Boy – Levee Camp Blues [LIVE]
(arrangement based on a recorded performance by Mississippi Fred McDowell)
For the guitar heads amongst ye, this version of Sliding Delta is performed on a ’36 National (Grandpa’s National), which is set up for standard tuning. This chords are based on Key of E forms, but the guitar is capo’d at the 4th fret. Levee Camp Blues is performed on a different ’36 National (THE National), and the guitar is tuned to an Open G tuning, then capo’d at the 2nd fret.
For the footwear fanatics amongst ye, the stomps come courtesy of my cowboy boots, which are a Size 13.
Tonight, Virgil and I, we gon’ jus’ roll the dice, and see what songs come up. Recent “set lists” (in quotes of course, cuz they’re not exactly planned!) have included songs from just about every Preacher Boy album over the last 20 years (including some I’ve NEVER played live before), plus a whole slew of groovy ol’ country blues gems and other Preachorum Obscurata. Here’s just a sampling:
The Cross Must Move & Dead, Boy (from Preacher Boy and the Natural Blues, Blind Pig Records)
Ugly & In The Darkened Night (from Gutters & Pews, Blind Pig Records)
Old Jim Granger & Rollin’ Stone (from The Tenderloin EP, Blind Pig Records, Wah Tup Records)
Black Crow & Coal Black Dirt Sky (from Crow, Wah Tup Records)
The Dogs & At The Corner Of The Top And The Bottom (from The Devil’s Buttermilk, Manifesto Records)
A Little Better When It Rains & One-Way Turnstile (from Demanding To Be Next, Coast Road Records)
A Person’s Mind & A Little More Evil (from The National Blues, Coast Road Records)
-plus-
Mama, Let Me Play With Your Yo-Yo (Blind Willie McTell)
Stagolee (Mississippi John Hurt)
Levee Camp Blues (Mississippi Fred McDowell)
Milk Cow Blues (Kokomo Arnold)
I Just Hang Down My Head And I Cry (Mance Lipscomb)
From the moment I heard Will Scott play, I have esteemed him greatly. I have for him a love that is brotherly, and a competitor’s admiration. I have been both his student and his teacher, and I remain the former forever more. I am proud to call him friend, and put simply, as a musicianer, he is a motherf&*#er.
We got to do an album together. It’s called Gnawbone, and it’s an incredible bloody record. If you don’t own it, own it.
Here’s the thing about Will and I. When I heard him sing, I knew I was f&#*ed. He came from a RL Burnside, Johnny Shines kind of thing, whereas I was more Bukka White and Blind Willie Johnson. We met in the middle at Son House. He could sing like Son House, and that was hard for me, cuz I couldn’t. But, I could PLAY like Son House, and that helped.
We started doin’ shows together, and it was one night in some weird place in Williamsburg (of 15 years ago, mind you), and here he comes out with the slide lick from “Preachin’ Blues” and I about fell about the place. Cuz now he was singin’ like Son, and playin’ like Son, and everytime I hear that lick I think of Will. Everytime I hear “Preachin’ Blues” I think of Will Scott.
So this song, really, is several notes of appreciation for Will Scott, because when I play it, I think of him. He’s a couple thousand miles away from me right now, but I’m thinkin’ on him. This is a brand-new song called “Obituary Writer Blues.” And if you know your Son House, you might think I copped a lick from him to build this song on top of, but honestly, I stole it from Will Scott.
Obituary Writer Blues
I’m gon’ quite writin’, gon’ lay down this pen I use Oh, now I’m gon’ quit writin’ gon’ lay down this pen I use And you know by that I got the obituary blues
I been at the typer, lord, honey, ’til my fingers sore Honey, I been at the typer, lord, ’til my fingers sore I ain’t gon’ write no obituary anymore
Black was the color, one after another They lay down on sheets of white Time may erase me, but I ain’t so crazy That I don’t know my wrong from right
Oh, sweet mama don’t ‘low me to stay out all night long I may act like I’m crazy, but I do know right from wrong
It was rock, paper, scissors ’til the sword get the better of the pen Oh, it was rock, paper, scissors, ’til the sword got the best of the pen I seen it printed in the paper, somebody shot up some poor kids again
Black was the color, one after another They lay down on sheets of white Time may erase me, but I ain’t so crazy That I don’t know my wrong from right
Oh, sweet mama don’t ‘low me to stay out all night long I may act like I’m crazy, but I do know right from wrong
~
On the subject of thievery, I owe nods to Sleepy John Estes and Nina Simone as well. Dig.
Oakland. My former home. The Oakland of a long-gone Navy. The Oakland of Ken Stabler. The Oakland of Eli’s.
To misquote that English bluesman (for that is, in so many ways, what I think he really is) Billy Bragg, “I don’t want to change the world, I’m just looking for a new Oakland…”
I and you and we will find a new Oakland Thursday night. A blues Oakland. A solo Oakland. A duo Oakland.
(To find out more details about this event, please click here. You’ll be taken to a Facebook Events Page)
We will be the Oakland of Your Place Too and Flint’s. And we will be the Oakland of The Terrace Room.
What follows are 9 Reasons you should be in this Oakland/that Oakland Thursday night. These 9 reasons are an aggregation of what was once 7 reasons, then appended with an 8th, and now modified to include a 9th.
*Historical Note: The James Brown chord is a 9th.
Read on, and dig.
(and if you’re already familiar with reasons 1-8, then get on to the end of this post and dig Number 9. Number 9. Number 9. Number 9…)
REASON ONE:
Because, what is blues? Blues is not some chump in a designer suit in front of a wall of amps playing “tributes” to a huge crowd of $100 ticket holders in a theater. Blues is a person, and people. Blues is raw. Blues is an instrument with a sound, in hands with a feel, below a voice with a power. It is not whispered. It is music for all generations, played where there is food and drink and diapers and bottles and laughing and talking and dancing and silence and nothingness and just being present. It is not the cry of an oppressed people any more than it is formulaic entertainment. It is American Haiku with a thumb pick. It is slightly dangerous and very funny and a bit about fucking but also the strange intelligence of old people and the smell of swamps and the in-the-momentness of monks. This is REASON ONE to attend this event. Because you will hear boots stomp to the raw sound of American Mojo Haiku Swamp Songs.
REASON TWO: Coyote Slim. Because of all the above. Because he’s the real deal. Because he plays farmers’ markets, and is grateful about it. Because he cares about his clothes because he respects his opportunities. Because his bio says he’s an arborist. Because he understands how to sing, and why it’s important. Because you should listen to Coyote Slim. Because he has R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Because when he plays and sings, the sound is alive. This is REASON TWO why you should attend this event.
REASON THREE: John Maxwell. Because his latest album has him playing “Let The Mermaids Flirt With Me.” Which is one of the greatest not-as-well-known performances Mississippi John Hurt ever recorded. Because he plays a slide guitar version of “St. James Infirmary.” Because CD Baby says he’s recommended if you like Leon Redbone. This is REASON THREE why you should attend this event.
REASON FOUR: Chicken & Dumpling. Because they’re called Chicken & Dumpling. This is REASON FOUR why you should attend this event.
REASON FIVE:
Country Pete McGill. Because Holy Crap, check him out:
And THAT … is REASON FIVE to attend this event.
REASON SIX: Preacher Boy. Yours truly. I’m writing this, so I can’t say anything about myself, but I’m a reason to come all the same. So I am REASON SIX to attend this event.
REASON SEVEN:
A reviewer once wrote of one of my albums that I sung every word as if I were about to expire. I was very proud of that review. I still try to sing that way, and some day, I’ll be right. Your life is a choice, too. Every moment of it. Is your past impacting your present right now? It is. So the past is here right now. And of course the present is here right now. And is what you’re doing right now going to impact the future? Of course it is. So the future is here too. Which means now really is the only moment. So I sing that way. And on the evening of September 10th, it will be your only moment, and you can do with that what you will, but I hope you choose to attend this event, because that will illustrate and exemplify what you care about. That you care about realness. That you care about hearing skin on brass. Boot on floor. That you care about the actual sound of a throat framing the word “down.” That you know all soulful people wear groovy shoes. It will show that you’re a Blues Monk Haiku Zen Blues Master with big mojo. And you want to be that don’t you? Because you want to be close enough to reach out and touch the musician, but you won’t, because you won’t need to.
Due largely to when and where I was born, I haven’t had too many flesh-and-blood musical teachers. My Grandpa certainly, from whom I received my Nationals. But that’s very nearly it. Certainly I’ve had friends, peers, fellow musicians that I’ve learned uncountable amounts from, but I like to think/hope those are give-and-take relationships.
By and large, my teachers have been recordings and books. Vinyl releases from Vanguard, Takoma, Arhoolie. Books by Samuel Charters, David Evans, Stefan Grossman. And of course, the music. This has been my true teacher. The music of Bukka White, Sleepy John Estes, Charley Patton, Son House, Blind Willie Johnson, Robert Pete Williams, and so, so, so many more.
There is one exception to the above, however. There is one teacher, one flesh-and-blood teacher, at whose knee I have genuinely studied. His name is Big Bones.
I’ve told the tale too many times to merit repeating here, but suffice it to say Big Bones looms large in my life. I played with him for the first time on a street corner in Berkeley, some 25 years ago. We’ve gone years in silence since, intermingled with long, strange, beautiful and hard hours, days, weeks, months on the road together. We’ve driven to Arkansas, flown to Amsterdam, sailed to Ireland.
Through the strange machinations of fate, I am not scheduled to play WITH Big Bones that night. Rather, I am scheduled to compete AGAINST him. This is of course ridiculous. I could sooner eat dinosaur marrow w/ mole sauce than compete with Bones.
The event is of course not a competition of any kind, really. It is a celebration of a raw, urgent, vital music. A music that lives fully within the boundaries of Big Bones.
Due largely to when and where I was born, I haven’t had too many flesh-and-blood musical teachers. My Grandpa certainly, from whom I received my Nationals. But that’s very nearly it. Certainly I’ve had friends, peers, fellow musicians that I’ve learned uncountable amounts from, but I like to think/hope those are give-and-take relationships.
By and large, my teachers have been recordings and books. Vinyl releases from Vanguard, Takoma, Arhoolie. Books by Samuel Charters, David Evans, Stefan Grossman. And of course, the music. This has been my true teacher. The music of Bukka White, Sleepy John Estes, Charley Patton, Son House, Blind Willie Johnson, Robert Pete Williams, and so, so, so many more.
There is one exception to the above, however. There is one teacher, one flesh-and-blood teacher, at whose knee I have genuinely studied. His name is Big Bones.
I’ve told the tale too many times to merit repeating here, but suffice it to say Big Bones looms large in my life. I played with him for the first time on a street corner in Berkeley, some 25 years ago. We’ve gone years in silence since, intermingled with long, strange, beautiful and hard hours, days, weeks, months on the road together. We’ve driven to Arkansas, flown to Amsterdam, sailed to Ireland.
Through the strange machinations of fate, I am not scheduled to play WITH Big Bones that night. Rather, I am scheduled to compete AGAINST him. This is of course ridiculous. I could sooner eat dinosaur marrow w/ mole sauce than compete with Bones.
The event is of course not a competition of any kind, really. It is a celebration of a raw, urgent, vital music. A music that lives fully within the boundaries of Big Bones.
I invite you to join me for this extraordinary event. It will be memorable.
Samuel Charters passed away last week. A man to whom I owe an almost inexpressible debt.
As I read Mr. Charters’ obituary, I was stunned to realize that I first read his book “The Country Blues” 30 years ago. Because of his book, I have been playing this music for 30 years. 30 years! If I read that number in someone else’s bio, I’d immediately assume elder statesman; a grizzled veteran; a lifer. Strange to realize that number 30 applies to me now.
But that’s how important that book was to me. It literally changed my life. Dramatically. Who knew one seemingly innocuous trip to the library by my mother would result in a 30-year immersion in this music?
I signed my first record deal in 1994, with Blind Pig Records. This was approximately 10 years after I first read “The Country Blues.” If you look up my first bio on the Blind Pig Records website, you’ll find the story of the book right there:
“When he was 16, he stumbled upon Samuel Charter’s book entitled The Country Blues, which his mom had brought him from the library, knowing his current fascination with a Howlin’ Wolf record that he had found in the family record collection. Although he had never heard of any of the names in the book, their stories and personalities completely swept him away. He immediately ran to the record store and purchased a compilation album from the Newport Folk Festival, and thus began a lifetime of respect, love and devotion for the music of players like John Hurt, Son House, Fred McDowell, Bukka White, Mance Lipscomb and many others.”
On my second Blind Pig album (Gutters & Pews), we did a version of Catfish Blues, based on a performance from the Newport Folk Festival by Willie Doss that I discovered on that Vanguard album noted above. The Vanguard album I bought because of Samuel Charters.
My album Demanding To Be Next was released in 2004. 20 years after I first read The Country Blues. On it, I did a version of “Death Letter Blues” by Son House. A song I first heard when I was 16 years old. Because of that book by Samuel Charters.
It’s early 2015 now. It is 30+ years since I read “The Country Blues.” And I am going to release a new album this year. (Actually, I’m going to release 3 new albums! But that’s another story …). And that album is going to contain performances of songs I first discovered because of Samuel Charters.
I won’t name names, but there are a lot of writers out there these days trying to make their names by debunking the idea of Country Blues. Writers who seem to think they’re awfully clever for “proving” that the whole story of Country Blues was “invented” by a bunch of misguided young white kids in the 60s who “rediscovered” Mississippi John Hurt, Son House, Skip James, Bukka White, Fred McDowell, and more.
Well, listen. I’m not rendering judgement on the conduct of those individuals. Dick Waterman, Stephan Grossman, John Fahey, Dick Spottswood, et al. But what I will say is this: I don’t care how clever you think your book is, or how deep your research is, or how many myths you think you’ve debunked, or how much you think you know about race issues as they relate to this music. Nothing — I repeat, nothing — can change the truth of those recordings. They exist. They are real. Those performances happened. Those songs were written. Those voices were lifted. Those chords were played. And my life –and the lives of so many others — was changed. Not because of any myth. Not because of some false and over-romanticized narrative. Not because of some imagined and perpetuated legend.
We were changed by the music.
I read the book, and the book took me to the record store. (Tower Records, Seattle). And the book and I, we found that Vanguard Twofer full of names that were in the book. And so the book and I bought it. And then the book and I took ourselves home on the bus. And when we got home the book and I went to the living room and put the album on the record player. And the book and I sat back and listened as Mississipi John Hurt began to play “Sliding Delta.” And my life changed.
And that is a true story.
And I would not have experienced any of this truth if it wasn’t for Samuel Charters. So to him I offer deep bows. Very, very, very deep bows.
Samuel Charters, you changed my life. And I cannot thank you enough.
Preacher Boy | The National Blues 