John Nemeth is a busy guy. He and his band, the Blue Dreamers, tour constantly and rarely leave the road. But when they do it’s just long enough to feed the heads of their rabid and enthusiastic fan base. Personally, I’ve witnessed multiple Nemeth shows in both intimate and festival settings and not once have I ever seen a patron stagger away without a face full of grin. So when word came down that a new recording was in the works, my grin got wider. “I was under pressure to get my new music out.” John says. “These days you have to put something out every other year. It takes so long to do a full scale production and publicity and it takes some serious capital. So I mixed up the new music (Feelin’ Freaky)and sold it only from the stage for a year. I did not advertise it or promote it. It boosted ticket sales and gave the fans a great raw in the flesh record.”

So the CD ‘Feelin’ Freaky‘ that I’ve had in my car for the past six months has been… upgraded? “We reformatted the album,” John says. “The band really wanted to change some things in the mix and make it vinyl ready. So we remixed it and put the sparkles on it. To make it ready for vinyl we had to re-master it and the result is a super Hi-Fi 180 gram platter. The original album idea did not have my name or album title on it. I loved it but the marketing folks said no way. So we redid the album art and added a lyric book including a fold out jacket with pics from the sessions.”

And the final consensus? “I love it!” John professes. “This has been such a long time coming and is a huge milestone in my career. ‘Feelin’ Freaky’ (Memphis Grease Records) is an all-original album from the deepest reaches of my bag, produced by Luther Dickinson (North Mississippi Allstars, Black Crowes, Phil Lesh and The Word) and performed by the Blue Dreamers along with the grooviest staples of the Memphis Scene.”

The 38th Blues Music Awards are coming up and if my math is correct you’ve received no less than nineteen nominations since your Best New Artist debut in 2008. Once again you’re on the short list for the B.B. King Entertainer of the Year. How does that happen? “I think a lot of my entertainment style is very old school,” John says. “It’s very ’40s and ’50s driven, but I let the music do the talking. And when the songs done, then I speak. But I don’t use a song to be a vehicle for just fanfare, that’s not what I’m in it for. I’m in it for staying true to the song and playing it like the record. That’s my gig. And that’s a lot like B.B. King, so in doing that, that’s how I’ve gotten the nomination for that kind of award.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“It’s just got a funky culture about it, you know? That feel in the music is the feel of the city. It’s the people; it’s everything about that town.”

– John Nemeth on why he loves living in Memphis

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

How would you describe John Nemeth’s music? “John’s music,” he grins. “John makes up a vocal line and a melody and all of a sudden you’ve got something like,” he breaks into song. ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. When you got it good, don’t nix it. If you take it straight, don’t mix it. Don’t go looking for love when you got it, if it ain’t broke.’ What I sing has a groove to it and I take this to the band and I say, ‘band this is going to be something a little different than you’ve done before and I want you to play right with my groove. When you play right in my groove, then you’re right in my wheelhouse. It’s a common misconception that it’s just the melody, but no it’s the melody and the phrasing of the melody and that’s what I love about all the great blues guys, that great delivery.”

John Nemeth and the Blue Dreamers. Photo: Yachiyo Mattox

You would be hard-pressed to categorize Nemeth’s music into one genre; his live shows can glide through slow blues and contemporary soul ballads only to turn, twist and torque fans into a frenzied, funky dance sweat. There seems to be no limits or restraints to the Nemeth sound. According to John, there’s a perfectly good reason for that. “I started off my career in a town that didn’t care what you played so long as it was good music. My first gig was actually outside of my hometown, an even deeper culture out there in the sticks. I started playing at this place called the Grubstake Saloon in Horseshoe Bend, Idaho. The guy hired me and said, ‘listen I want you to play outlaw country, I want you to play Credence, Chuck Berry and whatever else.’ So the ‘whatever else’ was blues. We learned from playing the hits to these folks and how to make your songs work like hits. I mean now the music industry is in such a bizarro place, you know? A guy like me… the music business is so conservative they just don’t go that freaky like they used to. Old guys back in the day… the old guys would say, ‘Wow, this is something new, have you ever heard anything like this? Well hey, we got it first, we’re putting it out. What happened to that? You wonder why the music business is failing, it’s because people are too afraid to try something new and fresh.” John pauses, “And going fresh, means going back to the old days.”

Last year I caught you at Gator by the Bay in San Diego and you were on stage with Johnny Vernazza and Roy Rogers, did you meet them in the Bay Area? “I met those guys in Idaho. I’d never even seen them play. There’s a bar called the Blues Bouquet. You know I’ve been to a million bars in America, and I have to say the Blues Bouquet was one of the most beautiful bars in the whole United States. It had a bar that was probably one hundred and fifty feet long. I’d never seen anything like it and all mirrored out and beautiful patina on it. The bars are where it’s at, I played five nights a week and these guys came through there. I used to see Johnny V with Norton Buffalo all the time. Because Norton Buffalo had a wife from Nampa, Idaho, he used to come up there all the time. How cool is that? And I remember the strangest thing, man. I’m playing harmonica out back and Norton walks out and he says, ‘Hey man, how are you playing that harmonica?’ And I said, ‘Well, I curl my tongue and use it to block out the other holes.’ And he says, ‘Man, I recognize that. That’s exactly how I play.’ I said, ‘No way!’ And nobody plays like that, it’s like you and me, brother.” (laughing)

L to R: Johnny Vernazza, John Nemeth and Roy Rogers. Photo: T. Mattox

I know you haven’t been playing with Roy and Johnny a lot, but when you got together on stage, it really felt and sounded like you’d been touring for months… “That is a pure creative moment up there. We talked about what we were going to play and we put the set list together right back behind the stage. You know what it is, we all listened to the real old blues…that feel, that attitude about it. We’ve listened to all those same cats and that has seeped into our soul.”

What took you from the Bay Area to Memphis? “It just got too expensive. I had a baby girl and everything, everywhere is going up. If you’re a working musician that’s never had a hit, well you’re never gonna’ make it playin’ music in the Bay Area. That’s just the way it is, man. I mean, you have to have some major success to hang in there. So I told my wife that we’re gonna’ need to move and she says, ‘Well, where are we gonna’ go?’ I thought for a moment and said, ‘I think we should go to Memphis.’ So we flew out there and checked it out for a week and if we liked it we were gonna’ get a place. And we both really liked the city, it’s just got a funky culture about it, you know? That feel in the music is the feel of the city. It’s the people; it’s everything about that town. It’s why Johnny Cash still has that same element that Otis Redding has. Don’t cheat the backbeat; it’s very hip-driven music and every facet you can drive with your hips.”

The original music you create has such a familiar feel to it, how do you approach song-writing? “Spontaneous.” He says. “There’s no real getting worked up to do something but I force myself to be aware of when it’s time to go. Like, hey baby not today… song coming. And I get right in it. I’ll get about 75 percent of the song done and then the last 25 percent, that’s what takes a month or two with some serious thought about it and that’s the difference.

A previous project, ‘Memphis Grease‘ received amazing accolades from both critics and fans; you had to be happy about that. “That was a great record, man.” He grins.

Can you talk a little about working with the Bo-Keys? “Well, I tell you what, working with the Bo-Keys is great! A-number One is the baddest drummer on the planet. He has been mimicked ever since, I don’t know, ’66, ’67? He’s the guy that invented the straight beat and how you can work around it. I mean you can listen to AC-DC and you hear Howard Grimes. Howard Grimes is the guy on all the Al Green music. He’s the rhythm behind makin’ babies. Howard Grimes is the man. When I cut the record and went out on a coast-to-coast tour with Howard Grimes, that’s when I had a shift in my understanding of things… knowing that most of my music is based around Memphis. I’m a big fan of Memphis music and that whole region right there.”

I gotta’ ask about your fashion sense, you’re the only guy I know who wears coveralls to play. It’s the ultimate working man’s wear. “You know the suits just kept getting tighter! Living in Memphis is difficult, when I’m off the road I have friends and family visiting and they want to eat fried chicken and bar-be-cue. And man, the best bar-be-cue in the world is in Memphis. Trust me, I’ve played all the bar-be-cue joints and I’ve eaten at the ones that don’t have music and I’m a connoisseur, look at me. That’s why I’m in the coveralls. These are so nice and I can sleep in these, too. They are so comfortable to sleep in, some nights I just turn the TV on and watch the Warriors play or the Grizzlies, it’s beautiful.” (laughing)

Nemeth and Deanna Bogart on Rosarito Beach, Baja Mexico 2016

You’ve played with so many people; let’s talk about a few of your musical pals…Junior Watson. “Tell you what; Junior Watson is probably one of the greatest talents I’ve ever had the opportunity to work with. Junior can play anything and make anything his own. He is a master, he is a master and that’s why he is loved around the world. He’s a beautiful spirit and a big pain in the ass sometimes, but you got to pay a price for something in this world. Junior Watson is well worth it, he’s the greatest.”

Anson Funderburgh. “That was the gig where I really learned to sing the blues. I was filling in for Sam Myers because he had throat cancer. Man, it was the biggest job I ever had to fill, and I mean there’s no filling it. Sam Myers had groove and wisdom beyond my years, but I thought it was really cool that Anson gave me a shot to sing with that great band. He in turn helped me out and produced my ‘Magic Touch’ record which was my first big record for Blind Pig. He’s a great guy and he’s got a wonderful family… a calm and creative cat.”

Rick Estrin. “Oh man, I love Rick Estrin, I love Rick Estrin’s songwriting. I love his wit and humor; I’m a big fan of Louis Jordan and Nat King Cole, that jive-style of songwriting. Rick is a master at writing great songs. I’ve done the ‘Booty Song,’ If you dig it, ‘Don’t Do It.’ His version of ‘My Last Meal,’ I’ve done ‘Dump That Chump,’ and ‘Smart Like Einstein.’ I’ve done, ‘I’ll Take you Back,’ and ‘Side Stuff.’ He’s been a huge help for me.”

Another harp master, Charlie Musselwhite. “Oh, I love Charlie Musselwhite. Talk about a guy that has the guts to re-invent his own way of playing blues harmonica and it’s fabulous.”

Living in Memphis, you must hear a lot of great musicians and players. “I get to go see this great guy, Earl the Pearl. He plays every Tuesday and Saturday and he has members of the Hi Rhythm Section backing him up. They’re just a fabulous band and they respect him so much. And he can play the most simple, beautiful blues and he can sing so simply and beautifully and in such a groove and that’s exactly what Charlie Musslewhite has too. He has that calm and guts to play some wildly, harmonically beautiful stuff. He paints a real soundscape for the audience.”

Musselwhite came up during an era that featured a whole host of harp players including Paul Butterfield. “Oh, another great harmonica player, Paul Butterfield was another great guy. All those guys have rubbed off on me so much. I didn’t get to work with Butterfield, but I did get to work with Elvin Bishop and that’s pretty close. I don’t know how many records I did with them. Elvin has a hell of a groove, Elvin can make people feel wonderful. It’s a constant joy up there when Elvin is playing. Even the hardest hitting stuff has this positive energy flowing out of it and that’s an amazing skill. And Elvin Bishop was a part of that sound and a part of shaping the landscape of the Seventies. Those guys had a lot to do with how people understand groove now. You know, Sam Lay and I think Jerome Arnold was the rhythm section in that band… Wow!“

Nemeth surrounded by friends and fans. Photo: Yachiyo Mattox

Any parting wisdom you’d care to share? “Don’t be afraid to have a good time and don’t second guess yourself. If you have the notion to go out and listen to some good music and dance and have yourself a good time… just do it! Even if you’re starting to feel a little tired, go out there and you’ll feel better than you’ve ever felt before… or maybe in a long time. And the rest of your week will be better and better. So just get out there and see some music, hear some music, move to some music, its part of being human.”

Check out John Nemeth’s remixed, reformatted and remastered CD ‘Feelin’ Freaky‘ scheduled for release on May 19th this year. And for a great night of live music and entertainment peruse www.johnnemeth.com for tour dates and times near you. Rest up, ’cause you’ll need it.

The post John Németh garners four more Blues Music Award nominations in 2026 appeared first on Traveling Boy.

“The blues,” according to John Hammond, “is the most honest way of looking at life. It’s reality but with humor and the deepest feeling. Blues is not like sadness, blues is like…depth. Like the sky is blue, like the ocean is blue, it’s forever.”

A musical philosophy that John’s fans embrace every time he takes the stage. His style reflects an earthiness, a richness that’s steeped in blues tradition. When he speaks of the early masters, you can hear the admiration in his voice. So it really comes as no surprise to learn Hammond, like most of his blues predecessors, honed his chops on the street.

“That’s where I started playing professionally. That was 1962. I played on street corners and little coffee houses, at picnics. Anywhere I could get heard. When you’re starting out, you’ll play for whoever will listen.

Blind Boy Fuller, a lot of the guys, Blind Willie McTell, Blind Blake, all these guys were street players and this is a tradition that goes back as far as time.”

Time, as far as the Blues are concerned, started when John turned seven.

“I remember hearing Big Bill Broonzy and Josh White, Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee. I grew up in New York City in the 1940’s and 50’s. In the 1950’s there was a disc jockey named Alan Freed and he played a lot of R & B, blues influenced, what became rock and roll. Guys like Ray Charles, Little Richard, Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry. Gene Vincent, Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley. Those were my earliest musical discoveries…that I latched on to.”

Hammond, the son of legendary record exec and talent scout John Henry Hammond, seemed intent on becoming his own bluesman, his own way. He took a giant leap in that direction in 1963 at the Newport Folk Festival.

“In the 60’s that was the biggest gathering of folk artists and about the most prestigious thing. I’d been playing for about a year and I was invited to play there. It was a tremendous honor and I happened to do very well that day. It led to a lot of good things for me.”

The resulting album catapulted Hammond into the national spotlight. His music features the traditional instrumentation of harmonica, guitar and vocals, yet he seems more than comfortable exploring multiple, regional styles and varied techniques in his performances. A potpourri if you will; from Texas and Mississippi country blues, some bottleneck slide, maybe a sampling of ragtime with a bit of Eastern seaboard Piedmont, John pays homage with every set he plays. It’s little wonder why he became a ‘bridge’ between early Delta players and the then, modern-day folk performers. A bond that grows ever stronger when Hammond reflects on the originators that became mentors. There’s a respect, almost a reverence, when he talks about the man known as the ‘King of the Delta’ players, Robert Johnson.

“Well, I would say in terms of my actually playing the guitar and playing professionally, I’d say he (Johnson) was my inspiration. I’d heard a lot of the country blues artists and I thought he was like the synthesis of all of them. He had styles of Lonnie Johnson and Blind Boy Fuller. He had obviously heard everybody and he had come up with his own style. He was just a phenomenal player.”
John Hammond in concert

Over a career that now approaches five decades, Hammond has recorded and performed with some of the most talented and significant musicians of the last century. His impressive body of work (I lost count after more than two dozen albums) is truly a living aural history of America’s Blues. If you ask John about favorites he just smiles.

“I worked a lot of gigs with Sam Hopkins. He was a really dynamic player. I was very impressed with the fact that he was a solo artist and could put so much emotion and feeling into his playing. His voice was so powerful, he was just a mesmerizing artist.”

Another bluesman that John considered larger-than-life was John Lee Hooker.

“When I first heard John Lee, I guess it was 1956. I imagined him to be probably seven feet tall and ate like whole chickens for dinner and stuff. It was a tremendous surprise when I met him and saw he was about five foot five and a really slender guy. But when he opened his mouth to sing, this incredible, incredible voice spanned the ages.”

In the early 60’s a blues contemporary, Michael Bloomfield, introduced Hammond to Muddy Waters as well as a couple of studio players who were working to make a name for themselves.

“I recorded twice with Michael. I made an album in 1964 called, ‘So Many Roads’ with Michael, Robbie Robertson, Levon Helm, Garth Hudson and Rick Danko. I met Michael the first time I went to Chicago in 1961. I was hanging out and saw a blues festival at the University of Chicago and I met him there. We just became friends immediately. We were both blues fanatics, but Michael knew ALL the guys. I mean Michael jammed with Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters and everybody. To meet Michael was like an introduction to the entire Chicago scene. He was a wonderful guy. He was a friendly, wonderful man and I miss him a lot.”

(Gone too soon, Bloomfield was found dead in his car from a drug overdose in San Francisco, February 1981. Michael Bloomfield was just 37 years old.)

Hammond’s own reputation as a bluesman was continuing to grow and it wasn’t long before other musicians began to recognize his talents. John Mayall would become one such believer.

“On my first tour to England, I was fortunate enough to be on a show with him (Mayall) in South Hampton. We just, sort of, started talking. He had never heard of me and I had never heard of him. We became friends right away. He had a band at that time, that included Eric Clapton and Stevie Winwood and oh, God, just about who’s who in the British rock scene. This was before they had become big stars. We sort of hung out and we did a little tour together. We got invited to do a TV show called, ‘Ready, Steady, Goes Live’ and they backed me up as my band. It was really phenomenal.”

Hammond’s musical collaborations, both then and now, have been all encompassing. Not only has he played and toured with Mayall and Clapton and recorded with Spooner Oldham and Duane Allman, but for a short period early in his career, shared the stage with a young guitarist named Jimmy.

“He called himself Jimmy James then. Unfortunately it was just about a two-week time span that I got to know him. He played with me and we put a little band together in New York at a club called Cafe A-Go-Go. It was there he was discovered and went off to England and became a big star.”

It didn’t take long for the rest of the world to recognize the phenomenal talents of Jimmy James, only you and I got to know him as….Hendrix, Jimi Hendrix.

The British connection also played a significant role in Hammond’s ‘I Can Tell’ album sessions.

“The Rolling Stones were in New York. I had met them, they had come to hear me play at the Village Gate and then I went over to England. I was very good friends with Brian Jones. Brian was wanting to play harmonica on the session, but I said, ‘No, I’m playing harmonica.’ And Bill (Wyman) said, ‘Gee, I know you don’t play bass.’ So Bill played the bass on it. It was a real super session. Artie Butler on the piano, Bill on the bass, Robbie Robertson on guitar, me on guitar and Charles Otis on drums.”

A Grammy Award-winner, John takes great pride in his craft but places an even higher value on his friendships. And his friends run the gamut from the late Roosevelt ‘Honeydripper’ Sykes to legendary harmonica ace, Charlie Musselwhite.

“Charlie played the finest harmonica, and still does to this day. He’s one of my idols and a great friend of mine.”

The road continues to twist and turn for John Hammond. The miles have taken him from street corners to international music festivals, from roadhouses to supper clubs. But when it comes to status, nothing holds a candle to the performances at New York’s prestigious Carnegie Hall.

“It is a thrill. It’s one of the most beautiful theaters that there is…in the world. I mean you look up and there’s five tiers of golden balcony. Your knees tremble, literally your knees tremble.”

But Hammond, the journeyman, remains rooted. He’s a realist who candidly admits to playing some of the lesser known venues.

“A lot of the clubs I played, where I wondered, ‘what the hell I was doing there?’ I really was fortunate that there wasn’t holes in my head.

Always the essence of diplomacy, “I don’t want to mention any names,” the legendary bluesman laughs, “because I may have to play there again.”

The post The Journeyman: Plumbing the Depths with John Hammond appeared first on Traveling Boy.

Wiseman has spent more than half a century documenting the structures, contradictions and rituals of modern life. In Titicut Follies (1967), Wiseman’s landmark debut film takes us inside a Massachusetts institution for the criminally insane, unflinchingly documenting the treatment and mistreatment of inmates. Often blurring the distinction between doctors and patients, and at times harrowing to watch, the film was prohibited from general distribution in the USA for almost 25 years.

More recent, expansive cultural institutions include the New York Public Library (Ex Libris, 2017) and the Opéra de Paris (La Danse, 2009).

While producing a film, Wiseman often acquired more than 100 hours of raw footage. His ability to create an engaging and interesting feature-length film without the use of voice-over, title cards, or motion graphics had been described as the reason Wiseman is seen as a true master of documentary film.

His works affected American institutions and attempted to hold institutions accountable for moral and ethical situations. He was noted as one of the most admired and influential filmmakers by the Associated Press. The Guardian called Wiseman’s films “monuments to human suffering and human challenge and human potential.”

Wiseman said, “My films are based on unstaged, un-manipulated actions. The editing is highly manipulative, and the shooting is highly manipulative… What you choose to shoot, the way you shoot it, the way you edit it and the way you structure it… all of those things… represent subjective choices that you have to make. In [Belfast, Maine] I had 110 hours of material … I only used 4 hours – near nothing. The compression within a sequence represents choice and then the way the sequences are arranged in relationship to the other represents choice.”

Wiseman’s death was announced in a joint statement from the Wiseman family and Zipporah Films:

“For nearly six decades, Frederick Wiseman created an unparalleled body of work, a sweeping cinematic record of contemporary social institutions and ordinary human experience primarily in the United States and France,” the statement read. “His films – from ‘Titicut Follies’ (1967) to his most recent work, ‘Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros’ (2023) – are celebrated for their complexity, narrative power and humanist gaze. He produced and directed all of his 45 films under the banner of Zipporah Films, Inc.”

Wiseman announced his retirement in 2025 due to the lack of energy to make further films.

The post Frederick Wiseman: RIP appeared first on Traveling Boy.

This will be the third Paralympic Games hosted in Italy. It also marks the 50th anniversary of the Winter Paralympic Games.

The Games are expected to feature 79 events in six Winter Paralympic sports. A mixed doubles event will make its debut in wheelchair curling. A total of 665 athlete quota places are available: 323 for men, 176 for women, and 166 gender-free.

The Paralympics were established to provide elite competition for athletes with disabilities, originally created by Dr. Ludwig Guttmann in 1948 England to aid the rehabilitation of World War II veterans with spinal cord injuries. They promote equality, challenge perceptions of disability, and showcase incredible physical, and psychological, athletic achievement.

Why do the Paralympics exist:

• Rehabilitation & Social Integration: The first games, known as the Stoke Mandeville Games, began as a way to help war veterans with disabilities regain physical strength, self-esteem, and social confidence.
• A “Parallel” Elite Competition: The name “Paralympic” derives from the Greek preposition “para” (beside or alongside) and “Olympics,” meaning they are games held alongside the Olympic Games to celebrate, not just rehabilitate, athletes with a wide range of impairments.
• Shifting Perceptions: The Games aim to focus on ability rather than disability, fostering a more inclusive world by showcasing elite-level performance.
• Global Unity: Since the 1960 Rome Games, the event has grown into a major international sporting event that brings athletes with varied disabilities together in the spirit of friendship and competition.

The competition events are:

Alpine Skiing:

• Downhill (sitting, standing, visually impaired): women – men
• Super-G (sitting, standing, visually impaired): women – men
• Giant slalom (sitting, standing, visually impaired): women – men
• Slalom (sitting, standing, visually impaired): women – men
• Super combined (sitting, standing, visually impaired): women – men

Also:

• Para biathlon
• Para cross-country skiing
• Para ice hockey
• Para snowboard
• Wheelchair curling

With one month to go, the Paralympics are ready to take over Italy and turn Milano Cortina into the global stage for the very best of Para sport.

Support the Team USA dream

Your 100% tax deductible gift fuels Team USA athletes as they pursue excellence at the 2026 Milano Cortina Olympic and Paralympic Games – and strengthens their journey long after the Games are over.

Your support assists with the cost of training, health and wellness resources, innovative equipment and more as Team USA athletes strive to reach the podium.

100% of your gift goes to athletes and the programs that make their dreams possible.

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The post The 2026 Winter Paralympics appeared first on Traveling Boy.

No matter how you feel about the blues, the fact is they originated out of necessity as a unique, free form means of communication. Refined shouts and hollers and syncopated work rhythms that could both inform and entertain. Field hands often learned of the latest plantation news while maintaining a steady working pace or they might sing and shout along with songs based on legendary tales or Delta lore.  Following that line of thought, the blues could very well be considered the original Internet.

The Blues according to Johnny Winter… “it makes me feel good.
It makes me very happy.” Photo by: Yachiyo Mattox

The Blues traveled out of the Deep South, northward, strapped to the backs of laborers searching for something, anything better. They eventually found both coasts via minstrel wagons, empty boxcars and countless miles of dust-choked roads. Pausing only long enough for donations and scattered applause, the blues could be found at most crossroads, on busy street corners, in jukes, roadhouses and the occasional community fish fry.

Nothing could stop them; not mountains, oceans, or borders, poverty, not even wars. If anything, those challenges just fanned the flames. World War II instantly spread the genre to international shores. When you think about it, it’s impossible to not experience ‘the blues’ when you’re far from home, missing the ones you love and then there’s that little matter of having a country full of people you don’t even know, trying to kill you! Pretty much your ultimate mood breaker.

Chicago harp legend, James ‘Snooky’ Pryor witnessed some of the fiercest and bloodiest fighting through the Soloman Island chain in the South Pacific. He told me after TAPS every night, they would leave the Army PA system hot and Snooky would break out his harmonica and blow some mournful, moaning blues through the dense, jungle battle lines.

You just know, that had to create a major pucker factor for the Japanese fighting forces. Sitting in total darkness, on an island in the middle of nowhere and hearing this woeful, wail drifting through the banana trees and coconut palms. Got those mean old, low down propaganda blues, AGAIN! Amplified, no less….another military ‘blues’ first. And I still can’t listen to Snooky play ‘Judgment Day’ without thinking about that story.

Post war prosperity cast new light and gave players fresh perspective. The blues began to jump and swing more than ever. An edgier sound electrified Memphis and Chicago and as the 1950’s dawned, a younger, hipper and whiter audience began to plug in. I think it was McKinley Morganfield who said it best, “The Blues had a baby and they named it Rock and Roll.”

Carl Perkins, Little Richard Penniman, Elvis, Ike Turner, Jerry Lee Lewis, Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and dozens of others began to stretch and eventually blur music’s segregated boundaries. Pandemonium ensued. The Rock and Roll onslaught gave much wider exposure to blues and folk music and breathed new life into the musicians that played them.

As the phenomenon spread into 1960’s Europe, it seemed to reign-down heaviest in the United Kingdom. British teens especially, became infatuated with early Delta players and began plumbing blues roots and recordings. Adding their own style and presentation to the traditional, they packed up guitars, amps and drum kits and brought it right back to America. And America discovered the Blues all over again.

An extraordinary route to travel and even Johnny Winter had a tough time explaining it. “It’s very strange,” he said. “I don’t know why it took that. I guess the blues has always been around and people didn’t think much of it. When the English people started doing it, it was a whole different thing and they (American youth) picked up on it.”

Pick up on it, they did and this time on a much larger and more enthusiastic scale. The Newport Jazz Festival in 1960 featured Muddy Waters with his band that included Otis Spann and James Cotton. The Newport Folk Festival provided a showcase for a whole host of the originators, from Son House and Robert Pete Williams, to Sleepy John Estes and Mississippi John Hurt.

Bill Graham’s ‘Winterland’ and both Fillmore venues packed them in with Rock and Blues bills. Johnny Winter, Albert King, Hot Tuna, Janis Joplin, the Allman Brothers and Charlie Musselwhite. James Cotton readily admitted he’d done the East Coast – West Coast Fillmore run so many times, “he half-expected to die somewhere in-between.” Chicago’s Southside clubs spread rapidly into the suburban north side thanks in part to Mike Bloomfield, Big Joe Williams and a few dozen special friends.

The music was breaking down the cultural and racial barriers and replacing them with stronger, albeit ‘tie-dyed’ bonds to a brand new and very receptive generation of fans. The fervor behind the British Invasion added a tremendous amount of alternatives to the mix. And it’s quite possible that the respect shown by overseas fans toward our blues elders became the catalyst for America’s youth to take a second listen.

For a great number of baby boomers, myself included, if it hadn’t been for John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers, the Stones, Zeppelin, Cream and of course our homegrown, Johnny Winter, Jimi, Janis, Paul Butterfield and the Doors, we may have never RE-discovered the awesome talents of Chester Burnett, Willie Dixon, McKinley Morganfield, not to mention those who came before.

Just goes to show, you’ve got to keep those lines of communication open. Either that or invest in call waiting.

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It should have been so obvious, but who better to profile in this continuing series, than those who live most of their lives ‘on the road.’ No, I’m not talking about long-haul truckers or UPS deliverymen, nor am I referring to cabbies or regional sales reps. I speak of those who continue to travel the byways, back roads and endless ribbons of black top to play the music they love. I’m referring, of course, to the journeymen and women of the Blues, and their lifelong quest for that elusive ‘Key to the Highway.

Much like early pioneers, blues players have blazed trails from coast to coast and continent to continent to ply their trade. From the earliest field workers that followed ripening crops and the turn of the century ‘snake oil’ and minstrel shows, to the guitarist on the corner with an upturned hat filled with coins, the origins of the blues and life’s crossroads have become one in the same. So lace up your ‘Walking Shoes’ and let’s ‘Hit the road… Jack.’

Living the Blues

If there are qualifications for the term blues journeyman, Charlie Musselwhite wrote them. This now, living legend was born a blues traveler. The old Natchez Trace ran right through his families Kosciusko, Mississippi home. His introduction to the blues came when just a child, as he lay on the shady side of a creek bed. “I remember listening to people singing in the fields as they worked,” Charlie told me. “It was the prettiest music I ever heard and it sounded just like I felt. And they were singing the blues.”

In the 1950’s, Charlie’s musical direction would become engrained on the front porches of some of Memphis’ local legends; names like Gus Cannon, Furry Lewis, ‘Memphis’ Minnie Douglas and W.C. Handy. But it was at the knee of Will Shade that Charlie credits for his introduction to the blues. “I would hang around their houses all the time, listen to the radio, the ballgame or something. All the musicians from that era knew Will (from his time with the Memphis Jug Band) and respected him. There would be spontaneous jam sessions and I would be playing right along, you know?”

Over the years, Charlie discovered that the streets of Memphis were literally paved with talent. Johnny Burnette lived just a few houses away and early rock-a-billy star, Slim Rhoades would have picnics in his yard for the entire neighborhood. But the world was quickly changing and thanks to Sam Phillips and his Sun Record label, music was too. Memphis was about to become ground zero for something totally different.

“The Killer was always around. Jerry Lee Lewis. I used to see him tearing up and down the streets. He had this orange and red convertible Lincoln. And Charlie’s smile grew as he recalled, “I used to see Elvis. He would rent the Memphian Theatre after hours and show all the latest movies. And a whole bunch of Road Runner cartoons, because he loved the Road Runner. Sometimes he would rent the whole Memphis fairgrounds, from midnight to eight in the morning. All the rides would be free. People would just roam around and have a good time. He would speak; say hi, although I never talked to him about music or anything. But he recognized me as one of the group that hung around. Probably wondered how I got in there.” (Laughs)

Little did Charlie realize, his own ride was about to pick up speed. After hearing from friends that there were factories in Chicago that paid $3.00 an hour, Charlie was hooked, “Wow, man!” he shouted, “$3 an hour! I’d be a rich man if I could get a job like that. So, I went up there.”

It wasn’t easy but Musselwhite finally found work as, what else, a driver…for an extermination company. As he daily traveled the back streets and boulevards of Chicago, “I’d pass a bar that had a sign on the front of it saying, ‘Little Walter, Wednesday night.’ I’d see all these places, write down the addresses and be right down there at night. Here were these people I’d been listening to and there they were. Man, it was such a thrill to walk in and see Howlin’ Wolf for the first time. The power that he emanated was just awesome, and the band was just…. I was just slack jawed. I couldn’t even drink my drink. I was just glued into what was happening.”

As usual, and just like all those years in Memphis, being the only white face in the crowd would prompt questions. “People would want to know, ‘Hey what are you doing in here?’ I’d just say, “I came to listen, I really love this music. When they found out I played, they’d want me to sit in. After I’d sit in and they really liked it, people started hiring me to play with them.”

This became life-altering for young Charlie Musselwhite. “Here I had a great future in exterminating,” he laughs, “and just threw it all away to play harp.”

Frequently finding himself across the stage from established players like Shakey Walter Horton, Muddy Waters, Charles Edwards and Big John Wrencher, Charlie was gaining a wealth of experience and living a blues man’s dream.

“Five of us would stand there, shoulder to shoulder and just pass the harp back and forth, trying to out blow one another. It would be a real harp battle, all good-natured though.”

Charlie’s admiration and appreciation of fellow players remains to this day. “Shakey (Big Walter) Horton was just a monster. A lot of people don’t realize what a good harp player he was.” Some believe he influenced Little Walter tremendously, “only Little Walter was more business minded and got himself together. Where Shakey would just as soon be out in the alley playing with his friends, drinking wine. He didn’t give a damn about record companies. He’d done all that. He just played harmonica.”

Charlie could usually be found at Rose and Kelly’s Blue Lounge and was a regular at Turner’s Blue Lounge on Indiana Avenue. But when the subject of rough clubs or tough bars was mentioned, the name that came up most often was a place called the ‘I Spy Lounge.’

“Otis (Rush) said that was the roughest club he ever worked in. If Otis said it was the roughest, I tended to believe him. People always were in there, you’d see the bulge where their pistols were, people carrying butcher knives and stuff.” But it didn’t phase Charlie. “I was just having such a great time, I didn’t give a damn. I was wild and drinking. Every once in a while I’d get in some trouble with somebody, but I was big enough to take care of myself. I never would back up from anybody. So right away they’d figure I was either crazy (laughs) or not worth messing with.”

I’m thinking probably a little of both.

In 1966, once again the road beckoned. After recording his first album, Musselwhite started receiving calls and music inquiries from the West Coast. At the time, he was married, had one child and a steady daytime job in a Chicago area factory. The offer was one Charlie just couldn’t refuse.

“I got off the plane in California. It was sunny, people were nice, they were smiling at you, friendly and courteous. I didn’t believe such a place existed. I called my wife and said, ‘you better come on out here because I’m not coming back. (laughs) The first place I played was the Fillmore and ‘Wow, it was like working in an airplane hanger.’ I’d never seen so many people at one time, and they were all so nice, throwing flowers at you. It was a whole new scene and I stayed.” Laughing, Charlie adds, “And I’ve been working ever since.”

His family’s migration from the frigid shoreline of the Windy City to San Francisco’s ‘Summer of Love’ was not unlike moving to a foreign land.

“It was really a culture shock,” Charlie said, “The free love and people wearing flowers in their hair.” It would take him a while to adjust. And adjusting to Haight-Ashbury in the late 60’s was no easy task.

“I used to go down (to Haight Street) and just watch these weird looking people walking around in these weird clothes, and these weird hairdos.” Being relatively normal looking, Charlie added, “People would come up to me and say, ‘You’re Charlie Musselwhite?’ I’d say yeah and with a look of amazement they’d just shake their heads and say, ‘I didn’t know you were…. straight.'”

No matter what his bent, timing couldn’t have been better for Charlie. And San Francisco was definitely the right place. The Blues were being discovered by a new generation of young people and rediscovered by long time aficionados. Artists, musicians and players from all over the country, and the rest of the world, poured into the Bay Area. Blues venues popped up like proverbial mushrooms, from clubs and bars to open air ‘happenings.’ The Summer of Love was fast becoming the ultimate creative musical environment.

“Janis Joplin was around. We hit it off great, because she liked to drink like I did. We had some real good times together. Meeting different musicians that I’d never met before and playing different kinds of music.” Smiling, Charlie adds, “It was just great times, you know?”

Musselwhite’s peers also have a great deal of respect for his talents. Among them, the man considered by many to be the ‘Father of British Blues,’ John Mayall:

“I’ve always thought he (Musselwhite) was a great harmonica player, very under rated. He had that heavy style that I couldn’t get, like Paul Butterfield had, that heavy electronic sound. Charlie Musselwhite was one of the first white harp players that I heard when I came over to America.”

My way IS the Highway!!

Charlie’s road has taken him from the Blues Mecca of post-war Beale Street in Memphis through Chicago’s Southside, eventually dropping him into the middle of San Francisco’s Summer of Love. He still lives in California and continues to travel the world playing bars, clubs, and festivals but still finds time to record some of the best blues music available today. He has shared the stage with some of music’s greatest players including Muddy Waters, Shakey Walter Horton, John Lee Hooker, Janis Joplin and even the Rolling Stones. His mastery of the harmonica is and continues to be the driving force behind his blues, but he’s the first to admit, “Blues is more than just a type of music. It’s a real feeling, an attitude about life.” When you see him play, you just know Charlie Musselwhite was born with an attitude.

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                          Welcome to the Johnny Otis show! 

If ever a musician could honestly say, ‘been there, done that’ my money is on a man named Johnny Otis. Otis was born Ioannis Alexandres Veliotes to Greek parents in Vallejo, CA the last month of 1921. Not long after, the family moved south to Berkeley where ‘Johnny’ Veliotes spent his formative years in the surrounding Bay Area neighborhoods. Leaving school to focus on music, Johnny’s primary education fell under the tutelage of a host of veteran musicians from several of America’s best known black ‘territory bands.’ It would be those years of musical experience and life lessons that would help shape both his character and his career.

Johnny Otis did it all; a multi-talented performer who sang, played drums, vibes and the piano. He was a bandleader, songwriter, producer, promoter, club owner, talent scout, and publisher. At one time, he managed his own record label, worked regularly as a radio disk jockey and hosted a long-running music and dance program in the early days of television that predated Dick Clark’s ‘American Bandstand.’

Johnny Otis was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1994 the same year he received the coveted Pioneer Award from the Rhythm & Blues Foundation. The Blues Hall of Fame engraved Otis’ name onto their honor rolls in the year 2000. Never a person to rest on his laurels, Johnny Otis became a noted author and columnist, worked tirelessly as a civil rights advocate, even threw his hat into the political ring. He became an ordained minister, was literally a walking encyclopedia of music and history, eventually teaching at the college level, and was widely known in the world of fine arts for his paintings and sculptures. Johnny Otis was truly a man of Arts and Letters. He led an amazing life especially when you realize that it all began with just a promise and a pair of drum sticks.

“The reason I started playing drums” Johnny said, “was in Berkeley, California I had a friend who actually lived in Oakland, and we used to see each other, just childhood buddies, you know when we were teenagers?

Midnight at the Barrelhouse Vol. 1 Album Cover on ACE Records

Midnight at the Barrelhouse Vol. 1 Back Cover discography

His name was Otis Matthews, we called him ‘Count’ Otis Matthews because he played the piano. He didn’t play like Count Basie, though. His family was from the Mississippi Delta area and he was a boogie-woogie blues barrelhouse player and singer. So Count Otis told me once, ‘I’m gonna’ get a band together and you’re gonna’ be the drummer.’ I said, ‘Oh yea!’ And we did.

We found some old raggedy drums and he told me the main thing you have to know. You’re all excited about the Count Basie swing and the Gene Krupa and the Jo Jones, but there’s one number I want you to play my way when we come to it. ‘You just play shave and a haircut, six bits.’ I said, ‘What’s shave and a haircut, six bits?’ He said just go, (Johnny raps it out on the table)‘ Tap, tatatap, tap…Tap Tap. And don’t vary it. And I’m gonna’ sing.’ And that was my first experience with that beat which later became ‘Hambone’ and ‘Bo Diddley’ and ‘Hand Jive.’ So, little by little, I was playing the drums, I thought.”

The Road Beckons

Do you remember your first paying gig? “A man named Robert Johnson took Count Otis and myself and we went to Reno, Nevada to play a job. This was in the ’40’s and the job, the man offered us $45 a week. My God, that was twice as much as my father was making at the time. So we got an old, raggedy car and went to Reno, Nevada but when we got there it was $45 for the three of us! Which was still about what my dad was making! (laughing) We played from seven o’clock in the evening to 4 o’clock in the morning every night. The man said don’t worry though, you’ll make a lot of tips. We never made a penny! It was a little funky place, they were trying to be a casino, but there was nothing. And we lived there. The man owned the hotel, so we stayed there and ate there. And at the end of the week, he’d take the rent and the food out, and we owed him $15 apiece!

So we left there in the middle of the night and went to Denver, Colorado. And that’s where I joined George Morrison’s Band. That was the first real PROFESSIONAL, professional job. And from George Morrison, I went to Lloyd Hunter, which was really a wonderful thing because it was one of the black territory bands of the day and they played the Count Basie, Jimmy Lunceford, Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman kind of stuff, so that was a great experience. I stayed with Lloyd Hunter until I was called by Harlan Leonard of the Kansas City Rockets to come to L.A. and be their drummer and that’s how I got to L.A.”

“In L.A. at the Club Alabam, the man who owned it took a liking to me and when Harlan Leonard’s engagement was finished he let me be the band leader and I got my big band together. And since that time, that would have been 1943, I’ve had a band of my own.”

Central Avenue and more specifically, the Club Alabam located next door to the Dunbar Hotel at 42nd and Central was the Mecca for all things music in Los Angeles. On any given weekend you might spot Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Miles Davis, a host of Hollywood celebrities or even ‘The Brown Bomber’ heavyweight boxing great, Joe Louis. Central Avenue in the 30’s and 40’s was THE place to be.

“The Club Alabam was our Cotton Club West.” Johnny said. “There’s been a lot of advertisement about the Cotton Club but what people don’t understand is Central Avenue, the African-American community of Central Avenue was our Harlem Renaissance transplanted to the West Coast. The Club Alabam was a big cabaret, large with a big balcony around it, a big stage and a great big dance floor that doubled as the stage when the floor shows came on twice a night. It was wonderful. It was full scale chorus girls, ‘soubrettes’ and that name has been lost. It means the leading chorus girls, those that did the specialties. Showgirls who did nothing but just parade with big costumes on and chorus girls of course danced and we had the big band there. The stars of the day came through and they were featured. ‘Moms’ Mabley, the Peters Sisters, the Step Brothers. And at that time these were great artists and I got the chance to play with them.”

“We combined swing, a little bit of bop and country blues and put it together. It was later to be called, ‘Rhythm & Blues.'”

— Johnny Otis

“From the Club Alabam, a man came in; he heard us and recorded us. And THAT day, we caught a hit record. But it was a happy accident. It was my first record date and Count Basie loaned me Jimmy Rushing to sing with me. He gave me some arrangements so I could come off well. So we went in and we recorded and we were very well rehearsed. I went into the control room, and I say, ‘Well Mr. Rene, That’s it baby, I did ’em. Three sides and the four hours aren’t even up yet.’ He says, ‘No, you’ve got it wrong. It’s four sides in three hours.’ He says, ‘you’ve got about twenty minutes to do one more.’ So I went in the studio and the guys are putting their horns away, I say ‘wait, wait come back, we’ve got to do another one. So when we came back, I remembered at the Club Alabam I had a stock arrangement, a song that had been recorded once by Ray Noble but done in an entirely different manner. And we put a jungle rhythm beat to it. And the chorus girls would come out on the balcony and shake and dance ’cause they liked it. I say, ‘let’s do that.’ And we did and THAT was the hit. The other things didn’t even mean much at all. It was a happy accident and that got us started.

The song was ‘Harlem Nocturne.’

The Best of Johnny Otis album

“We traveled for a couple of years all over the country including an original INK SPOT tour, with the real INK SPOTS. And then I came back home about 1947, it was just about finished for big bands, the Big Band thing. I broke my band down to a smaller band; most of us did, and opened a place called The Barrelhouse. We decided we would do strictly blues, of course we didn’t know it but by breaking our bands down from big bands, and that included myself and T-Bone Walker and Joe Liggins and Roy Milton we were actually creating a new style, but we didn’t know it. (laughing) Rather than eight brass I had now only one trumpet and one trombone. Instead of five saxes, I had just two, a tenor and a baritone. But that striving to maintain some semblance of a big band actually brought a whole new flavor and new sound. We combined swing, a little bit of bop and country blues and put it together. It was later to be called, ‘Rhythm & Blues.’

The Godfather of Rhythm and Blues

Johnny Otis is often referred to as the ‘Godfather’ of Rhythm and Blues. When asked about the title, he just shook his head. “I’m embarrassed by that, because all the great brothers and sisters through the years who contributed to that. My agent says, ‘shut up and take it.’ (laughing) But I can’t, it’s dishonest. I was part of it, but surely not the leading figure.”

As humble as Mr. Otis was, very few can doubt his innate ability to find raw talent, guide them through the studio process only to walk out weeks, sometimes just days later with a highly polished recording and more often than not, a chart single or two. That list of artists’ stretches across generations and genre’s, but to give you just a taste… Etta James, Jackie Wilson, Little Esther Phillips, Big Jay McNeely, and Big Mama Thornton.

He relents “Yeah, I know I did that. When the big band thing died and we broke it down, I opened the Barrelhouse out in Watts. We decided to go strictly blues, no sophisticated jazz arrangements…just blues. And a certain kind of comedy they used to have in the theaters back East, like the Apollo. It was a success from the first day; the place was packed because the people of the black community were interested in what can probably be described as their ‘folk music.’ That kind of blues… not the deep country blues and not the sophisticated jazz blues, but in between; a thing that was to be called ‘Rhythm and Blues.’ This is what they liked and this is what we began to evolve with. We recorded again and this time I caught big hits with Little Esther Phillips and we were on the road again.”

The Savoy Collection

Little Esther became a recording phenomenon from the very start in the 1950’s, scoring two, No. #1 hits on the R&B charts. Tell us how you first met her? “Just before Esther passed away, I was pastor of the Landmark Community Church and at that time Esther was one of our members. She was having problems with alcoholism and with drug addiction and she would come by. And one day there was a young man, like yourself, who was interviewing us at the church and he said, ‘now when did you first meet Esther? Just as you just asked me. And Esther was there, of course. I said, ‘Well I met her at the Largo Theater when she was thirteen years old, I heard her singing.’ She said, ‘No, That’s not the first time.’ Now this was so many years later and I had it backwards. I said, ‘What do you mean?’ She said, ‘The first time you met me was in your backyard, at the chicken ranch where you had the chickens.’ So, what I had was, in Watts at night I ran the club, The Barrelhouse…In the daytime I had the Progressive Poultry Company!” (laughing) “And I raised chickens. My bass player and I had a couple of old ice cream trucks and we would deliver and people would come. The Watts folk would come, you know Southern people want to pick the chicken out.” (he points) “That One! And here’s a pen twice as big as this room, with two hundred Rhode Island Reds in it, and the lady says, ‘I want that one.’ Well (Otis is shaking his head) they ALL LOOK ALIKE…they’re CLONES! But I had these little kids who would run and catch them for me, but mostly they’d miss, get another one. And Esther said, ‘I was ONE of THOSE kids!’ I said, ‘REALLY?’ She said, ‘I even sang for you.’ And suddenly I KNEW who she was, because we had just finished catching chickens and selling them and there was a lull. It was a hot summer day and we sat under these eucalyptus trees and the wife brought us some Kool-Aid and some cookies and we were just taking a rest and I heard a little girl sing around the tree, singing like Dinah Washington. I said, ‘Who is that?’ And they said, ‘Her!’ And she was a beautiful little black girl with bright eyes. I said, ‘Come here, honey. Was that you?’ She was about, I don’t’ know eight, maybe? She said, ‘yeah.’ And I hugged her. I remember that, but I didn’t place that person as being Esther Phillips who I found later at that talent show at the Largo Theater. She never forgot it. And I didn’t either; I just didn’t realize it was her.”

Do you ever feel that you have some special skill or ability to recognize talent in others? “You know, I’m really thankful about that because I seem to be able to see something out on the horizon, early. I’ll explain a couple of instances to you. One day in Cincinnati at the Manse Hotel where we used to stay, I was out on the porch waiting for my guy to bring the car around. We were going to go to King Records which was stationed there. I was under contract with them at the time and they had a recording studio and a young Ray Charles was sitting there too. He was a piano player with Lowell Fulson at the time. He said, ‘where you going Johnny?’ I said, ‘I’m going down here to King.’ He said, ‘Take me with you, I wanna’ go over there and try out.’ I said, ‘Come on, I’m a producer there.’ And I loved him, ’cause I’d heard him play and sing. We go by there and I told Syd Nathan, I said, ‘Syd, I got a young kid here you gotta’ hear this boy play the piano and sing, he’s marvelous. Okay, so they set him up the studio and Syd Nathan and I and a few of his henchmen sat on the other side, you know in the control room. And Charles started singing and playing and he sang very much like Charles Brown in those days and Syd turns to me and says, ‘I don’t need any poor man’s Charles Brown, forget it.’ And he walked out. But a few years later when Ray Charles was just setting the world on fire, I saw Syd Nathan, but he refused…he said, ‘WAS NOT!’ I said, ‘Yes it WAS, it was Ray Charles.’ (laughing)

The same scenario unfolded with Esther Phillips when visiting RCA Victor in Hollywood and Johnny got a similar response. “That’s a poor man’s Dinah Washington, who needs that? And Esther became a big star.” Johnny’s laughing and he leans toward me and says, “I took ETTA JAMES’ record to someone and in that case they just weren’t interested. They didn’t hear anything in her voice.”

I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but you would think people would start paying attention? They finally did after one very special talent show at the Paradise Theater in Detroit. “On THAT day I found Little Willie John, Hank Ballard and the Midnighters and Jackie Wilson. That night, by the way I remember that Jackie Wilson… I heard something in him, that gospel, wonderful flavor. I knew that they were not going to be interested in him singing ‘Danny Boy’ and ‘My Buddy’ and ‘Trees.’ This is the way he sang then, so I wrote him a little blues ballad and he sang it for them (King Records) the next day. But they didn’t like him, so they gave it to the Midnighters and the ballad did nothing. But ten years later, Gladys Knight recorded it and it became her first big hit, ‘Every Beat of My Heart.’

Speaking of writing…tell us about Etta James and ‘Dance with me, Henry.’ “Roll with me, Henry it was originally.” Johnny corrects me. So why did you change it? “I didn’t change it. I wrote it as ‘Roll with me, Henry’ it was Etta James’ idea. That was her song, but all she had was that phrase. And she had Hank Ballard’s ‘Work with me, Annie’ melody. Johnny breaks into song, ‘Roll with me, Henry. Roll with me…’ So I wrote a whole song to it, and Hank Ballard and I and Etta James became partners. But it meant dance with me, but somehow the people they got edgy about it. It’s too sexy. I said, listen to the words, ‘get the lead out of your feet, come on learn some dancin’ if you want romancin‘ but they said ‘no, we better change it, they’ll think you’re talking about sex.’ So they changed it to ‘The Wallflower.'” (Otis laughs) “What a crock! And then later, what’s her name uh, Georgia Gibbs they were still uneasy and they changed it to ‘Dance with me, Henry.’ Which is what it meant anyhow…Fine.”

Let’s talk a little about 1958. It turns out to be a pretty good year for you. You release the song, ‘Willie and the Hand Jive.’ “Yeah, a man named Tom Morgan who was my producer, if it were not for him…because my manager didn’t like ‘Hand Jive.’ He had been in England setting up a tour as a result of a hit record we had at Capitol called, ‘Ma, He’s Makin’ Eyes at Me.’ But it was a hit only over there, in England, and South Africa and Australia; all the British Empire places. When he came back he said, ‘Hey, the tours set BUT I saw something, the British kids sitting in these venues where they can’t dance…theaters and concerts. And they’re doing what you guys in the old black bands used to do.” Johnny starts slapping his hands together. “They’re doing that stuff with their hands and they call it hand jive. Write a song called ‘Hand Jive.’ So I did and we had a meeting, Tom and I and Hal and Hal hated it. He said, ‘That’s terrible and he tore it up and threw it in the waste basket. But Tom Morgan picked it out of the waste basket and said, ‘You’re crazy, that’s cute.’ And he put it out; he overruled him and put it out. Thank God, because we almost lost a hit record.”

If you listed the number of musicians and singers that Johnny Otis has written, recorded or played with over the years, it would read like the Index from the Encyclopedia of Rock, Jazz and Blues. But there is one legendary saxman that always put a smile on Johnny’s face. His name was Eddie Vinson, friends just called him ‘Cleanhead.’ Johnny starts to laugh and says, “Oh yeah, my baby.” He continues to laugh as he remembers a particular show in Canada. “I don’t think alcoholism is funny at all, (still laughing) it’s tragic. In fact it contributed to Eddie leaving us prematurely. But some of the things he’s done. (laughing) He and Joe Turner and T-Bone Walker were my featured artists on the show for a long time. Once in Montreal, I announced him, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, a great man of American Music. A person who transcends many lines… Rock and Roll, Rhythm and Blues, Swing, Jazz. The one and only, Mr. Eddie ‘Cleanhead’ Vinson.’ And I look over at the spotlight and he’s not there. And people are laughing. I’m saying to myself, ‘they’re laughing at me, because he hasn’t shown up.’

But, he was so intoxicated he couldn’t walk. He was crawling and when he went by me, he gave me the salute. He got to the stool, and crawled up on the stool and I said, ‘Oh my goodness.’ He had the ability, no matter what his condition was, to sing and play. You’d never know; he wasn’t impaired that way. I don’t recommend it, and I’m not laughing because it’s funny….but that surely happened.”

I mentioned that I’d talked to Mister Cleanhead not long before his passing at his house in South Central L.A. Johnny nods and informs me. “He (Vinson) lived next door to a very historic place. It’s no longer there. Ivie’s Chicken Shack. Back in the 40’s it was a beautiful art deco restaurant called Ivie’s Chicken Shack. It was Ivie Anderson’s restaurant. I always think of that when I think of where Eddie lived.”

How did you get to know Sam Cooke? “Sam and I belonged to the same church. This was back in the 50’s. It was a big church in the West Adams area in Los Angeles. And it was about a 2000 capacity and the church is full one Sunday morning. We’re sitting there and the preacher, as most preachers with his commercial sense, we were very well known at the time. So he pointed us out and had us take a bow, which was embarrassing to begin with, and then he made a remark. The preacher said, ‘Brother Johnny and Brother Sam have been out there doing what they do, but one of these days they’re gonna’ stop playing the devil’s music and come home.'” (Johnny laughs) “Sam looked at me and he whispered, ‘Did he REALLY say that?’ I said, ‘Yeah,’ and we both resigned on the spot.” (laughing) “The idea that something as beautiful as what Sam Cooke does, or Ray Charles or Aretha Franklin, being described as the devil’s music… The preacher felt that it was competition to him, that’s what it really was, they knew better. All of them couldn’t have been that ignorant.”

Anybody you didn’t have the chance to work with that you wish you had? “You know who I like, Big Maybelle. I would have loved to record Big Maybelle, but we never did, of course.”

As you reflect on your journey so far, you’ve spanned the music industry spectrum, producing and performing in multiple styles and genres over all mediums; recordings, radio, television, and now even the written word… “Its luck…its luck. Sometimes when something nice would happen to me I would say, ‘Imagine this happening?” And there are people on every corner who have a thousand times as much talent as me. But you just have to be lucky and be in the right place at the right time.”

I could maybe agree to ‘the right place at the right time’ scenario IF Mr. Otis had been a one hit wonder or had just one successful venture into the music business. But this is the same man who once had Ten, Top 10 songs on the Rhythm and Blues charts in a single year. I must repeat…Ten R&B Top 10’s in one year!

Johnny Otis’s phenomenal music career mirrored America’s coming of age during the 20th Century. As thousands came home from war the 1940’s witnessed the nation’s long awaited and euphoric transition back into peacetime. The country was ready to celebrate and with pockets flush with back pay, John Q. Public let the good times roll. The Swing Era of the Big Bands had reached its zenith and a musical shift began to change the tempo. Otis, along with his peers and fellow musicians created, produced and recorded something fresh and innovative that reflected that national attitude. According to Johnny, “It contained the blues element that was the most important feature, or course. And boogie woogie piano and twangy electric guitar. But in addition it features horn sections very often… and echoes of swing riffs, even bebop riffs and gospel music, you know? So you put all of that together and you have the classic Rhythm and Blues that was born and nurtured in L.A. and New Orleans. New Orleans is a very important incubator for the Rhythm and Blues sound.”

Yet, Johnny Otis continued to push the boundaries and seek out and mentor new talent. His groundbreaking work with Big Mama Thornton, Johnny Ace and Little Richard would eventually be recognized for what it was, the early stages of an even edgier sound. Hindsight being what it is, when you listen to some of those early Savoy tracks like ‘Rockin’ Blues’ or ‘Little Richards Boogie’ and ‘Hound Dog’ on Peacock, it becomes immediately obvious that those are without question, some of Rock and Roll’s earliest heartbeats.

Although we lost Johnny Otis a little more than a year ago, his legacy and music lives on through every artist he introduced and every side that he recorded. Thanks for sharing Johnny, we sure do miss you.

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The group’s performance on the program was seen by over 73,000,000 people, people, setting a record at the time for the largest television audience in America.

Soon the whole world was to become obsessed with what was known as the Fab Four: John, Paul, George and Ringo. John was the founder, leader co-lead singer of the band. He had his own microphone while Paul and George shared one.

There was something special about John. Even then I recognized he had star power and wanted to look like him.

Everyone had their favorite Beatle. My best friend chose Paul. Arguments would break out between us. But it was a friendly rivalry, for we loved them all. Boys generally preferred John and George; girls, Paul and Ringo.

My parents let me grow my hair longer and I became conscious of how I dressed. I even wore Beatle Boots playing kickball in the 5th grade.

Today, John and Paul are regarded as the greatest composers in pop and rock history.

John Lennon’s life ended in December 1980 in New York City, approximately at 11:15. He was shot twice in the back and twice in the shoulder by a lone assailant. John was 40 years old.

RIP: John.
Your music and legacy lives on.

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I got to his house in South Central L.A. early, and was sitting in the car when I saw him coming up the street. Seeing me waiting, he leaned down and through the passenger side window said, “sorry I’m late,” he flashed a big smile, “snuck in eighteen holes this morning.” It was barely past ten o’clock and this man had already played eighteen holes of golf! I knew then that Eddie ‘Cleanhead’ Vinson was not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill blues man.

When looking back over a career that spanned almost six decades, I expect Eddie Vinson was always the exception to the norm. His incredible adaptability, switching back and forth between fluid mainstream jazz, big band swing, jump boogie and bebop, only to drop down and dig deep into traditional blues, was an artistry unto itself. Few have ever attempted it, yet alone mastered the skills required; fewer still with the virtuosity of the man they called, Mr. Cleanhead.

Photo by Joe Reiling

As we sat down to talk, Vinson told me music was his direction from the start. “That was the only thing I ever thought about, from a kid on up, you know? My dad was a piano player; my grandfather was a fiddle player, so it’s been around me all the time.”

“There are so many different types of blues. All blues aren’t sufferin’ blues.” — Eddie Vinson

Eddie’s formative years as a saxophone player began outside a number of small Texas venues. “You’d pick up little bands, did little gigs, around the beer gardens down in Texas. You’d play out in front of the building on a platform to get the people to come in and drink beer. Play a little bit and let ’em dance. That was back in the thirties.”

It was during those early years that Eddie would first meet a man known simply as T-Bone. “I met T Bone Walker in 1935, way back there, yeah. Down in Dallas, we were playing at a club; he’d have his guitar and would come around. He was almost like an uncle to us. He was a little older, and would take care of us because we were from Houston. Still in high school, we’d take vacations and go up to the Dallas and Fort Worth area. But he was just like an uncle to us. He saw that we got our money and that nobody would cheat us, you know? He was one of those kinda’ guys.”

Vinson would remain friends with T-Bone Walker for the remainder of his life. But T-Bone wasn’t Eddie’s only blues influence. “Leroy Carr was the first one I remember, you know, on records. Leroy Carr and Leadbelly. And all those people down in Texas. Lightnin’ (Hopkins) lived three blocks from my house in Houston. In fact, we were just about ready to do some working together, just before he died. He was telling me, ‘Why do you have to go over in Europe, man? You could work here and make more money and never have to go overseas.’ I was just getting ready to go do that Texas thing down there with him.”

South Texas was rich with talent and local groups and territory bands were always looking for diamonds in the rough. Chester Boone was fronting one of the most popular in the area at that time, and Eddie jumped at the opportunity even before finishing high school. “I was primarily going in for the big band, for the jazz era, you know?”

It might have had something to do with his associations at the time, one in particular. Early in his career, Eddie would meet up with another sax player that would have a long-lasting impact on his style of play and love for jazz. That musician was 20 year old, Charlie Parker.

As Vinson continued to hone his chops in the Chester Boone Orchestra, a trumpet player named Milt Larkin began to take notice of Eddie’s versatility. When Larkin’s fronted his own swing band, Eddie was recruited and immediately found himself in the company of greatness. His band mates included Arnett Cobb, Illinois Jacquet and ‘Wild Bill’ Davis.

The early 40’s brought new opportunities and an introduction to ‘real life’ blues for Mr. Cleanhead. It was during one road trip that Eddie would meet and get to know one of his early influences; Big Bill Broonzy. It would become an invaluable learning experience. “I heard Big Bill Broonzy sing the blues back in the thirties, which really turned me on to it. Big Bill was just the one that really made me like the blues.”

Making the leap from jazz to blues seemed like a natural progression for young Eddie. It was while touring with Broonzy and Lil Green, that Eddie gained more confidence in his blues and vocal abilities. Vinson had become a triple threat. Already known as an accomplished jazz musician, critics and fans alike began to appreciate Cleanhead’s bluer side and would grow to embrace him as one of America’s premier blues shouters.

Eddie Vinson’s reputation preceded him, and the leader of one of the most popular bands of the day, took notice. Cootie Williams made Eddie an offer he couldn’t refuse. “Oh yea, I left Houston to join his band in ’42.”

Mr. Cleanhead’s circle of friends, touring schedule, bank account and career would immediately shift into overdrive. “That’s where I met Alberta Hunter; she was on the bill with the Cootie Williams Band at the Apollo Theatre. What we would call ‘around the world,’ Apollo Theatre, the Howard Theatre, and theatres in Philadelphia and Baltimore. We called that ‘around the world.’ When you made those four theatres, then you had enough money to pay your rent and everything.”

During the war years, Vinson would rise to prominence as a vital and vocal part of the Cootie Williams Orchestra. The big band scored multiple chart hits; one of the biggest was Eddie singing on the Pete Johnson/Big Joe Turner classic, “Cherry Red.”

At the end of World War II, Eddie left Cootie Williams to step out and form his own group. Vinson’s big band was an immediate success, producing multiple recording contracts and a number of nationwide popular hits like ‘Old Maid Boogie’ and ‘Kidney Stew Blues.’ By the early 1950’s Eddie’s band also featured a number of talented musicians, including an innovative and soon to be legendary saxophonist by the name of John Coltrane.

Over his lifetime, Eddie wrote, recorded and toured the world with the Crème de la Crème of Jazz and Blues. As a premier session man, he was sought after as a guest artist and would tour the world many times over. “I would usually go as a soloist. There were so many European festivals; you have such good times over there with the guys. The guys from Chicago, Buddy Guy… Muddy’s band. Pinetop got a band, we did a thing in Nice together with that band, and they back you up real good with blues.”

For those fortunate enough to have known Eddie “Cleanhead’ Vinson, they also knew about his sense of humor, infectious laugh (more like a staccato hoot), and that elfish grin. So when the name John Lee Hooker was mentioned, “Oh yeah, of course. (Starting to laugh) That’s my man! (Head back and hooting) The ladies, boy! (Hooting louder) The ladies just follow him, boy. Everywhere he go, all over France. (Calming a bit) He’s a funny guy.”

Big Joe Turner was another lifelong friend of Eddie’s. “He was one of the swellest guys I ever met, in my life. All the time, every morning, I’d get on the phone and call him up. He and I and T-Bone. Sometimes I’d get ’em fussin’. I’d tell T-Bone that Joe say he couldn’t sing, and I’d go tell Joe that T-Bone say he couldn’t sing. I’d go back and hide behind the curtain and they’d be fussin’. (Laughs with that glint in his eye) It was funny.”

That sense of humor reflected, and was well represented, in Cleanhead’s blues. “There are so many different types of blues. All blues aren’t sufferin’ blues. I don’t do sufferin’ blues anyway. I’ll sing some other peoples blues, but my thing, for me make sense a little bit, but they are more on a comical side.”

Eddie’s comical side and onstage antics were often the highlight of any given performance. Whether he was playing along side Count Basie, Cannonball Adderley, Jay McShann or Johnny Otis; you knew Eddie Vinson was there for a good time.

Johnny Otis started laughing when he remembered one appearance in Canada. “I don’t think alcoholism is funny at all, (still laughing) it’s tragic. In fact it contributed to Eddie leaving us prematurely. But some of the things he’s done. (laughing)

He and Joe Turner and T-Bone Walker were my featured artists on the show for a long time. Once in Montreal, I announced him, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, a great man of American Music. A person who transcends many lines… Rock and Roll, Rhythm and Blues, Swing, Jazz. The one and only, Mr. Eddie ‘Cleanhead’ Vinson.’ And I look over at the spotlight and he’s not there. And people are laughing. I’m saying to myself, ‘they’re laughing at me, because he hasn’t shown up.’

But, he was so intoxicated he couldn’t walk. He was crawling and when he went by me, he gave me the salute. He got to the stool, and crawled up on the stool and I said, ‘Oh my goodness.’ He had the ability, no matter what his condition was, to sing and play. You’d never know; he wasn’t impaired that way. I don’t recommend it, and I’m not laughing because it’s funny….but that surely happened.”

The Blues and the emotions they evoke are eternal, and surround us all. They are truly a musical form that never seem to age. Eddie reflected on their resurgence and their popularity. “I imagine they (younger generation) want to get to the roots of all your swing and your jazz. Actually, the roots are from the blues, that’s where your thing actually come from. I could even go back as far as, say, spirituals. Blues and spirituals, I don’t know which came first.”

Still working into his 70’s Eddie still loved playing with and remembering his friends. One was Koko Taylor. “Oh yea, we worked together quite a bit. She’s a hard working lady. That lady works awful hard and she’s good. She’s wonderful.”

Just prior to this interview, Etta James had just finished a live recording (a two album set) with Vinson, Red Holloway, Shuggie Otis and Jack McDuff at a small club in Los Angeles. When Eddie spoke you could see that he was still excited by the music, the recording and working with other musicians. “Yes. I gotta’ little band I play with all the time, called a “Roomful of Blues,” from Providence. In fact, I made an album with them. The first time I’d ever heard, I didn’t think nobody could play the blues like that. Then I heard it and I said, ‘Good God, look at these white boys playin’ the blues like that.'”

An amazing career, the friends, the miles, the music; Eddie was philosophical about his motivation. “You got to like what you’re doing. And the people, they like blues. I can play all the jazz I want, all night long, and the people just respond. And when you start singing the blues, they seem to enjoy it the most. I play a little jazz the first part of the night, and after you get a few drinks, you start playing the blues and everybody’s having a good time.”

The one aspect I’ll always remember about Eddie ‘Cleanhead’ Vinson was his
remarkable ability to communicate. Whether in conversation, with his saxophone or in that raucous blues shout, he cut right to the meaty part.

If you ever saw him perform, or were lucky enough to sit and talk, there was never any doubt that his message was aimed directly at you.

Eddie Vinson left us about a year after we talked. The first news reports I heard, said that he died around three o’clock in the morning….if that’s true it was probably the first time the Cleanhead ever did anything totally within character.

The interview with Eddie Vinson took place in his home on May 27, 1987.

The post Remembering Mr. Cleanhead appeared first on Traveling Boy.

The good news: I was given the opportunity to interview the legendary Chicago bluesman, Otis Rush around the mid 90s. Even better news: I had to pick him up at Los Angeles International Airport, do the interview in route and deliver him to his hotel. Obviously, I would need a blues accomplice that would willingly face the 405 freeway during ‘Rush’ hour traffic, then careen into and out of LAX at a peak time, just for the privilege of cruising with Otis Rush. I made one call to long-time blues friend and renowned L.A. musician; Preston Smith.

Little did Mr. Rush realize as he deplaned the relative security of his 707, that he was about to come face to face with real ‘Double Trouble.’ The commute from the airport to his hotel would include a pair of inquisitive blues freaks that wanted to grill him on every historical detail of his storied career. Although seemingly resigned to the fact, I’m pretty sure he began experiencing a few reservations, and almost certainly imagined a number of ‘bluesman abducted’ scenarios, as he haltingly approached Preston’s vintage soccer mom van. After words of encouragement and reassurance, Pres hit the gas and appropriately, blue smoke poured from our ‘limo.’ I turned toward the strapped-in blues legend and hit my record button.

Born in Philadelphia, Mississippi, was your family musical? “My uncle was into music.” Otis said. “It wasn’t planned, just played around the house, you know? That was enough for me. My brother’s all had guitars, but they didn’t play.”

I was surprised to learn you started with harmonica first. “I did start with harmonica first.” Why the change? “Well the guitar was laying over there and I got the harmonica in my hand. So I want to try the guitar, right? I wasn’t doing too great with the harmonica.” (laughing)

Too much competition? “Not at that time. There wasn’t no Little Walter and stuff like that. I never heard the Howlin’ Wolf blow the harmonica, I never heard Junior Wells. It was just me.”

Do you remember when you first heard blues? “Well I listened to the radio all the time. I listened to Western music, you know country music. Eddy Arnold…and the bluegrass boys and all those guys. Aw man, I listened to all of them.”

“Well, I remember crawling on my stomach like a snake trying to keep from gettin’ shot, up in there.” (laughing) “I remember that!”

—- Otis Rush on bar crawling in Chicago

Who do you think influenced you most in your style of play today? “Well I heard John Lee Hooker, see? Then I heard Muddy Waters after I came to Chicago. Muddy was the first guy I saw on the bandstand, and I said, ‘well this is for me’, you know? And they were sounding very good and I felt like I had to do the same thing…to get me going.”

Any others? “All the guys, Howlin’ Wolf…Little Walter. That was after I arrived in Chicago. Chicago was uh… I was really excited, you know? Because I had heard these guys on stage and I said well I gotta’ do something. I was working a day job and I quit the day job to make $5 a night. But like I said it was Muddy! That’s the guys I kept my eyes on. Little Walter, I began to watch him, Willie Mabon, Willie Dixon.”

What kind of work were you doing outside of music? “Oh, I was working at a steel mill, packing house, different places to pay that rent.” (laughing)

Your style of play and association with Cobra label mates is often referred to as Chicago’s ‘West Side Sound.’ “The public came up with this, not me. You know they had the West Side, South Side and North Side. They started naming it Chicago Blues. I don’t know, Chicago Blues, San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York who cares… its Blues, you know? I helped some of the guys get started, like Magic Sam. Magic Sam and Buddy Guy… and like I said, Junior (Wells) was already out there. There’s a lot of guys I helped man, I don’t know, I don’t know their names.”

Let’s talk a little about the clubs of Chicago. Do you remember your first? “It was at 2711 So. Wentworth, Club Alibi. That was where I got my first start. $5 a night.” (laughing)

I remember a story Charlie Musselwhite once told me about bumping into you at a rowdy night spot called the I Spy Lounge. You knew that place, right? “Yea, yea, yea, I do! Well, I remember crawling on my stomach like a snake trying to keep from gettin’ shot, up in there.” (laughing) “I remember that!”

After hearing Musselwhite’s stories about patrons carrying butcher knives, meat cleavers, and the ever popular ‘hogleg’ hidden under shirts or tucked into waist bands, it didn’t come as a huge surprise when he said he too had ‘run into’ Otis while on hands and knees as they both scampered for the exit. Charlie further relayed that Otis had told him, the I Spy was probably the roughest club in Chicago, and if Otis thought that, then it was probably true.

Otis is nodding and with a huge smile across his face, starts to laugh again. “It were rough! Me and my bass player met each other, you know the bar was round…and I’m crawling on the floor trying to get to the front door. And who do I meet but him.” (laughing) “On the floor!” (laughing) “Yeah, they was shootin’ up in there so we was trying to get out.”

You must know Charlie pretty well. Otis is still smiling and nods. “Charlie is a swell dude. Really swell.”

You started as a solo performer. “I’ve always had my own band. I’ve always played lead, but I’ve always had my own group.” And Rush’s bands have always featured stellar musicians. “At some point I had Fred Below, you know the drummer? Louis Myers, Dave Myers. Junior Wells played with me. A lot of other guys, man.”

Looking at some of your recordings, you’ve always seemed to feature some pretty talented guests. Duane Allman for one. “Yea, he was a guitarist on this, (Mourning in the Morning) he was playing second guitar. Luther Tucker was on some of my albums…and shows, you know?”

How did you come to know Duane Allman? “That was through Nick Gravenites, Nick and Mike Bloomfield.” They produced that album. “Yes, so they had them all set up and waiting for me.”

Could you tell us a little about your first recording session at Chess? “I remember it was me, Willie (Dixon) I think Brother Montgomery on piano sometime, Leake sometime. Leake… Lafayette, you know? Different people. That was in the ’60’s at Chess. In the beginning who I recorded for was Cobra, that’s the old stuff, that’s who I started out with in the very beginning, then Chess, then Duke.”

I read that you’ve been credited for playing some of the first electric bass. “Well, me and Willie D. Warrens. We brought electric bass to Chicago. See they didn’t have it up there; they didn’t have no electric bass. Muddy Waters and them was using second guitar, just for bass. Me and Willie D. Warren’s was the one’s that got the bass going. We ran our strings down, the bass strings, giving it a bass sound, different from the guitar tuning. We ran it down and we was the hottest thing in Chicago. Musicians… Stars was coming by to see where we was getting this sound from. Say, ‘you got two guitars up there, how you do this?’ So, about 6 months later everybody had it. They didn’t ask where it come from, they just started playing it.”

Seems to me you should’ve received a little more credit for it. “They was in a hurry man, (laughing) It’s true. Some of them say, ‘Otis, how’d you get this sound?’ Some of them ask my bass player. But true, all of them in a hurry.”

Rush’s music has been recorded by a host of players and musicians; Zeppelin, Mayall, Clapton to mention just a few and almost every rock and roll guitarist in the past half century credits Rush as an influence. That includes Clapton, Page, Beck, Santana… That must make you feel good. “Well it makes me feel real nice. But I’ve got a lot of ground to cover, yet. A lot of work to do.”

Can you talk a little about touring and life on the road. “I’ve been here, home, back, in and out, you know? The only time I do three or four weeks, or a month is when I go to Europe or Japan.”

Let me ask you about some of your blues playing peers and you tell me what comes to mind. Muddy. “Well, Muddy…I didn’t go to his house, I just knew him from the stage and from going to the clubs and he’d come by where I play sometimes, that’s it. I didn’t know him too well, but they was nice peoples.”

James Cotton. “I knew James before he got with Muddy, before he started playing with Muddy. Yea, he was trying to get a gig. Otis Spann, too. Yea, we used to go to clubs together, trying to get gigs. Muddy hired a harmonica player, then he wanted a keyboard and Spann was there.”

Little Walter. “Walter was playing with Muddy when I came to Chicago. And after I got here he broke out on his own style. ‘Juke’, yea, that was… That changed a lot of things? Sure did, sure did!”

George ‘Harmonica’ Smith. “We started out together. He was tough man, you know? He was great on the harmonica, nice dude and he moved out to Los Angeles. He could blow, man.”

Willie Dixon. “Well, Willie sort of helped me get started with Cobra. Before I recorded the first record I didn’t know Willie too well, we just played at the 708 Club. Him and Eli come by and asked, ‘did I want to record?’ I said, ‘Yes!’ you know? Imagine me, hearing myself, playing back a record on me! It was really exciting, the first record.”

John Lee Hooker. “Well I knew him from records in the South. I met him after I got to Chicago. At different places, out here in Los Angeles, I met him at the San Francisco Festival. We played on the same show in Chicago for a week. Albert King for a week. Little Milton for a week. We all goes the same route. It’s the blues, right? If I don’t see the guys on this show, maybe the next show we’ll meet up. If not, two or three shows later. When we’re out of town we’ll meet up. Some of us, then the other’s going the other way.”

How about some of the earlier guys, Robert Johnson or Johnny Shines? “They’re great musicians, you know? I can’t take anything away from Robert or Johnny, they’re all great musicians. Make that known, I love all the guys. And we’re all trying to do something for the blues.”

Anybody I didn’t mention? “I think you mentioned them ALL!” (laughing) “There’s lots more but I can’t think of them. You got Buddy Guy, Jimmy Johnson, they’re great guitarist’s man, great vocalist’s. Little Jimmy Johnson up there in Chicago.”

What is it about the blues that seems to take people so early? “I don’t know, man. It’s just life. You know, life? I feature the blues but I play some of the other stuff too. And I love it, I love it all.”

What are the blues to Otis Rush? “Trouble! Troubles!” (laughter) “Double Troubles! Double troubles, believe me the blues…if you get ’em right, you got the Blues! They come from that woman, and financially… Needs…and you know, Love.”

The show that night at the Music Machine on Pico in West L.A. was unforgettable. And when he broke into ‘Double Trouble,’ I just had to smile when he sang the line, ‘Bad Luck and Trouble has taken me…’

If you want to hear Otis Rush at his best, I’d recommend ‘The Essential Otis Rush’ for his early work with Willie Dixon at Cobra. Then follow his timeline into the 1970’s with ‘Right Place, Wrong Time.’ His sessions with guitarist/producer John Porter and pianist, Bill Paine of Little Feat in the 90’s culminated in one of my favorites, ‘Ain’t Enough Comin’ In.’ And then there’s Rush’s ‘Any Place I’m Going’ which won the Grammy for Best Traditional Blues Album/Recording in 1998. Enjoy.

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