Sam McKim, a renowned artist and Imagineer worked for Walt Disney Studios, Burbank and Walt Disney Imagineering Glendale for 32 years, 12 years directly with Walt, and was honored with a customized memorial plaque window at Anaheim Disneyland, which is the official “Hall of fame” for those who heavily shaped the park’s history.

John Samuel McKim, was born in North Vancouver, Canada, in 1924, with a sketching pen in his hand and DNA shouting, “artist to be,“ at a time when tours were offered around Stanley Park and Capilano Canyon in a motorized black Model T Ford for one dollar a person, and blazing neon lights were first installed along Granville Street. While, south in the United States, Calvin Coolidge was president, and the Roaring 20’s boom was flying high with jazz and flappers, and Anaheim, California, population 9,000, was known as the “Valencia Orange Empire” with thousands of acres of citrus, covering most of the county, and completely surrounding the city of Anaheim by a sea of orange trees. Sam, known as Sammy during his early years, was the second son in a family of five; his father, Walter McKim of Scottish descent, worked for the Canadian government and was noted as a worthy and respectable man, who helped and lent a hand to other Scottish immigrants, but unfortunately suffered from harsh, long-lasting health struggles, was diagnosed with tuberculosis, and because of the highly infectious disease, was forced to live away from his family except for short visits, and in 1938 an autopsy revealed that he had been misdiagnosed, and suffered from heart problems, not tuberculosis.

Hard Times

Sam’s mother, Lydia McKim, raised the children, and was the resilient matriarch of the family, juggling finances and emotional strain of her children, with help from her father, during extremely difficult years, which, at the time, for the family, was only one step away from poverty. The McKim family moved to Seattle, Washington, searching for a better climate and a better life for Lydia’s husband, Walt, and father, John Henry Thorne Edwards, called Gramps, a Welshman who fought in World War I and was severely gassed by the Germans. Three more children were added to the family, and the McKims lost their Seattle home, and in 1935, during the Great Depression, finally settled in the northeast San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles. Gramps the maternal Grandfather for Sam and his siblings, transitioned to the primary male household figure in 1935, and Hollywood negotiator.

Hollywood Childhood Stardom

Sammy, 10-years-old, always with a smile on his lips, a positive thinker, with a handy sharpened pencil in his pocket, was always sketching interesting people, buildings, and pulling significant moments from his imagination onto paper, when Gramps, a hardened, European veteran, invited Sammy to visit a relative with him who worked at the MGM studio lot in Culver City, where a scene unfolded, not unlike a page from a bestselling novel, and a moment in time that drastically transformed the life of the McKim family. By pure chance a casting director noticed a young boy, not unlike Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, with tangled thick red hair, a distinct face spotted with freckles, bright eyes, and a captivating smile, quickly realizing he might be a perfect type character for some upcoming films, and handed Gramps a recommendation letter. Days later, with Sammy on his arm, he delivered the letter to central casting to register him, which launched the McKim family from strenuous times to a new life. Sammy, with his grandparent the business manager, and negotiating contracts, performed in 34 films in just six years from 1936 to 1940, as did his four siblings, who performed in 70 to 80 films combined during the 1930s to 1950s, working as uncredited extras and bit-part actors, thanks to Gramps. But Sammy, with his engaging smile and intellect, became a notable child star. His first movie was a Jane Withers movie titled, This Is The Life under contract to 20^th Century Fox Pictures, working seven hours a day with another three in the studio’s classroom, he was soon promoted from small uncredited roles to major supporting roles and $50 dollars a week, the equivalent of over $1,000 dollars today. During some 20 Hollywood years, he worked for Republic Pictures, MGM, RKO, Columbia, Universal, and Warner Brothers. Sammy played the young Kit Carson in The Painted Stallion in 1947, appeared in The Lone Ranger Serials in 1938 starring as “Boots,” performed in recurring juvenile roles in The Three Musketeers, appeared with John Wayne in three films, and also Spencer Tracy and Rita Hayworth. However, Republic Pictures wanted to elevate Sammy from a recurring sidekick to a star headliner with his own standalone film series, but during negotiations, his grandfather firmly insisted on more money than the studio was willing to offer, and the entire proposal collapsed, and, unfortunately, on November 16, 1938, Walter passed away from the results of a heart attack.

A Slight Walt Disney Connect

Sam was dedicated to the craft of acting and films, but his heart was always pulling him to art, and he was constantly sketching in-between shoots, during downtime on the sets, and on film locations. He said, “I’d draw caricatures of the actors, and they would sign them for me.” Working as a young western film star, he did a magazine photo ad for the Ingersoll Mickey Mouse watch, and in 1939 he auditioned for the voice of Pinocchio, was second place on the audition, losing to Dickie Jones, and in 1942, Sam sent some artwork to the Walt Disney Studios in Burbank, California, to be considered as an animator, but received a form letter mentioning a possible job in the mail room.

Active Army Duty and the Distinguished Service Cross

Shortly after this negative response from Disney, Sam, in 1943,enlisted in the Army, attended Officers Candidate School, and as a 2^nd Lieutenant, age 19, was sent with the 89^th Infantry Division to Japan for occupation duty, where he joined the 11^th Airborne Division, making six parachute jumps, earning the nickname, “Eager Beaver.”  As the war in Europe drew to a close, Sam volunteered to be transferred to the Pacific Theater to experience active combat duty, was shipped to the Philippines, but World War II finally ended, returned from army duty. Sam enrolled via the GI Bill at the Art Center College of Design. The day he graduated in 1950, he was drafted back into the Army, and the Korean Conflict. Sam was assigned as an aerial observer in the 1^st Cavalry Division, flying in a light unarmored two-seat, reconnaissance spotter plane flying over dangerous and highly contested space between allied forces and North Korean/Chinese lines, and was shot down by enemy fire, crash landing and stranded in highly volatile “no man’s land.” The pilot was hit in a thigh artery, and Sam, using his core infantry officer’s training, applied a tourniquet, established a perimeter to protect the pilot, spent hours under darkness, evading capture, and finally rescued by a helicopter. After 14 months in Korea, Sam received the Distinguished Service Cross, the second highest U.S. military decoration, for displaying extraordinary heroism under fire, combined with tactical combat leadership and battlefield survival skills.

Meeting Walt Disney

“Hi, I’m Walt Disney, and who are you?”

Sam used the GI Bill once again to attend the prestigious Chouinard Art Institute in Los Angeles, earning another BA. The master film director, John Ford, who has four Academy Awards and holds the most “Best Director” in Academy Awards history, worked with Sam in Ford’s film, The Plough and the Stars, with Barbara Stanwyck, and always promised Sam better roles, and later did contact Sam with a supporting role in The Long Gray Line with Maureen O’Hara and Tyrone Power. Sam received the script, was fitted with attire for the part, when 20^th Century Fox Art Department offered him a full time position as a professional artist, illustrating coming attractions for the screen. For a moment he was dramatically torn from following his childhood dream or acting. He turned down John Ford, the friendship ended, and he never heard from him again. Working at 20^th Century Fox for 17 months, Lyle Wheeler, the head of the art department, had important connections at the Walt Disney Studios, Burbank, and sent Sam over for an interview on a cool Monday, December 6, 1954. They reviewed his portfolio, and Sam was added to Walt’s group of first Imagineers who were designing Disneyland Anaheim on a temporary two-week trial contract. Sam reported to the studio the next day on December 7^th. Walt’s feedback was brief, highly enthusiastic, and directly led to his hiring. Then a few days later Walt scanned Sam’s detailed old-west drawings, he was so impressed by the sheer volume and narrative action of the artwork that he immediately threw out the temporary two-week contract, bypassed the trial period, and made Sam a permanent member of the core WED Enterprise design team. On Sam’s first day, he was in a room with six other artists in the Animation building at Disney’s Burbank studios, when a mustached gentleman stuck his head in the door, and looking at Sam, said, “Hi, I’m Walt Disney, and who are you?” Sam introduced himself, and Walt thanked the artists from the collection of various studios for their help in building Disneyland. A few days later, Sam was walking towards Walt in the Animation building and greeted him, Walt replied, “Good morning, Samuel!” This was before name tags, and surprised, Sam later remarked, “I couldn’t believe the boss remembered my name.”One morning, early on, Walt popped into Sam’s workspace, and said, “Samuel, what do you think of a mouse as a major character?” Sam worked closely with Walt for 12 years and said, “I very much cherished those years with Walt.” Walt liked Sam and his talent and assigned him various assignments, before he passed away, December 15, 1966, at the age of 65 at St. Joseph Hospital in Burbank, just across the street from the Disney Studios.

Sam McKim’s Disney Portfolio

Sam’s background as a Hollywood child actor and incredible art skills helped capture the exact concept that Walt wanted for the park. Walt immediately shifted Sam’s responsibilities to establish the look for the entire sector of the park, relying on his vast cinematic experience to bring high-energy action to the park. Sam’s first assignment was creating inspirational interior concept sketches for the legendary Slue-Foot Sue’s Golden Horseshoe Salon in Frontierland and the shooting gallery. He created the colorful Pirates Map, for Pirates Souvenir Magazine the early concepts for the Haunted Mansion, and interior ghost interactions. He was involved in the planning of the Fort on Tom Sawyer’s Island, the Columbia Ship, Jungle Cruise, the Indian Village, and animals and figures along the river’s edge. Furthermore, he designed the preshow production artwork for Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln. In 1958 he created the first highly detailed large format souvenir maps that were sold in the park, and the official commemorative map for the1992 opening of Disneyland Paris. Contributed early scenic and atmospheric illustrations for Pirates of the Caribbean, and the New Orleans Square attraction, and conceptual sketches for the Disneyland Monorail system and Main Street, USA’s architectural ornamentation window names and graphics. Other artwork includes the Carousel of Progress in It’s a Small World, and concepts and paintings for all four major Disney designed pavilions in the 1964/65, New York World’s Fair.

Epcot Center

Sam developed early conceptual layout designs for Epcot, and foundational inspirational wings for the park’s architectural aesthetic. In The Hall of Presidents, he was the art director for an incredible amount of detail, and all of the audio animatronic Presidents, he painted the grand historical artwork in the anteroom, and layout designs for the Epcot American pavilion; painted the iconic “Giving Thanks,” and incorporated the likenesses of several famous fellow imagineers directly into the art work, and also created concept work for the Norway pavilion boat ride.

Sam McKim retired in January 1987, and in 1991, he was pulled out of retirement to develop the official commemorative map for the 1992 opening of Disneyland Paris, and also shared his expertise teaching night classes at Art Center College of Design for ten years. In 1996 Sam was honored with the “Disney Legends Award.” Also, in Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom, Frontierland, the company named their Disney Vacation Club Member Lounge, “McKim’s Mile House.”

Final Thoughts

One afternoon a thug was in Sam’s neighborhood and unsuccessfully trying to break into homes. Sam caught a glimpse of him, the police were called, and they asked Sam if he had, by chance, any description of the man? Sam pulled out a sheet of paper and drew a sketch of him and handed it to the startled officer. They caught the man, and the police thanked Sam, noting that his sketch was an identical likeness of the man.

Many incredible memories of my great neighbors Sam and his late wife Dorothy, who never once spoke about their achievements, and who always seemed to be smiling. Countless thanks to their two sons, Matt McKim, retired Walt Disney Imagineer, sculptor, and designer, and Brian McKim, former animator and feature illustrator. Sam McKim passed, July 9, 2004, age 79.

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― Ousmane Sembène

Ousmane Sembène, the son of a poor Senegalese fisherman and wife, taught himself to read and write in French. His maternal mother primarily reared and greatly influenced him.

Recurrent themes of Sembène’s films are the history of colonialism, the failings of religion, the critique of the new African bourgeoisie, and the strength of African women in French colonial Senegal.

Sembène’s knowledge of French and basic Arabic besides Wolof, his mother tongue, were based on many of his life experiences in menial labor jobs. Sembène stowed away to reach France, where he worked at a Citroën factory in Paris. He went south to work on the docks at Marseille, where he became active in the French trade union movement. Soon he joined the Communist party. During World War II he was drafted into the Senegalese Tirailleurs (a corps of the French Army).]His later World War II service was with the Free French Forces. After the war, he returned to his home country. In 1947 he participated in a long railroad strike, on which he later based his seminal novel God’s Bits of Wood (1960). In the narrative, the character, Diaw, writes a novel, which is later stolen by a white woman and published under her name. When he confronts her, he accidentally kills her. He is tried and executed.

His debut novel marked the beginning of Sembène’s literary reputation. The success of the novel provided enough financial return for him to continue writing his second novel, (1957) O Pays, mon beau peuple! (Oh country, my beautiful people!), which tells the story of Oumar, an ambitious black Senegalese farmer who returns to his native Casamance with a new white wife and ideas for modernizing the area’s agricultural practices. Oumar struggles against both the French colonial government and the village social order, and he is eventually murdered.

Sembène’s third and most famous novel is Les Bouts de Bois de Dieu (God’s Bits of Wood, 1960); which most critics consider his masterpiece. The novel is a fictional treatment of the railroad strike on the Dakar-Niger line, which lasted from 1947 to 1948. Although the charismatic and brilliant union spokesman, Ibrahima Bakayoko, is the most central figure, the novel has no true hero except the community itself. The people band together in the face of hardship and oppression to assert their rights.

Key Films

As an author concerned with social change, Sembène wished to touch a wider audience. He realized that his written works would reach only the cultural elites, but that films were “the people’s night school” and could reach a much broader African audience, many of whom were illiterate. He was often seen riding a bicycle which carried cans of film to small villages. Along the way he would attach movie posters to buildings.

In 1966 he produced his first feature film, La Noire de...(Black Girl),based on one of his own short stories; it was the first feature film ever released by a sub-Saharan African director. Though only 60 minutes long, the French-language film won the Prix Jean Vigo, bringing immediate international attention to African films. The story is where a Senegalese girl becomes a servant to a wealthy French family, where she is tricked in thinking she was a nanny, but really a maid and treated with little respect. Her suicide, complete with high heels and her most expensive gowns, in a bathtub is harrowing.

Sembène followed this success with the 1968 Mandabi, where a Senegalese man is forced to cope with a money order from Paris. This achieved Sembène’s dream of producing a film in his native Wolof language.

His later Wolof-language films include Xala (1975), a comedy about a corrupt politician with three wives, who is cursed with impotence. This takes place when the French depart from Senegal, where the politician only drinks French bottled water and wears expensive suits made in Paris. After the ‘Xala’ commences, he is finally reduced to ‘humiliating’ tribal customs, orchestrated by a village witch doctor.

Ceddo (1977). The story takes place in Senegal, sometime after the establishment of a European presence in the area but before the imposition of direct French colonial administration. The ‘Ceddo’ (the outsiders, or non-Muslims) try to preserve their animist traditional culture against Islam, Christianity, and the slave trade. The Senegalese release of Ceddo was heavily censored, ostensibly for a problem with Sembène’s paperwork, though some critics suggest that this censorship had more to do with the government’s interpretation of what could be considered anti-Muslim content in the film.

His final film, the 2004 feature Moolaadé, is set in a small African village in Burkina Faso, which explored the still controversial act of female mutilation.

Death

Ousmane Sembène died on 9 June 2007, at the age of 84. He had been ill since December 2006, and died at his home in Dakar, Senegal, where he was buried in a shroud adorned with Quranic verses. Sembène was survived by three sons from two marriages.

Seipati Bulane Hopa, Secretary General of the Pan African Federation of Filmmakers (FEPACI), described Sembène as “a luminary that lit the torch for ordinary people to walk the path of light…a voice that spoke without hesitation, a man with an impeccable talent who unwaveringly held on to his artistic principles and did that with great integrity and dignity.”

South Africa’s Pallo Jordan, Minister of Arts and Culture, went further in eulogizing Sembène as “a well-rounded intellectual and an exceptionally cultured humanist…an informed social critic [who] provided the world with an alternative knowledge of Africa.”

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Frank Frost learned early what it takes to stand out in a crowd. In a family of thirteen children, you might even say he was born to it. All eyes were on Little Frank the day his father brought home their first piano. Drawn toward the instrument like a moth to flame, Frost began pounding out the ‘boogie-woogie’ the very instant he touched the keys.

The author and Frank Frost

As young Frank matured so did his musical skills. He spent years accompanying the local church choirs and would eventually discovery other instruments, as well as venues, beyond the church pew.

“Howlin’ Wolf was playing at Brinkley, Arkansas. A small town, a small club; Frank Brooks’ Club in Brinkley. I couldn’t get in the club, I wasn’t old enough. So he (Wolf) said, ‘Well, you get on your bicycle, go to the drugstore and buy a harmonica.’ Eighteen cents is all you paid for a harmonica then, eighteen cents. So, I get on the bicycle and go get it.

I come back and go in and he takes me on his knee, ‘This is my baby, this is my son.’ I couldn’t get in the club no other way. He was playing with Roscoe Gordon and ‘Moanin’ at Midnight’ was the only record he had out.”

Frank Frost was all of thirteen years old. When he remembers the Wolf now, it’s with one word. “Power. He had a lot of power, whole lot’s of power!”

When it comes to influences none had a more significant impact on Frost’s musical direction than Alex ‘Rice’ Miller. Miller, known the world over as Sonny Boy Williamson II, taught Frank the finer points of blowing the blues harp. From the late 50’s through the early 60’s, Frost worked the club and bar circuit with Williamson and was a featured performer with Joe Willie Wilkins on Sonny Boys’ King Biscuit Time radio show. Frost was learning from the master.

“He was great. I played guitar behind him for three years. A kind person and I knew his wife well. Mattie Williams. Mattie was Junior Parker’s mother. Mattie Parker. He (Sonny Boy) married Junior Parker’s mother.”

Throughout his career Frank Frost played, toured and recorded with the very best. His stage and recording credentials read like blues mythology. He appeared with Muddy Waters, B.B. King, Albert King and Little Milton. In Memphis, Frank spent time in the studio with Sam Phillips at Sun Records and regularly worked in Nashville with country rockers, Carl Perkins and Conway Twitty. It was while working the club circuit with pal Sam Carr that Frost first came to know Carr’s father, legendary bluesman Robert Nighthawk. Frank remembers Nighthawk as an innovator and a willing teacher.

“Robert Nighthawk had a style of music, he played bass and lead guitar. Elmore James did the same. He (Elmore) was one of the best people with slide, I ever heard. He learnt that from Robert Nighthawk. Robert Nighthawk learnt Elmore how to play slide.”

Another bluesman that guided Frank’s blues and profoundly influenced his harp style was Marion Walter Jacobs, and Frank remembered him fondly.

“Little Walter was born to blow a harp. He was great. The man could play more harp that anybody I heard. He could do lots of things with the chromatic harmonica. I never had picked up a chromatic until I met him. So I says’ ‘What’s this (great big harp?) What’s this, Walter?’ He says, ‘It’s a harp, fool.’ (laughs) He said, ‘Go ahead, blow it.’ I said, ‘I ain’t ever blowed anything like this.’ I blowed a small harp, you know?

So every Thursday and Friday night, he played two nights a week in Chicago, I’d go to the clubs all the time. So now I know how to play chromatic. He showed me lots of things about it.”

(One little known historical note; had Frank Frost been more accomplished on the guitar at the time, he would have played a much greater role during the Little Walter ‘Juke’ sessions.)

“I could never get it right. I wasn’t a good enough guitar player. He (Little Walter) really wanted me to play on that song, but I just couldn’t. I was just beginning to learn how to play guitar.”

During his life, Frost held a variety of jobs outside music. He worked as a schoolhouse janitor for thirteen years in Lula, Mississippi simply because “you couldn’t make a living out of the blues in the States. You got to have a job or you ain’t gonna’ make it.”

It’s doubtful that Frank’s work ethic would ever be questioned especially after one particular grueling, thirty-one day ‘tundra’ tour with Sonny Terry and Brown McGhee.

“All festivals, all up through Canada. One thing…I did twelve harmonica shows in one day. Liked to killed me. Fast as I could get off one stage and on to the next one, to get on time. But I won’t do that anymore. We should have never did that, you know? That’s too much, too much blowing harmonica. Think about that. Twelve harmonica shows in one day. That’s lots of shows to blow harmonica. Too hard. Too hard.”

With more than forty years on the road behind him, Frank took a few moments to ponder what continued to motivate him.

“The first thing is…MONEY!” (laughs)

“No, no I love the blues. I love the blues! I was born for the blues and been playing the blues a long time. And you meet so many young people. People that’s young, that play the blues as hard as I do. So that makes me feel great.”

There’s something very familiar about the music Frank Frost plays. It has a comfortable feel, like you’ve been listening to it for a very long time. Considering the legendary figures that became his mentors, the obstacles he overcame and the endless miles he’d traveled to get there, it’s not surprising when Frank smiles as he describes his style of blues.

“They’re a modern blues, a deep blues. I know the blues because I lived it. Blues will forever be. You do what you got to do…a dirty job but somebody’s got to do it. (laughs) Blues will forever be.”

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New Zealand’s New Wave Cinema emerged in the late 1970s, with the help of the Zealand Film Commission and government tax incentives for film production. It was a movement which was spearheaded by local and international co-productions, with a focus on action, road movies, and politically charged dramas, dominated by open-space narratives, action, stunts, car chases and primarily isolated male protagonists, living on the edge.

I didn’t even know that such a period existed until the early 1980s when I first saw a screening of director Roger Donaldson’s Sleeping Dogs (1977), a gritty thriller starring Sam Neill. It became the first major New Zealand feature widely screened abroad, exploring authoritarianism, civil unrest, and the “man apart” archetype. The film received rave international reviews, including praise from film critic Pauline Kael, and helped pave the way for Donaldson’s Hollywood career. This was followed by Smash Palace (1982), also by Donaldson.

At this point I was a goner, and anxious to see more.

While the boom ended in the mid-1980s after tax incentives were phased out, the new wave laid the groundwork for later New Zealand cinema successes such as The Piano (1993, directed by Jane Campion), Heavenly Creatures (1994, directed by Peter Jackson ), and Once Were Warriors (1994, directed by Lee Tamahori (who is half Māori) which also characterized New Zealand’s reputation for distinctive, location-driven filmmaking.

Once Were Warriors became the highest-grossing film of all time in New Zealand. It tells the story of the Heke family, an urban Māori whānau (extended family) living in South Auckland, and their problems with poverty, gambling, drugs, alcoholism and domestic violence. It explores the effects of the colonization of New Zealand, suffered by Māori, and the survival of Māori culture.

Jane Campion, a prominent New Zealand female filmmaker in world cinema, is noted for themes of feminism, sexuality, and tension between independence and submission.

Campion’s directorial debut was Sweetie (1989). She is best known for writing and directing the critically acclaimed film, The Piano (1993). Her other films include An Angel at My Table (1990), The Portrait of a Lady (1996 co-production), Holy Smoke! (1998), and Bright Star (2009). After a 10-year break, she returned with the international co-production, The Power of the Dog (2021).

For Peter Jackson, known more as an AI and special effects director, visit Peter Jackson – Wikipedia.

Somehow, I missed Goodbye Pork Pie (1981) written and directed by New Zealander Matt Murphy, the first New Zealand film to win a substantial local audience. But I plan on finding it soon.

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It all began with the French New Wave, which inspired the British New Wave’s Kitchen Sink Realism, New German Cinema, Japan’s New Wave, the Hollywood Renaissance; it seemed to be everywhere.

Background

The Australian film industry almost collapsed by the early 1960s, but The Gorton (1968-71) and Whitlam governments (1972-75) saved it from extinction with the funding of film production and the training of film makers through the Australian Film, Television and Radio School, which created a new generation of Australian filmmakers who were able to bring their visions to the screen. The 1970s saw a revival of the Australian film industry, producing almost 400 films between 1970 and 1985, altogether more than the entire backlog of Australian films.

The Australian New Wave was a period of resurgence, beginning in the early 1970s and lasted until the mid-late 1980s, which also led to Ozploitation, a film genre by the exploitation of colloquial Australian culture.

For me, as a young film student in Seattle, the precursor to the Australian New Wave began not with an Australian film director, but rather the English director, Nicholas Roeg. In his 1971 film Walkabout about two Anglo-Australian children, one a teenager and her much younger brother, who had lived a comfortable city life, but were abandoned by their father who had committed suicide on a road trip deep into the Outback. Struggling to survive in this unbearably hot and harsh terrain, they are saved by a young Aboriginal man, who is on a ‘walkabout,’ a rite of passage for Aboriginal males on the cusp of manhood. He teaches them to eat lizards, find water and hunt for lizards and wild game. The role is played by David Gulpilil, who at the time did not speak a word of English, which added to the film’s authenticity. The controversial nude swimming scene with Jenny Agutter still raises eyelids today. It is her rite of passage of emotional freedom.

KEY FILMS AND DIRECTORS

Peter Weir

Picnic at Hanging Rock is a 1975 Australian mystery directed by Peter Weir from a screenplay by Cliff Green, based on the 1967 novel by Joan Lindsay. The plot involves the disappearance of several schoolgirls and their teacher during a picnic at Hanging Rock, Victoria on Valentine’s Day in 1900, and the subsequent effect on the local community. One of school girls is never found, and, the ones which were, are mystified, unable to explain what had happened.

The film stars Rachel Roberts, Dominic Guard, Helen Morse, Vivean Gray and Jacki Weaver, who reappears on screen decades later as a middle-aged crime boss in the Australian drama, Animal Kingdom, then in Hollywood’s Silver Lining Playbook.
Weir’s protagonists are generally outsiders in their own worlds, characters out of place, facing danger, uncertainty or betrayal. These figures often undergo a loss of innocence or spiritual awakening, where the camera captures their subjective states through oneiric compositions, distorted sound, slow motion, and unconventional lighting. His cinematography is atmospheric, almost bordering on surreal, creating a sense of place that becomes essential to the narrative.

Picnic at Hanging Rock was a commercial and critical success and helped draw international attention to the then-emerging Australian New Wave. It is considered one of the most iconic and defining films of the New Wave.

Other notable Peter Weir Australian films: The Last Wave (1977), The Plumber (1979), Gallipoli (1981).

Fred Schepisi

The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith is a 1978 Australian drama film directed, written and produced by Fred Schepisi, and starring Tom E. Lewis, Freddy Reynolds and Ray Barrett.The film also featured early appearances by Bryan Brown, Arthur Dignam, and John Jarratt. It is an adaptation of the 1972 novel The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith by Thomas Keneally.

The story is about an exploited Aboriginal Australian who commits murder and goes into hiding. It is based on actual events.
The cast, a mix of professional actors (most of them white actors) and amateurs (most of them Aboriginal actors), was described by Pauline Kael as “a triumph of casting and coaching.”

Schepisi frequently sets his plots in a historical or cultural context, with precise attention to period detail. This is evident in The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith (1970s Australia), where he integrates authentic locations, costumes and social atmosphere to immerse the audience. His work often explores themes of redemption, isolation, and the human condition.

Bruce Beresford

Breaker Morant is a 1980 Australian biographical war drama film directed by Bruce Beresford, who also co-wrote the screenplay based on Kenneth G. Ross’ 1978 play of the same name. It stars Edward Woodward as the title character, Lt. Harry Harbord Breaker Morant, along with Jack Thompson, John Waters and Bryan Brown.

It is about a 1902 court martial of lieutenants Morant, Peter Handcock and George Witton, one of the first war crime prosecutions in British military history. Morant, Handcock, and Witton, Australians serving in the British Army during the Second Anglo-Boer War, are accused of murdering captured enemy combatants and an unarmed civilian in the Northern Transvaal. The film covers the exploration of the Nuremberg Defense, the politics of the death penalty and the human cost of total war. As the trial unfolds, the events in question are shown in flashbacks.

The film won ten 1980 Australian Film Institute Awards including: Best Film, Best Direction, Best Screenplay, Best Leading Actor (for Jack Thompson) and Best Supporting Actor (Bryan Brown). It was also nominated for an Academy Award for the Best Adapted Screenplay.

Breaker Morant remains the movie with which Beresford is most identified and has “hoisted the images of the accused officers to the level of Australian icons and martyrs.” In a 1999 interview Beresford said Breaker Morant “never pretended for a moment” that the defendants were not guilty as charged. He had intended the film to explore how wartime atrocities can be “committed by people who appear to be quite normal.”

Beresford films showcase their ability to evoke empathy and provoke thought, often blending intimate personal stories with broader social or historical contexts. His camerawork is often unobtrusive, allowing performances and story to take center stage. This is particularly evident where music, setting or period detail enhances the emotional tone.

Other notable Beresford Australian films: Don’s Party (1976).

George Miller

Mad Max is a 1979 Australian dystopian action film directed by George Miller in his directorial debut, who co-wrote the screenplay with James McCausland, based on a story by Miller and Byron Kennedy. Mel Gibson stars as “Mad” Max Rockatansky, a police officer turned vigilante in a dystopian near-future Australia.

Filmed on a budget of $400,000, it earned more than $100 million worldwide in gross revenue and set a Guinness record for most profitable Australian film of the year. The success of Mad Max has been credited for further opening the global market to Australian New Wave films.

Mad Max became the first in the series, giving rise to three sequels: Mad Max 2 (1981), Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985) and Mad Max: Fury Road (2015).

In the original 1979 Australian version, Mel Gibson spoke with a thick Australian accent. But for the American release it was redubbed with American voices to make it easier for U.S. audiences to understand. The U.S. dub also replaced Australian slang with American equivalents (e.g., “Oi!” became “Hey!”, “very toey” became “super hot”) and altered some sound effects.

George Miller’s style is defined by spectacular, practical filmmaking, archetypal narratives, thematic duality, and genre flexibility, all underpinned by a consistent empathy for his characters and a belief in cinema as a universal storytelling medium.

Philip Noyce

Newsfront is a 1978 Australian drama film directed by Phillip Noyce, and starring Bill Hunter, Wendy Hughes, Chris Haywood and Bryan Brown. The film is shot in both black and white and in color, incorporating actual newsreel footage.

Newsfront is about newsreel cameramen who are committed to finding compelling footage of newsworthy events. The film begins in 1948 and ends in 1956, when television was introduced to Australia, and follows the destinies of the cameramen’s quest within the context of sweeping social and political changes in their native Australia. I learned a lot.

Noyce often combines tight, tension-filled sequences with vivid environmental settings; urban landscapes, natural backdrops, or period-specific locales. He integrates action with deeper narrative exploration, ensuring that even the most spectacular scenes serve the story.

Gillian Armstrong

My Brilliant Career is a 1979 Australian period drama film directed by Gillian Armstrong, and starring Judy Davis, Sam Neill, and Wendy Hughes. Based on the 1901 novel of the same name by Miles Franklin, it follows a young woman in rural, late-19th-century Australia whose aspirations to become a writer are impeded first by her social circumstance, and later by an early romance. My Brilliant Career was released in Australia in August 1979 and later premiered in the United States at the New York Film Festival. It received significant critical acclaim, and was nominated for numerous AFI Awards, winning three, while Davis won the BAFTA Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role. In the United States, it received nominations for the Academy Award for Best Costume Design, and the Golden Globe Award for Best Foreign Film.

The film is regarded as being part of the Australian New Wave, as well as a piece of feminist cinema.

Armstrong’s work consistently explores women’s inner lives, relationships and the choices that shape their identities. While often associated with feminist themes, she emphasizes portraying complex individuals rather than making intentional political statements. Her films are anchored in emotional truth and psychological depth, noted for sharp story sense, meticulous design, and a strong sense of rhythm. Armstrong often uses period authenticity in historical settings, grounding her work in real locations and authentic period detail. Her visual language brings attention to music, lighting, and mise-en-scène that enhances the narrative.

The Road to Hollywood

Due to their success in Australian cinema, this led to the road to Hollywood, for big money and budgets, and bigger screen goers, many unaware that the Australian New Wave even existed.

Here are a few American films directed by these Australians:

Peter Weir: The Year of Living Dangerously, Witness, The Mosquito Coast, Dead Poets Society, Green Card, Fearless, The Truman Show, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World

Fred Schepisi: Barbarosa, Iceman, Roxanne, A Cry in the Dark, Six Degrees of Separation

Bruce Beresford: Black Robe, Driving Miss Daisy, Tender Mercies

George Miller: Lorenzo’s Oil, Babe, Witches of Eastwick

Gillian Armstrong: Little Women (1994), Starstruck, The Last Days of Chez Nous, Mrs. Soffel, Charlotte Gray

Phillip Noyce: Dead Calm, Clear Present Danger

Stay tuned for the New Zealand New Wave.

The post There was once a New Wave heard around the World: Australian Cinema appeared first on Traveling Boy.

The man has spent a lifetime making music, or what he likes to call “traditional blues, the way it was played, the way it was made.” He has circled the globe, recording and performing with some of the most legendary names in the blues genre; yet his road can be traced right back to his roots in Mississippi.

I’ve had the privilege of sitting down with John on several occasions and I’ve always been amazed at his unlimited energy and drive. This time we spoke just prior to a show in San Diego and the conversation included his road, his music and the debut of his own daughter, Aliya; and the next generation of blues.

Is it true that you made your first instrument, a diddley bow?  “Yeah, I did.” John says. “I used some wire that came out of my grand mama’s broom or sometimes we’d burn up a car tire and get the wire outta’ there. That was the best one, the best one to make a diddley bow out of. But my uncle and cousin had one made up already and I learned from that until I started making my own. It was just one string and you’d nail it to the house or wherever you could nail it and use a bottle to get sound out of it and that’s where I started from, you know?”

Tell me about your first musical memories or when you first heard the blues? “My grandma’s record collection is where I first heard the blues and stuff like that; it was from a record, yeah. We had 78s and 45s. I had a cousin that lived down the hill from me, she had a wind-up phonograph. So my cousin had it and I’d get up in a chair like this, so I could reach it and play it. I’d play Bo Diddley and Muddy Waters. Get in that chair and wind it up and listen to it play those 78 records. Muddy Waters, ‘Can’t Be Satisfied’ John Lee Hooker…” (John breaks into song) ‘…my baby got somethin’ I sure do love…my baby got something.’”

Being from a share cropping family, you grew up working? “I did, yeah. We couldn’t go to the fields until we got twelve years old, I started in the field then. But picking cotton and stuff wasn’t my…I never wanted to do that kinda’ stuff, I wanted to play guitar and be a musician. I didn’t think I could do good picking cotton or pullin’ corn; too rough for me. But I did it, yeah.”

Do you remember the first time you actually played on a guitar? “Uh, I was about three or four years old. I had a cousin who had one, it was an acoustic guitar but I don’t remember what the name was, I was too little to know. I couldn’t read then, I was too young.” But you knew you wanted to play it. “I wanted to play guitar, all my life I wanted to be a musician.”

You leave Mississippi for Chicago in 1963. “I came to Chicago when I was eighteen years old. It was great! Music was everywhere, comin’ all out of people’s houses, bands playing and rehearsing in houses. When I was growing up in Mississippi I thought all those guys that were singing the blues back then were up in blues heaven; thought they’d passed. But when I got to Chicago I found out this is where they all was…in Chicago.” (laughing) “Howlin’ Wolf, Jimmy Reed…all those guys were in Chicago.”

Talk a little about Maxwell Street. “In 1963 I used to go down there all the time, every Sunday. I used to see a guy named One Arm John (Big John Wrencher) and I knew him really well, I couldn’t figure out how he could blow that harmonica with one arm, but he was a good harmonica player. And you’d see Muddy Waters down there and John Lee Hooker. I just wasn’t familiar with all these guys because when I was in Mississippi, I was familiar with Lightnin’ Hopkins and Arthur ‘Big Boy’ Crudup… all the old guys, Big Bill Broonzy.”

The clubs and bars in Chicago in the 50s and 60s were pretty rowdy places to play. “Yeah, it was insane. They’d be fighting in there or they get drunk and some of the men would get jealous because some other man was talking to his woman. I remember when Little Walter played, he was a handsome dude and the women were crazy about him, so there’d be a fight even before the show was over. Little Walter was crazy.”

Snooky Pryor told me about a place called the ‘Bucket o’ Blood’ you ever play there? “I remember that. There was a place called the ‘Bucket o’ Blood’ and we weren’t allowed to go in there. My friends…it was in Chicago and my buddies, you know I’d hear them talk about the Bucket o’ Blood and I knew where it was, but I was too afraid to go in there!” (laughing)

When you listen to John Primer’s blues, you hear influences from the Delta, there’s some funk and R&B as well. How do you get all these styles to flow through your music? “I learned when I started to play guitar and I kept learning when I came to Chicago. See, when I grew up I came up with all that music. All the blues, the old-time blues they were creating back then, everybody was playing it. That’s why I know so much old blues from way back. I’m just like an elephant; I don’t forget nothin’…I remember! I could play the blues when I was down in Mississippi but when I came to Chicago I studied all types of music.”

‘She Do the Right Thing All of the Time’ – John Primer

Tell us about your association with Sammy Lawhorn? “I got the chance to play at Theresa’s Lounge with him. I didn’t know nothin’ about Sammy and I started working at Theresa’s in 1972 and Sammy was the guitar player ‘cause Muddy had fired him. He played with Muddy for 15 years. He fired him because he’d always go onstage and get drunk and be playing, you know? He’d get drunk at Theresa’s when I got down there, he’d get drunk and I’m a rhythm guitar player and that was the worst time. When he’d get drunk, I was so nervous and scared, what am I gonna’ do?”

What did you learn from that relationship? “Oh man, I learned…7 years. He (Lawhorn) told me, ‘learn what I play, but you can’t be me.’ Learn what I play, but I won’t be here forever and you’ll be playing this. I started learning slide by listening to him.”

You worked at Theresa’s Lounge for seven years? “Seven years; seven nights a week!” With Junior Wells and Sammy Lawhorn, that’s crazy. “Yeah, Junior Wells and Sammy Lawhorn. I’d just stay in the back and watch people drink and get drunk.” (laughing) “…drinking whiskey and stuff. All the musicians hung out there, Willie Dixon, sometimes Muddy Waters came through there, Louis Myers and the Four Aces, Johnny Winter and Mike Bloomfield. They all came out and hung out there and played. I learned a lot down there. But I played with Louis Myers and Dave Myers, the Four Aces, Fred Below all those guys would come down there and play sometimes.”

How did your association with Willie Dixon’s All-Stars come about? “I was playing at Theresa’s and Willie Dixon came down and I’d be singing all the Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters stuff. I was lookin’ who is this big guy sittin’ there? I didn’t know who he was. In 1979 he needed a guitar player to go to Mexico.” (Willie Dixon’s All-Stars) Primer in his best low growl Willie Dixon impression… ‘Hey, I like the way you play. You know my stuff and I need a guitar player to go to Mexico, you interested?’ I said Yeah! ‘Do you have a passport?’ I said no. ‘Tell you what, I’ll be by your house on Monday and we’ll go downtown and get you a passport. You got any money?’ I said no. A passport cost $80 bucks, man. ‘You can just pay me.’

That late 70s All-Stars tour had some talent. “Koko Taylor, Muddy Waters, Big Bill Broonzy, the guy that had the guitar strings all tied up there.” (laughing) “Larry Davis. That’s when Muddy heard me play…with them. Before they came up to play, Muddy and Dixon were back there talking and Muddy ask him (Primer in his best Muddy impression) ‘who-who’s that young man…playing that guitar…up there?’ (Primer does Dixon’s growl) ‘That’s John Primer…he works down at Theresa’s.’ Muddy responded, ‘That man sure knows my music.’ So, in 1980 when Muddy’s band quit, he called Willie Dixon and asked for me.”

You worked with Muddy till he passed? “Yeah,” John says. “About two and a half years.” From listening to Muddy when you were a child, then getting that call to come play with him…I just can’t imagine. “It was my dream; I had a dream when I was in Mississippi at about 14 years old about playing in Muddy’s band. So my dream came true. I was jumping for joy when they came down there and got me. Mojo Buford came down there.” Primer in his best Mojo impression… ‘Muddy needs a guitar player, he sent me down to ask you, did you want to join the group?’ “What? Man, I jumped for joy. Lovie Lee playing piano, Jessie Clayton was the first guy to play drums but he didn’t want to go out of town, he didn’t want to leave his wife. So I took Lovie Lee and we went and got ‘Killer’ Ray Allison and a guy named Rick Kreher; Rick is playing on my CD, ‘Hard Times.’ The last guitar players to play with Muddy Waters…was Rick and me. So, I gotta’ chance to play with Muddy, man. I was full of joy; I didn’t even go to sleep that night, waiting for Mojo to come get me.”

There are so many people that you’ve played with, but I gotta’ ask about playing with the Stones and Muddy at the Checkerboard Lounge…that’s just wildness. “That one video, it helped me out, a lot.” John remembers. “People didn’t really recognize me too much when I was playing with Willie Dixon but when I got with Muddy Waters; it really put the icing on the cake for me. The thing I learned from Willie Dixon was how to write blues. I try to write the blues the same way he did. He was a great writer and bluesman, he was the greatest. So that’s the way I try to be, I just try to keep it traditional and keep it real so the young generation can know what it was because a lot of them haven’t ever heard it before…so they can keep the blues alive for the future, you know? That’s my plan, yeah.”

Muddy Waters at the Checkerboard Lounge with the Rolling Stones. “Baby Please Don’t Go.’

You also played on James Cotton’s ‘Take Me Back’ album.(laughing) “Aw man, James Cotton was something else, man. When he’d come back in town, that’s where he’d come; Theresa’s! And they’d hang out all night and be out until daylight…Whiskey and Cocaine. I toured with him all over, Phoenix, Denver he was trip, man.”

Then came the Holt’s… “Magic Slim! It was right on time for me ‘cause Slim was another guy like Muddy; workin’ hard, a workin’ man and workin’ all the time. Thirteen years.”

Let’s talk a little about your current band and the fact that it now occasional features someone very special singing with you. “My daughter, Aliya.” You can see John’s eyes light up when he speaks of her performance in San Diego a year or so ago. “It was her debut.” He grins. “She’s was learning how to play guitar and she’s doing good. She wouldn’t tell me but she came home and told her mom, ‘I don’t want to play guitar, I want to sing! And I think I want to sing the blues. I want to be just like dad and play music, something everybody loves.’ He’s smiling again. “She can sing.” He beams. “We used to take her on tour with us everywhere…she was two or three years old and traveling around.”

Well, let me ask you Aliya…what’s it like playing with your father? She smiles, “It’s crazy!” They both laugh. “You can’t really explain it, just the major opportunities that I have. That I was born into automatically…”

You literally grew up on the road, touring with your mom and dad. “Yeah, I was in Turkey when I was three years old, I don’t even remember. But I started out touring with them way back then so it’s always been a major part of my life. I’ve always been around the music business, so it just seemed natural that I’d want to continue that.”

Although your debut on stage is relatively new, you already have studio session work on your resume, appearing on a couple of different albums. Guest vocalist credits on a Bob Corritore project and two of your dad’s records; ‘The Soul of a Blues Man’ and ‘Hard Times.’ That’s an awesome way to kick-start a career. “Well, when I was working with Bob Corritore, it was kind of crazy and chaotic just getting to the studio. Dad and I had just gotten off the plane…we had travelled to Arizona, got off the plane, got into the studio, recorded, got it done and got out of there…and that was my first experience.” Welcome to the life of a musician. “The guys are such pros and they make it seem so easy and natural. It was such a fun time and it didn’t seem like work at all.”

You sang lead vocals on the song ‘Tough Times.’ “We were in the studio with just me and my mom and my dad and all of us just hanging out, so that was just really low-stress, easy and fun for me to do. I really, really enjoyed it.”   

John and Aliya Primer ‘Tough Times.’

John, as you look down the road do you see a future with blues in it? “Well, I hope people will pay more attention to the blues, just to see what it’s all about. There’s not many people around now playing the real stuff. You can put whatever you want into the blues and I say this all the time, you cannot change the blues. You can add rock and roll players and call it blues. It’s not the real blues, but I like what they do and I’ve got nothing against it because… they’re keeping the blues alive! So I give them the respect.”

And if you had to describe John Primer’s blues. “It’s the traditional blues, the way it was played, the way it was made. That’s the way I play it. I don’t try to change it. Not just blues, but all music has got to have a feeling. My feelings come from hard times and hard living and that’s the way I play…from my heart. Everything you see me playing on stage is going to be real close to the original stuff.”

The post John Primer – Generational Blues appeared first on Traveling Boy.

I fondly remember Lake Geneva (Matterhorn Region) when Switzerland Tourism blew into Los Angeles on January, 2017 with the most esteemed guest, Eugene Chaplin. A man of remarkable lineage, he is the fifth child of Oona O’Neill and Sir Charles Spencer “Charlie” Chaplin, the grandson of playwright Eugene O’Neill, the brother of Geraldine Chaplin and father of actress/model Kiera Chaplin.

Eugene Chaplin in Los Angeles. Courtesy Switzerland Tourism

An artist in his own rite, Eugene directed the documentary film Charlie Chaplin: A Family Tribute and created the musical ‘Smile,’ a narration of his father’s life through his music. He’s also a recording engineer, having worked with The Rolling Stones, David Bowie, and Queen. He was in town to promote Chaplin’s World, the first-ever museum dedicated to the life and work of Charles Chaplin in the filmmaker’s former home in Vevey, Switzerland.

Back Story

In 1952 Charles Chaplin was exiled from the U.S. as a result of the House Un-American Activities Committee’s witch hunts, a disturbing period in U.S. history where Cold War tensions fueled fears of widespread Communist subversion. The committee used various charges of communism, communist sympathies and disloyalty to attack a number of politicians and other individuals, many Hollywood personalities. Chaplin was considered dangerously progressive and amoral. It was also revealed that he had never bothered to become a U.S. citizen. When Chaplin and family were departing for a trip to England, Chaplin was informed that he would have to submit to an interview concerning his political views and moral behavior in order to re-enter the U.S. Rather than fight a pending investigation by Immigration Services, Chaplin decided not to return to Hollywood. The Chaplin family, though, needed a new address in Europe. His half-brother Sydney Chaplin, suggested they visit Switzerland. Chaplin was taken by the peace and quiet of the Lake Geneva region, with its stunning lake and countryside, not to mention the attractive tax laws.

Gardening was one of Chaplin’s passions at Manoir de Ban. Courtesy photo

He purchased the vacant Manoir de Ban, a neoclassical mansion in Corsier-sur-Vevey, a wine-growing region near the banks of Lake Geneva. This is where he chose to live his remaining years with his family, from 1952 until his death in 1977. According to the Chaplin family, his 25-years at Manoir de Ban constituted his “happy years,” where he would walk in the grounds, garden, play with his children and host friends from around the globe. He also spent a large percentage of his time working on the screenplays for his films A King in New York, A Countess from Hong Kong and The Freak (which was never filmed), as well as adding music to his silent films, which he composed at the family piano. There’s a version of the Gold Rush, where he eliminated the title cards of the silent film, speaking all of the parts instead. In1964 in wrote My Autobiography at the Manoir.

Courtesy Chaplin’s World

On April 17, 2016, Chaplin’s former home and expansive grounds were officially open for the whole world to see. Rechristened Chaplin’s World – Manoir de Ban was repurposed and expanded as a museum that showcases Chaplin’s work and life as a family man in Switzerland. The goal was to allow visitors to discover the man behind the movies. The centerpiece of the museum is the three story, richly decorated Manoir, and the newly constructed Studio.

The grand opening at Chaplin’s World. Courtesy Chaplin’s World

A reproduced Winston Churchill pays a visit to Manoir de Ban.
Courtesy Chaplin’s World

In the Manoir, visitors are introduced to the Chaplin family, which has been restaged with a number of its original furnishings, personal items, photographs and family mementos. Each room focuses on a particular period of Chaplin’s personal life, while the dining room pays homage to the family’s everyday routines as well as the many Hollywood celebrities who visited them.

The new interactive studio features the work of Chaplin the artist which commences with a montage of clips from his half-century of writing, directing, producing, scoring and acting in movies. He outdid himself in the 1928 film, The Circus, where he also wrote and sang the title song for a rerelease in 1969. Curiously, he doesn’t mention the film once in his autobiography. The interactive studio is followed by an exhibition of recreated scenes and sets from many of his most famous films, along with wax figures of Chaplin’s famous co-stars.

Courtesy photo

It’s almost like a theme park where guest can enter the iconic cabin from The Gold Rush, while in the middle of a simulated blizzard, sit in the famous barber’s chair from The Great Dictator (where Chaplin played two roles), or negotiating the cogs of the industrial revolution machine from the madcap scene in Modern Times.

A statue of Chaplin graces the shores of Lake Geneva in Vevey.
Courtesy My Switzerland

A stroll in the Manoir’s 10 acres of expansive green grounds is mandatory with the reward of stunning views of the Swiss Alps and Lake Geneva.

Chaplin fans can also enjoy the onsite restaurant, affectionately named The Tramp.

If you decide to spend additional time in the breathtaking Lake Geneva region, The Modern Times Hotel is conveniently located nearby.

The post Eugene Chaplin Introduces Chaplin’s World Museum In Vevey, Switzerland appeared first on Traveling Boy.

The applause was still dying down as 80 year old Joe Willie ‘Pinetop’ Perkins stepped off the stage at the 1993 Long Beach Blues Festival in Southern California. As someone handed him a cold drink he sauntered over and sat down next to me. 80… and he wasn’t even winded. I still gave him a few minutes to settle and replenish his fluids…okay, beer. After shaking a few more hands and joking with friends and admirers, he turned toward me as if to say, alright young man, ask away.

Armed with a manuscript of questions I started with when people first stopped referring to him as Joe Willie Perkins, and began to call him, ‘Pinetop.’

“After I made ‘Pinetop’s Boogie Woogie’ over again (originally recorded by Clarence ‘Pinetop’ Smith) on Sun’s Records back in the 50’s.”

Joe Willie ‘Pinetop’ Perkins at the 1993 Long Beach Blues Festival.
Photo: Yachiyo Mattox

As one of the few surviving early Delta players, I wanted to know what he remembered about growing up on the Paines-Deadman Plantation? He looked surprised. “Paines? (I flicker my papers like a deck of cards) Man, that’s way back there and I can’t hardly think of everything, but I’ll do the best I can with it. Paine’s-Deadman… aw man, I used to live out there. Plowed ‘a mule, picked cotton, pulled corn.“

That the reason you turned to music? “Yea man, I had to do something,’ you know to keep things going. That was way back man, in the 30’s, last part of the 20’s and early 30’s, along in there.”

What do you remember about Honey Island? “Nuthin!” (laughing) “That’s where I was born and my mother and them take me out from there before I know anything about it, you know?”

Do you recall the first time you ever heard the blues? “Oh man, I can’t hardly tell ya’ when that is. It’s been a looong time ago. That’s way back in the 20’s.”

Did you hear it in the fields? “Yea…peoples say, ‘who taught you how to play?’ Nobody! I taught myself. I had a musical talent, I guess.”

There’s really no guessing about this man’s talent. Perkin’s earliest instrument was a piece of wire stretched between two nails tacked on a wall. That one string ‘diddley-bow’ would eventually become a guitar, and a few years later, piano. “I played guitar first, and got in Helena, Arkansas and a one of them ladies done stabbed me in the arm and I can’t play guitar no more. So, that’s the way it went.”

You were just a kid (around 10 or 11) when you first played in a honkeytonk called the Old Barrelhouse? “Yea, that was in Belzoni, Mississippi. Yea, I remember that, that’s where I learned at. Every once in awhile I get on the piano, banging on it and they try to run me out, ‘Boy, get outta’ there! And no sooner it gets cooled down, I go right back on it again, you know? (laughing) The Barrelhouse Club, years ago.”

You seem to have played EVERYWHERE! Country dances, traditional picnics and fish fries; did you ever play in any houses of ill repute? “Well, I played in some houses, don’t know if they were whore houses or not. They might have been. (I swear I see a glint in his eye as he starts laughing) I played in everything. In the Blues Brothers movie and all that stuff…Angel Heart.”

From the beginning you were running with a pretty fast crowd, literally some of the all-time blues greats. Robert Nighthawk, Sonny Boy Williamson, Earl Hooker, Big Joe Williams… “Big Joe Williams? Oh man, I loved that Joe. He never did sing with me none. I love that Joe, man.” Pinetop also knew jazz vocalist, Joe Williams and remembered, “He played with Count Basie a long time. My best memory of Big Joe was he was a good singer, he was really good. I loved the way he sung.”

Tell us a little about your association with Robert Nighthawk? “Oh man, I played with Robert about four years. And what took me from Robert Nighthawk when I was over in Helena, Arkansas…we was advertising Bright Star Flour. Mr Max Moore, Interstate Grocery Man at KFFA, he heard me and told Sonny Boy (Williamson) ‘Looky here man, hey, go over there and get him. I want him to play for me.’ He loved the way I played piano. Dudlow (Robert Taylor) was playing, Mr. 5×5 (not to be confused with Jimmy Rushing) was playing then.”

Perkins played on a number of the most popular live radio broadcasts out of Helena. As mentioned, the Bright Star Flour program with Nighthawk, and of course the most prominent from that time was sponsored by King Biscuit Flour. The show featured numerous stars of the day, like Sonny Boy Williamson, Houston Stackhouse and James ‘Peck’ Curtis. I had heard that Pinetop might even have played for a third program known as, ‘Mothers Best,’ but he told me, “I never did play on Mothers Best, no… uhn..uhn.”

In the late 40’s and early 50’s, Pinetop would once again hit the tour circuit with Robert Nighthawk, eventually ending up in Chicago at the renown ‘708 Club.’ He would also back the legendary slide guitarist in the studio, on some of Nighthawk’s last recordings for Chess. Another friend of Pinetop’s, Willie Dixon produced and played bass on those memorable Nighthawk sessions.

You also ran with Earl Hooker for awhile…. “Earl Hooker? Boy, oh me and him got together years ago. He was 13 years old when we started playing together. And I was young and had nuthin’ of nuthin’! (laughing) That was way back, I was about 20 or something then, and Earl was real young. But he was in bad shape. (Hooker suffered from tuberculosis and died in an Illinois Sanitarium at age 40.) He was sent to the hospital, and every once in awhile he’d come back around and say, ‘I’m well now.’ He wouldn’t be discharged; he’d done slipped out of the hospital. (laughing) The doctor didn’t turn him loose; he’d turn his own self loose. He’d come back, ‘I’m well now!’ And no sooner than he’d get back, they’d send him right back to the hospital. So the last time, Muddy Waters heard me playin’ with him.”

North Hollywood Ca. w/ Hubert Sumlin and Big Daddy Kinsey in the late 1980’s.
Photo:T.E.Mattox

Didn’t you replace Otis Spann in Muddy’s band? “Well, in a way I did. Otis had quit him and I started playin’ in the band with him. That was ’69. 1969, so I played with him up until ’80.”

What was it like playing in Muddy’s band? “Oh, I loved playing in Muddy’s band, man. I loved it ’cause he had the ‘stomp-down’ blues stuff. That’s why I loved it.”

Muddy Waters, (McKinley Morganfield) like Pinetop, had honed his chops on a Southern plantation and both men came of age when blues were ingrained. Where music was expressed and absorbed through feelings and instinct, much more readily than the traditional student/teacher exchange. I’m thinking it was probably where the term ‘old school’ originated. Pinetop is nodding, “Oh, yea. I liked that background, the old background.”

And the blues to Pinetop Perkins… “What are the blues? Man, when you’re lonesome and your good girl quit you, you got the blues so bad you can’t sing ’em, hardly. You got ’em then, boy! And somethin’ happen to you… and you got the blues if you’re livin,’ you know?”

The ladies still give you trouble? (Now you CAN’T miss the twinkle in those 80-year old eyes and Pinetop’s smile exhibits a distinct Cheshire cat-like quality) “Well, I got too old for that. When you get 80 years old they don’t bother you too much.”

I mention that David ‘Honeyboy’ Edwards once told me, he just ‘loves’ the ladies. (Pinetop instantly becomes animated, like a jolt of electricity shot through him.) “I LOVE them, but what am I gonna’ DO with them!?” he hoots. “Nuthin!’ (The backstage area erupts with laughter.) “It’s like a dog runnin’ after an automobile. If it stops he don’t know what to do with it!” (more laughter) “That’s the way it goes.”

You must know Honeyboy… “YEA, I know Honeyboy. He snuck around my MOTHER, years ago!” (the entire backstage disintegrates into pandemonium, stagehands, other performers, journalists….and Pinetop is in his domain.) “MY MOTHER!” he reiterates! “Sure did!”

(As everyone tries to regroup and recover, I daub the tears off my face and smeared paperwork; I ask how is it that some bluesmen, like himself and the ‘honorable’ Mr. Edwards, seem to have such long and productive lives. “Luck’s of the Lord!” Pinetop states matter-of-factly.

At the Palomino – North Hollywood, CA. Pinetop’s humor was legendary.
Photo: Yachiyo Mattox

You take care of yourself? “NO!” (Everyone backstage falls apart again.) And like the master of timing he is…Pinetop waits for it…. “But I do the best I can.”

I comment he looks pretty good and hasn’t changed much since we last talked about four years ago.

“I thought,” he quips, “I looked like Cheetah, you know?” (…and the crowd goes wild.) “I’m about two years older than black pepper.”

You going to keep playing blues? “I’m going to try, if the Lord spares me.”

Pinetop was working on a new solo album at the time of our conversation and still living in Chicago. I was curious if he ever ran into another Delta player that was living in the Windy City; James ‘Snooky’ Pryor? “Man, Yea!” Me and Snooky was in Germany together last month.” Although not a big fan of the travel, Pinetop admitted he did it for the bucks. “I’m trying to make some bread, man; some bean money.”

European audiences really have an appreciation of the blues and especially the originators. “Oh yea, they love it. And they know me. I’ve been all over Europe, all over Australia, and Africa and places.”

Tell me about one of the craziest or wildest clubs you ever played? “The craziest club or bar I ever played in? Well, I didn’t play, but I went to it. That’s Buddy Guy’s place, when he had the Checkerboard Lounge. I come outta’ that place and a man put a pistol in my side and say, ‘hey, get over and let me have your car, man.’ I say, ‘take the car and go ahead.’ He looks at me like I’m a fool or something. And he took me with him.”

He took your car….?? “Yea, and ME too! And we drove all around (Chicago) dropping off …dope or something, I don’t know. And when they finished, my car was empty and they said, ‘Now you can go on home.'”

Pinetop never failed to acknowledge his fans. Photo: Yachiyo Mattox

What can we look forward to from Pinetop Perkins in the future? He looks directly at me, “Well, man what’s never come out…will come up!” ….and his ever present smile, grew wider.

One of Pinetop’s long-time friends, Buddy Guy, told me a wonderful story about his piano playing protégé. “Just before Jimmy Rogers’ died, he (Pinetop) used to play with Jimmy a lot, at my club in Chicago. So I walks in the club before they start playing, and I went to say ‘hi’ to Pinetop and he took his leg and throw’d it up on the bar like this.” (Buddy hoists his leg up near the table) “I say, ‘what’s that for?’ And they had that monitor on his leg (Buddy begins to laugh)…from the police. I say, ‘who did you kill?’ He said, ‘Nobody!’ I say, ‘what’s wrong with you?’ He said, ‘simple drunk, they got me just simple drunk.’ The only time they let him come out at night, is if he was working, they wouldn’t stop him from playing the keyboard. I said, ‘you wasn’t drivin’?’ He said, ‘no, I was just simple drunk, walkin’.’

So then he takes me over there and sits down and said, ‘they told me to stop drinkin’, he say, ‘but Buddy’ and he had this shot of whiskey in his hand. He say, ‘if I stop drinkin…’ now this has been about 15 – 18 years ago. He say, ‘if I stop drinkin’ (Buddy snaps his fingers) …that’s IT!’ I say, ‘DON’T stop drinkin’ then, then keep on drinkin’. And about three or four years before he passed away, they had him at the club again and he came in, they was rolling him out in a wheel chair and it was raining. I say I hadn’t hollered at him, I want to holler at him before he go, and I say, ‘wait a minute ‘Top, I wanna’ say hi before you go.’ He say, ‘I ain’t goin’ nowhere, I’m goin’ outside to smoke.’ And I think he was 93 or something. And I say, ‘if you can smoke at 93, people should stop saying cigarettes are not good for you.’ (laughs)

Early in 2011, the world was Pinetop’s oyster. Although in his 90’s he was still vital, still productive and still doing what he loved the most. He had just been recognized with a ‘best traditional blues album’ Grammy for a recording he’d done with old friend, Willie ‘Big Eyes’ Smith entitled, ‘Joined at the Hip’. A memorable evening and lasting moment that embraced the man before generations of his friends, fellow musicians and fans. You have to think that the extended applause that night was not only for his music and his remarkable career, but an outpouring of love and respect for a legendary and gentle man. Thanks, ‘Top. Rest in Peace..

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David ‘Honeyboy’ Edwards has been in fast company for most of his life. His running buddies have included the seminal roots of Delta Blues. Charley Patton, Robert Johnson, Son House, Willie Brown, Tommy McClennan, Tommy Johnson and Robert Petway were just a few of the musicians that Edwards called friends. He’s spent a lifetime sharing street corners, working juke houses and rolling the dice with the legends of blues, both past and present.

Edwards has outlived his peers, and most of his friends, but shows little sign of slowing down. When pressed, he’ll admit to some ‘pretty good action’ as far as his guitar work is concerned, but even more impressive is his phenomenal recollection of dates, events and first-person accounts of the blues and its originators. According to Edwards, his introduction to the road began one fateful weekend in 1932 when, at the age of 17, he heard a blues man perform at a local house party. His life would never be the same.

“Joe Williams was out there playing for a country dance on a Saturday night and I went over there where he was playing. I kept looking at him and he said, ‘Can you play?’ I said, ‘I can play a little.’ He passed the guitar to me and I started to strum ’cause I had a good lick, you know? And he said, ‘Yeah, and I can learn you, too.’

So, he come to my father’s house that Sunday morning, we eat breakfast and sat around. He played guitar and he asked my father, ‘Can Honey go with me out to Greenwood?’ We were only about two miles from Greenwood. My father said, ‘I don’t care, he ain’t nothin’ to do on the farm. He can go if he want to.’ I got my brother-in-law’s guitar and followed him. I never did brought his guitar back, I kept a-going with Joe Williams.”

It would be the beginning of a journey Edwards, now in his nineties, finds more rewarding than ever.

“When I first started out with Joe, I played some in the streets, little clubs, cafe’s and joints, just everywhere, anywhere you can make something. Joe couldn’t read or write or nothin’, but he had a good mind and he could think of songs to sing. He had a good mind but didn’t have no kind of education, but he could think good and he wouldn’t forget nothin.”

In order to further his own education, Honeyboy would soon find company with another blues traveller.

“After I left Big Joe the last of ’32, in ’33 and ’34 I was with Tommy McClennan. I was around Greenwood and Tommy was around Greenwood too. Tommy and Robert Petway, we all just go in and out together. Sometime I’d work with Tommy, sometime Tommy’d work with Robert. We all know’d each other, played with each other, you know?”

While Edwards, McClennan and Petway were just getting started, one Delta elder, Charley Patton, was already considered a living legend. Patton was one of the most versatile and influential delta musicians of the era, and Honeyboy was a quick study.

“I was with Charley Patton a little while before he died in ’34. I know’d him in ’33, he was at Marigold, Mississippi out from Dockery. He was still on the farm at Dockery Plantation. He married this young girl, Bertha, that was his wife Bertha, and the year he died, in ’34 they had went to Jackson and Bertha had recorded the ‘Yellow Bee Blues.’ She sung and that was the last recording he done.”

The Sweet Life

When Honeyboy reflects on his early days in blues he has to laugh.

“Before I married, I didn’t do nothin’ but play guitar and gamble. That’s all I done. I had a gang of women’s, you know. I had two or three, they was working and had good jobs.”

Living the sweet life was nice but David Edwards was never very far from the music or the players who created it.

“I used to live in Memphis and I used to play with some of the Memphis Jug Band, Big Walter Horton, Will Shade, Son Brimmer, Little Frank Stokes and Old Man Stokes. I was young then but I know’d them all. Me and Big Walter Horton was pretty close together. I was two years older than Big Walter but he was a good harp blower ever since he was 14. I met him in Memphis, Tennessee, he was maybe 15 years old. I met him in Handy’s Park.”

Charlie Musselwhite who also credits Joe Williams and Will Shade as influences, once described himself as ‘slack-jawed’ the first time he saw Walter Horton blow. So it shouldn’t be surprising that harp players, to this day, still try to match Horton’s technique and tone. Honeyboy doesn’t think it will happen.

“Can’t do it. Both of them Walters had a good tone. Little Walter Jacobs had a tone that Big Walter didn’t have. Little Walter had like a Louisiana style, down on the bayou music but he had his own style of playing harmonica. He had a good, full sound. Little Walter had a better, fuller sound than Big Walter had, but Big Walter played more harp than Little Walter played. You understand me? He knew more riffs. But Little Walter had the best tone.”

Gone too soon, Little Walter would die from injuries suffered in a fight and Honeyboy remembers only too well, Big Walter’s life-long suffering.

“Big Walter was sick all his life. He was sickly, puney-like, you know? He drank a whole lot of whiskey. Oh, he was a heavy drinker.”

Speaking of gone to soon, Edwards spent a short period of time playing and touring with the bluesman considered by most to be the ‘King of the Delta Blues’ players, Robert Johnson.

“In 1937, Robert was 26 and I was 22. Robert was about four years older than me. The first time I met him was on the streets. I didn’t really know who he was ’cause I hadn’t ever met him, but I heard about him. I got a cousin who lived in Tunica, Mississippi, she was Robert’s girlfriend, and every time I go to see my cousin she’d tell me about Robert. ‘Do you know Robert? Robert plays guitar.’ I say, ‘No, I don’t know Robert.’ She say, ‘Robert Johnson, he goes by Robert Johnson, Robert Lonnie Johnson, he wears so many damn names, I don’t know.’ (laughing)

And so, when I met him on the streets and he was playin’ he told the people he was Robert Johnson and he had just came from Austin, Texas. That would have been the fall of 1937, and he was playin’ on the streets. A lady come up there, she said, ‘Listen sir, play me Terraplane Blues and I’ll give you a dime,’ like that. Just country people standing around drinking whiskey, listening to that music and he said, ‘That’s my record, lady.’ She said, ‘Well play it then for me,’ and he started to playing it and she said, ‘I believe that is that man’s record.’ He played it just like the record, you know.”

Tragically Johnson would be dead within a year, but David Edwards’ career was just starting to pick up speed.

“I was so fast myself, I went around a whole lot myself, but as long as he (Johnson) was around Greenwood I’d hang around with him. I’d go where he was playin’ at and we’d go to a couple of whiskey houses there in Greenwood and whore houses where they sell whiskey, you know? Two or three woman’s there at Greenwood had good-time houses, women’s be hangin’ around and men drinkin’ a lot of white whiskey and we sittin’ there playin’ for them, you know? Good time houses, good time Charlie.”

It wouldn’t be until the end of WWII that Honeyboy would finally make his first trip to Chicago.

“I carried Little Walter Jacobs with me in 1945, he come there with me in ’45. In the winter of ’45 I went back south, I was scared of the cold weather. Walter told me, he said, ‘Well Honey, he say, I ain’t goin’ back. I’m gonna’ lay around and hang around here awhile.’ He liked it up there. And I left. In ’46 in the fall I heard Walter’s records. Walter had recorded with Muddy Waters. I said, ‘That boy’s done recorded’…I say, ‘I’m goin’ back’ I say, ‘I’m going where I can do me somethin’. So when I come back Walter was hooked up with Muddy Waters.”

Everyone who heard Little Walter play, knew he was ahead of his time, but those who knew him personally realized his time wasn’t long.

“Walter could play that harp, the boy was good, but he lived too fast, too fast. He got down to Chicago and was makin’ money. He was a nice-lookin’ boy and had a lot of women’s and a big Cadillac. It went to his head.”

Throughout his travels, Edwards has witnessed both the rise and demise of some of music’s most dynamic personalities. But in his eyes, it was just a part of life on the road.

“I used to go so much, I wouldn’t stay nowhere,” but Memphis became Honeyboy central when his sisters moved to the area in the late ’40’s and early ’50’s. With family close by you could usually find him “playing West Memphis every Friday and Saturday night. I used to play with B.B.King in 1950, ’51. He was in West Memphis, Arkansas. He was broadcasting over there in Memphis at WDIA station, but he was living in West Memphis. Me and my wife used to go over there every Friday and Saturday night and I’d sit in with him. He had one little old number he’d made about Miss Martha King. He made that for Sam Phillips too, I think. Sun’s.

And I was in Memphis when Elvis Presley made his first little record there. Presley was working in Memphis driving a construction truck. This white boy got famous, he come from Tupelo, Mississippi. He made one little old number for Sam Phillips, Sun’s. It didn’t do nothin’, but when the song got out here (California) someway it made a hit when it came out here.”

The Delta-born Presley knew firsthand the appeal and heart-felt emotions of blues music and would start his career by covering some of the era’s most prolific black artists. It would be those Elvis remakes that would eventually expose a segregated white America to the music of Arthur Crudup, Willie Mae Thornton and Herman Parker.

Honeyboy remembers Elvis “shakin’ and goin’ on, but he couldn’t play nothin’. Doin’ the swing dance and people went for it and he got famous, but he didn’t learn how to play guitar for a long time. I run in on him but we never played together, I run in on him several times. I know’d him, I used to see him when he was workin’. He used to come out to Jackson Ave. sometime when he was laying steel back in 1950.”

Fifty-eight years later, Edwards is a blues survivor. His road continues to run through every type of blues venue imaginable. From small bars and clubs to huge fairground and festival events and the occasional recording studio. It’s not a lifestyle for the weak of heart and Honeyboy insists he’s going to slow down. He’s also the first to admit that the blues were here before he was and will still be around long after he’s gone.

“Blues is not gonna’ go nowhere. You take years ago when a lot of disco’s slowed the blues up a little bit. But the disco didn’t stay in long, see? And then the blues come right on back, alive, and it got worser. It got worser. There’s a lot of young people playing the blues too, now. They’re gettin’ right into it. And a lot of festivals bringin’ in some of the young people to the blues.”

The never-ending cycle of human suffering ensures that the blues, in one form or another, will always endure.

“Blues come along ways to what I’ve been experiencing because I’m old, I’ve been here a long time. Blues come from slavery time and what I mean by slavery time, the people’s used to work in the field and sing holler songs. Ohhh, Ohhhh, trying to make the day. In the 20’s they started recording like Mama Rainey, Bessie Smith, Ida Cox, Blind Lemon and they named it the blues.”

“In the early days, it was players like Texas Alexander and Lonnie Johnson and then they just come on in the 40’s and the blues got wide. I came up playin’ the lonesome, slow blues. There’s two or three different ways you can play the blues. You can play a slow blues, the low-down dirty blues, the Mississippi blues or you take the same blues and make it up tempo, a shuffle, up-tempo beat, you know? In the later years I worked a lot of taverns and I started playing some of the up tempo blues. Just raise the tempo on it. See what I mean? Still it’s the blues.”

David ‘Honeyboy’ Edwards is a living, breathing piece of American history. A National Treasure who sums up his life as a blues journeyman, philosophically.

“Blues is a feeling. You can start playing the blues and the feeling comes down on you sometime. It’s a feeling, from the heart. Mine. And when I was young, I used to start playing the blues and I’d play a couple of numbers and I’d get right up and put up my guitar case and start to walk, go catch me a ride and go to the next town. They wouldn’t let me stay nowhere, that’s what the blues do for me. I wouldn’t stay no where, that’s why I went so much. I’d be here this week, and next week I’d be somewhere’s else. That guitar just kept me goin’, wouldn’t let me stay.”

Lucky for us.

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Porotos Granados is the national dish of Chile. The basic ingredients — pumpkin, cranberry beans, corn and tomatoes — are all indigenous to the New World, pre-dating the arrival of Europeans.

Vegetarians will be delighted to find that there are no meat products in the dish, and that the recipe is heart-healthy and absolutely delicious. A popular summer dish in Chile, you can prepare this recipe year-round, substituting with white or navy beans.

You can also spice it up a bit by using a hot green chili pepper, seeded and minced. Sometimes it is garnished with sweet basil. Keep in mind this is a stew – sometimes called Chilean Bean Stew in English – and like all stews the recipe can vary to your liking. I once devoured the sublime dish with a family who served it with a fried egg on top.

Serves 4-6.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup chopped onion
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 3 tablespoons oil
• 2 teaspoons paprika
• 1 cup pumpkin, peeled and cubed (acorn or butternut squash can be substituted)
• 2 cups fresh sweet corn kernels
• 1-2 cups water
• 1 large tomato, chopped
• 2 cups beans – shelled fresh cranberry beans (again, you may substitute with white or navy beans)

Preparation:

1. Simmer the fresh cranberry beans gently in water for 30-45 minutes, or until tender. Drain and set aside.
2. Heat the oil in a heavy saucepan and add the onions and garlic. Cook until translucent. Add paprika, pumpkin, tomato and corn, stirring until vegetables are soft and fragrant.
3. Add 1 cup of water, covered for 5-10 more minutes. Add the beans (and more water if necessary) and simmer for 15-20 minutes, or until pumpkin is very soft and begins to fall apart and thicken the stew. Simmer even longer, uncover to thicken the stew, or add more water if a thinner stew is desired.

Buen apetito!

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