Thats What The Blues Is All About

My collection of blues record now number close to two thousand, not entirely modest, I am aware, but not complete in any sense of the word either.

Still, I am regularly surprised at how often I am "wowed" by a particular song or artist, either blues or folk. So when I was reading Alan Lomax's 'Land Where The Blues Began,' I was curious to listen to a blues record that Lomax claims to be his best experience with the blues. Lomax's passion for the blues often leaves him prone to hyperbole. Nonetheless, he was a man, that recorded and spent an intimate amount of time with Leadbelly, Sonny Terry, Fred McDowell, Muddy Waters and the rest of them. So when he picks out his recordings with the legendary Son House and friends as the best of the lot, then there must be some element of truth in them, in the very least warranting an audio investigation.

But first, a little more on Son House. Born near Clarksdale, Mississippi, in 1902(disputed), the young Son House was drawn to the Baptist Church and began to give sermons at around the age of fifteen. Perhaps, Son House had some religious calling in him, or perhaps, he admired the relatively 'easy' and 'respectable' life that black preachers were accorded in the Segregated South in the first half of the 1920s.

"I am gonna get me a religion, gonna join the Baptist Church,
You know I wanna be a Baptist preacher, so I won't have to work" 

Nonetheless, Son House could not resist the temptations in him, and soon he began to follow in the 'devil's music': the blues and all that it entailed, womanizing, alcohol, violence etc. So in 1928, Son House, during a fight, killed a man, allegedly in self-defence and was sentenced to a 15 year term in the Mississippi State Penitentiary, more popularly known to the largely black inmates there as Parchman's Farm. He was released from there however, in 1930 and it was sometime here that he linked up with another delta great, Charley Patton and also recorded his first songs for Paramount records. A decade later, Alan Lomax, working for the Library of Congress recorded Son House amongst which was that session he labeled 'as my best experience of the blues.'

In 1964, House was 'discovered' in Rochester, New York when the blues-folk revival was in full swing in America. Here he played to awestruck young and predominately white audiences and of course, British counterparts from across the Atlantic, amongst whom were the Rolling Stones. He played as much as his health allowed him during his later years, till some years before his passing in October of 1988.

But, what draws people to Son House (or scares them away) is the vigor and passion through which he sends his message across. The guitar would bang out the repetitive rhythm over which his powerful voice would say what it wanted. Make no mistake, he was not just an ordinary tractor driver. He was also one of the finest blues performers, having honed his skill with Charlie Patton and Wille Brown on the streets to the harsh critics of the Mississippi Delta. He knew what it took to keep the audience raptured in his hand. The dichotomy between Son House: the preacher and Son House: the bluesman, crying out to be resolved in every verse, as the tendons of his face and neck stretched and flexed, and as the veins in his face throbbed with the energy of his emotion, either love, anger, hate or laughter. It was, in our modern world, a different music from a different place. But what was it about the recording that Alan Lomax talked about that was so special. That even with Son House's standards, was special.

Alan Lomax, describes it better than me. As he sat, with his acetate recording machine, "in an aging country store...with Son House and his buddies stripped to the waist," in the sweltering and hot Mississippi day. He was there with Willie Brown (guitar), some say it was the same Willie Brown who is mentioned in Robert Johnson's 'Crossroads Blues,'

"You can run, you can run, tell my friend boy Willie Brown,
I am going to the crossroads, believe I am sinking down." - Crossroad Blues, Robert Johnson

Also there was LeRoy Williams (harmonica) and Fiddlin' Joe Martin (Mandolin). As Lomax writes, "..after the bottle had gone round the band, Son House said "Let me sing you about the old-time walking blues.." He began to sing (as the) harmonica puffed like a wild and sorrowful wind, and the guitar beating out a heart stopping rythmn, like trees being torn by their roots....the second guitar picked out the bass-string obbligato to the big country feet that whomped out the rythmn and turned the whole frame building into a huge African drum..the mandolin player..trailed cascades of blue-silver chords that lit up the harmonica's chase...at the center of all this was Son House, a man transformed, no longer the quiet, affable person I had met, but possessed by the song, as Gypsies in Spain are possessed, gone blind by the music and poetry."

And just as the Mississippi River meanders along the delta, so too does the rendition of 'Walking Blues' that Lomax recorded. The verses, flowing for as long as Son House wanted it too. So for nearly 7 minutes, he sings. Unrestrained by Jim Crow and the hard labour, he sings. Slightly influenced by the clear country moonshine, that had gone around, he sings. And with freedom denied them by the Roosevelt Administration, he sings. 

Walking Blues ("thats when you bound to leave somebody, you don't want to, but you gonna go ahead on anyhow"- Son House)

Got up this morning, feeling around for my shoes
No doubt that I go the walking blues
I said I got up this morning, I was feeling round for my shoes
I said I know about that now honey, I got them walking blues

Oh the blues ain't nothing but a low-down shaking chill
If you ain't had 'em, I hope you never will
Lord the blues, is a low-down shaking chill
If ain't had that feeling, boy, Lord I hope you never will

When you get worried, drop me a line
If I don't go crazy, honey, I'm going to lose my mind
When you get worried, I said sit down and drop me a line
If I don't go crazy honey, I'm going to lose my mind

Yeah hair ain't curly, your doggone eyes ain't blue
If you don't want me, what in the world I want with you
Your hair ain't curly, and your doggone eyes ain't blue
I said if you don't want me, babe, what in the world I want with you

Don't a man feel bad, good Lord, when the sun go down
If he don't have nobody to throw his arms around
Yeah a man feel bad, I said, when the, good Lord, sun go down
I said he don't have a soul, not to throw his arms around

Look here baby, what you want me to do
I've done all I could, just to get along with you
Look here honey, what do you want me to do
I say I've done all I could honey, just to get along you

You know I love my baby like a cow love to chew a cud
I'm laying round here, though, I ain't doing no good
I love you honey, like a cow love to chew a cud
I'm laying round here baby, but I sure ain't doing no good

When you're lonely, the minutes seems like hours, hours seem like days
Seem like my baby won't stop her low-down ways
The minutes seem like hours, hours seem like days
It seem like my baby won't stop her low-down ways

I'm going to the gypsy now, and have my fortune told
I believe somebody is stealing my jelly-roll
I'm going to the gypsy, I believe I have my fortune told
'Cause I believe somebody is trying to steal my jelly-roll

I got up this morning, feeling sick and bad
Thinking about the good times that I once had had
I said soon this morning, I was feeling so sick and bad
You know I was thinking about the good times that I once had had

Sun is going down behind that old western hill
Yeah, yeah, Lord, behind that old western hill
Now I wouldn't do nothing boys, not against my woman's will

You know I'm going away, going to stay a long time
I ain't coming back here till you change your mind
I'm going away, I believe I'll stay a long time
I said I ain't coming back, honey, until you change your mind

Enough of me talking. You hear it for yourself. Thats the blues!. One day, I hope I can witness a performance like that too. Meanwhile, Lomax recounts that at least one more song was recorded that summer afternoon, 'Death Letter Blues.' Time to get my hands on that.

Tyger Tyger, burning bright

The Chinese Goverment has recently announced that it would be reviewing a 14-year old ban that prevents captive tigers from being killed for use in traditional medicines. Although China has less than 100 tigers in the wild, it has some 5000 or so in breeding farms. The purpose of these breeding farms is claimed by goverment officals "provide an abundant breeding stock for the future re-introduction and restoration of the wild tiger populations in China." In truth, these farms are stockpiling in anticipation of the goverment repeling the ban.

There is something that is abhorent and disgusting in killing these endagered species for, of all things, these supposed benefits.

1.) tiger's tail - when mixed with soap, a cure for skin cancer

2.) whiskers - according to folk legends, increases courage

3.) tiger's skin - sitting on the skin will cure a fever spread by ghosts (but sitting too long will make the user a ghost too)

4.) tiger's heart - consuming this heart will increases one's courage and cunningness

5.) tiger's penis - this most famous one, offers those who eat it sexual prowess

The list goes on, but you get the picture. If a tiger's has in fact some element of medicinal benefits, then at least the issue can be debated but this is almost senseless. But the Chinese are not alone in this. Across the East Sea from the Chinese border, lies Japan.

Japan is currently lobbying the International Whaling Comission (IWC) to lift the moratorium on commerical whaling since 1982. The Japanese, using the lure of financial and economic aid, pressuriese small Caribbean and African nations to vote to lift the moratorium. It is not that the Japanese do not engage in whaling. In fact, under something known as 'scientific whaling', the Japanese are permitted to hunt whales. This supposed 'scientific' expidition is to collect data on these marine mammals (data such as length, weight, health, etc). Of course, the Japanese are permitted to sell the meat from these catches so as to 'compensate' the 'research institutes' that carry out these kills. But, the most incredible thing must be the fact that the Japanese are persuading to lift the ban so that it can once again start to kill endagered species of Fin whales and Humpback whales.

Once again, arguments for whaling usually come from keeping alive 'traditional' and 'cultural' practices. I am skeptical as to how 'traditional' and 'cultural' practices can be kept alive when the whales and the tigers go extinct.

I am quite certain, that the resumption of killing the tigers and whales will resume in the near future. If it does, it is a testament to humanity's greed, ruthlessness and suspension of rationality for age old myths and traditions. We are the poorer for it.

"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?" - William Blake, The Tyger (1794)

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American Idol versus Appalachian Idol

The American Idol circus has concluded yet another season. I have forgotten which season this season or who won the latest edition. Rather I should say, I did not bother to remember any details about this season or any of the preceding seasons. I am always puzzled that America- that land which gave to the world, Blues, Jazz, Rock n Roll and Country music needs somehow the glitz and glamour of popular music to vindicate itself, or perhaps it justs needs the millions that American Idol sponsorships and votes bring in. It is not too belittle the thousands of contestants who audition and take part every season, a great majority of them are wonderfully talented. But music, I felt, always has to have a little bit more.

Some years ago I came across this website. Every single video there is a treasure, a wonderful representation of people and their culture. But, some among them are real gems such as the one by folklorist Alan Lomax, Appalachian Journey. Appalachian music or Old-Time music as it may be called predates country music. As the New World was settled by the European settlers, they brought with them their English ballads, polkas and waltzes and when exposed with the poly-rhythms of Africa produced a fantastic strain of music preserved in the mountains of Appalachia that stretched from Quebec in Canada down to the Texan panhandle. As Lomax wonderfully puts it,

"People came bearing strains of the Norse adventurer, the Celtic fantasy, and of the Protestant Revolution that helped to free mankind from the old tyrannies of kings and emperors. And in this grand setting all were influenced by the civilized Cherokee town dwellers who taught them how to grow tobacco and corn and squash. And how to play the mouth bow."

Spend an hour or so to watch it. And listen. Listen to Sheila Adams as she sings that old Scottish tune,

"Black is the colour of my true love's hair. Her cheeks are like the rosy fair.
The prettiest eyes and the daintiest hands. I love the ground whereon she stands."

And listen when Frank Profitt and his banjo tell you when they hanged Tom Dula

"Hang your head Tom Dooley, Its hang your head and cry
Killed Laura Foster, poor boy you're bound to die"

The depth of the music, no matter how many times I watch it sends a warmth through my heart. And it taught me a lot about music. It taught me to listen and listen again. To the music, of the darkened Indian farmer, as he and his buffalo ploughed the rice paddies. To the thin melodies of the Chinese bowed strings as the resonate from Tibetan Himalayas to the Gorges of the Yangtze. To the piercings vocals of Mongolian throat music. To the cante jondo of the Gypsy's Flamenco. Each music, distinctive and unique but all sharing in life's tragedies, triumphs and ironies. And with such wonderful music, what little charm do we see and derive from the music of American Idol and the like (Rockstar Supernova, etc).

American Idol or Appalachian Idol.

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