The Fat Possum Juke Joint Caravan steamrolled through Minneapolis last night & I had grand plans of covering it for Bags. Sadly, my shutterbug friend forgot his digital camera so glossy pics won’t accompany the prose.
I’ve caught the Caravan on two other occasions and on both they delivered nothing less than a ripping good time. This version of the cavalcade included regulars Paul “Wine” Jones, T-Model Ford and Kenny Brown, with drummers Craig the Dog, Spam and Cedric Burnside holding down traps duties. The Fine Line, the venue for the gig, isn’t known as a blues joint, favoring instead a schedule more in line with pop tastes (Eighties mall rat Tiffany headlines there next week). So it was great to have these Mississippi delegates throw some sonic mud on the walls.
Fat Possum’s roster is one of necessarily diminishing returns, dealing as they do in the geriatric end of the blues spectrum. Most of their original heavy hitters like Junior Kimbrough and R.L. Burnside have either passed on or are ailing to the point were touring is no longer logistically feasible. Case in point, James Caldwell, their latest find, succumbed to cancer shortly after the recording of his debut record ironically titled Remember Me (a record all fans of country blues should check out). Others, like Cedell Davis, seem to have jumped ship for other labels.
There have also been cries of foul from the blues cognoscenti aimed at the label’s tendency to play up the bad man, misogynistic personas of its talent pool; the argument being that much of the music reinforces long-standing stereotypes of the rural black poor. From what I gather, most of the musicians don’t really care one way or other how they’re represented as long as they’re selling albums/tickets and having a swell time doing it.
Each of the three sets followed the same stark template of matching a guitarist with a drummer. “Wine” Jones took the stage first, decked out in a black bowler, black dress shirt and shiny silver slacks. Craig, a paunchy thirty-something white guy in black t-shirt and jeans affectionately known as The Dog, set up shop behind the modest drum kit at the ready to hammer out a series of steady shuffle beats. Lobbing any sense of subtlety summarily into the rafters, Jones kicked the set off with the terse anthem “Fuck It On Up” from his second Fat Possum opus Pucker Up Butter Cup. The rest of the eleven-song set drew liberally from that album and his from debut Mule with a couple surprises tossed in.
Spidery fingers scuttling across capoed strings, Jones recycled slightly tweaked chords from tune to tune. Infused with a jolting supply of amp-driven electricity the simple riffs were more about volume and crunch than any real attention to diversity. The Dog’s relentless beat was almost metronomic. On “Big Bell Ringin’,” one of the rare deviations from form, Jones slowed the tempo to a sludgy crawl, barking out the single verse lyrics and reeling out a solitary chord that a contingent of ball-capped long hairs to stage right could bang their heads to.
Jones also drew on the repertoires of his North Hill Country peers tackling covers of R.L. Burnside’s “Poor Boy” and Eddie Cusic’s “Stop Arguin’ Over Me” along with a raucous, ramshackle reading of “Boney Maroney” played at a fever pitch mostly below the bridge. Between songs he asked the audience repeatedly, “What time it is?” To which T-Model would croak “Get Dangerous Time!”
Ford’s own set came next. Hobbling to his seat atop the stage, nursing the bad hip that’s been giving him trouble the past few years, he kept flashing toothy grins at the crowd. FP Tour Manager Justin McGuirk strapped on Ford’s Peavey guitar and drummer Spam, sporting a nifty hip hop knit cap and what looked like bifocal lens cued up his sticks. Anticipation was high, but the set sadly didn’t follow through on the hype.
Ford’s four albums for Fat Possum trace a motley track record of quality. Pee Wee Get My Gun, the first, ranks as easily the best. Brimming with ferocious boogie riffs and clattering drums it’s a case of volume and brio eclipsing dearth of material. Regrettably, Ford appears to have little fuel left in his tank. The bite of his guitar dwindled by an overly diffusive and twangy reverb, his scanty, rudimentary lines, played often by simply brushing fingers across strings, were laid bare.
Spam seemed bent on accentuating the foibles, playing beats with a single stick and trafficking in theatrical movements that set the simplicity of the tunes in bold relief. In both appearance and temperament he struck me as the Bizarro-equivalent of Hamid Drake, dealing in simple subtractions and additions of beats and moving his sticks methodically over each drum head. Ford also had visible trouble on a sketch of “Catfish Blues,” his cumbersome reverb getting the better of him and prompting a mid-tune cut off. Across the terribly uneven eight-song set he poked copious holes in his own opening assertion that he was “The Boss of the Blues.”
Still, there were bright moments amidst the dregs and things got better as the set dragged on. Shredding rundowns of “Sweet Home Chicago” and Ford’s own “Chicken Head Man” carried the clout in evidence on his debut disc. On the latter and “Feel So Bad” the pair locked into the sort of trance and smile-inducing drone that’s been a Fat Possum staple for most of the label’s history. All and all a disappointing show, but Ford’s enthusiasm, punctuated by his directives to the ladies “to shake what you got” made it easy to cut the octogenarian some degree of slack.
Turns out the Caravan saved the best for last. The lanky frame of Kenny Brown, one of the few white bluesmen signed to the label, stepped on stage clad in tan cotton shirt, jeans and cap that made him look suspiciously like a cross between Johnny Winter and Floyd from the Muppets. Cedric Burnside, R.L.’s grandson, took his place at the drum kit, white wifebeater practically glowing in the stage lights. The two hit the ground running with a ripping rendition of “Miss Maybelle,” with Brown adding slide flourishes between verses and the stage amps cranked to unholy levels. The noise from the pair was massive, but tempered with genuine technique that gave the tunes an even greater punch.
“Shake Em’ On Down” and “Skinny Woman,” with Cedric on vocals, tore by in quick succession, driven by a pounding beat and Brown’s flaying fretwork. Banter between tunes was top notch too with Brown telling the crowd, “we’re so happy to be in Indianapolis tonight” only to be greeted by a chorus of boos and correct himself, “oh yeah, it’s Minneapolis; at least I hope it is.” Frequent sips from an ever-full wine glass kept his pipes well-irrigated.
A Joe Callicot tune whose name escaped me and original from Cedric kept the set moving at freight train pace, but the peak came with the pair’s take on John Lee Hooker’s “Boogie Chillun.” Brown turned his amp up even louder and tore through the tune’s single chord. Cedric whipped up rolling fife and drum style beat behind him before tumbling into a solo that had his entire kit wobbling from the violence meted out on its surfaces. During his break, Brown switched to lap steel to carry the piece out segueing into a pile-driving version of “Walking Blues” laced with denture-rattling distortion. Fred McDowell’s “You Got to Move” and R.L.’s “See My Jumper,” each infused with a bevy of careening slide runs carried the set to conclusion.
As a finale, “Wine” Jones returned to the stage joining Brown and Burnside on one of his best tune’s “Rob and Steal.” The fit between the three was a rickety one, but by that point my ears were shot, and the thrill of hearing the combination was undeniable. A contingent of Jones’ extended family, along with what by my suspect count was his 6th gin on the rocks, worked as catalysts for some of his most inspired playing. The trio said a collective adios by way of Elmore James’ “Dust My Broom” caked once again in Brown’s caustic slide. Ears and head ringing like the big bell of Jones’ earlier song; I hit the early morning pavement and headed for home.
I feel really, truly privileged to have seen Junior Kimbrough live. He opened for Iggy Pop at the Roseland in NYC in about 1996, and I had no idea who he was. He sat in a chair onstage, bassist and drummer each probably half his age, and played a 45-minute set that sounded like one long song. It was a mix of John Lee Hooker and the Band Of Gypsys the way it droned and throbbed, and it totally changed the way I thought about the blues. I bought Sad Days, Lonely Nights at the T-shirt stand, and have listened to it probably once a month, at least, since that night.
Posted by: Phil Freeman at March 16, 2004 8:38 AMI never had a chance to catch Junior in person, but his albums are also staples in my blues collection. Even MEET ME IN THE CITY with its seriously marred sound (which actually in a weird way adds to the listening experience, at least on ear goggles). I still count myself lucky at stumbling across copies of SAD DAYS... and MOST THINGS HAVEN’T WORKED OUT in a cd shop in Madison, WI & being completely enamored of them. His tunes remind me of Indian ragas in the way they snake and slither over the same skeletal rhythmic structures. That tactic of building something deceptively nuanced from such a narrow clutch of components characterizes most of the musicians on the FP label & goes all the way back to the blues’ origins. It’s definitely at the root of guys like “Wine” Jones and T-Model Ford.
Phil, curious what you think of these guys & others on the label? Jon's gone on record as dismissing the lot; an attitude I couldn't disagree more with.
not sure if I exactly dismissed the lot, but what I've heard certainly hasn't lived up to the promise of what I heard on the Deep Blues soundtrack.
Posted by: Jon Abbey at March 16, 2004 9:14 AMJon, apologies for the accusation if I’m off base (just recalling something you wrote over at IHM). What have you heard specifically?
Posted by: derek at March 16, 2004 9:24 AMit's been a while, but a few Burnsides, a few Kimbroughs, a couple of others. I stopped trying after everyone raved about the Jelly Roll Kings and I got nothing out of it. like I said, it's a shame, because there's definitely something there on the Deep Blues soundtrack (which was the first new blues record I'd heard in quite some time that made me think there was any life left in that "historical" genre), and I admire Fat Possum for trying to capture that, but I don't think they did a very successful job in the end.
if you ask me, the closest thing we've got to bluesmen today are Loren Connors, Taku Sugimoto and Tetuzi Akiyama. the form's different, but the feeling is there, which is way more important for me.
Posted by: Jon Abbey at March 16, 2004 9:31 AMAdmittedly, DON'T FORGET TO BOOGIE has some of the best blues riffing I've heard in a long time. I was utterly and completely surprised by it. Otherwise, I really don't know what you're talking about.
Derek, I am sometimes jealous of the shows that come your way.
Posted by: al at March 16, 2004 9:39 AMI haven't heard much else on FP. I checked out a couple of Burnside albums, but they didn't do much for me, not when compared with the voodoo power of Kimbrough. I keep his stuff basically as a nightmare counterpoint to the mid-50s/early-60s Buddy Guy and Otis Rush that I usually jump for when I want to hear the blues. Plus, FP got a little too indie-rock for me, with Burnside collaborating with the hated Jon Spencer and what-not.
Posted by: phil at March 16, 2004 9:49 AMI knew you'd disagree with me, Al, guitarists always do. I had the same argument with Jonas Leddington in Tokyo at the AMPLIFY fest (this was pre-Don't Forget to Boogie), but he finally came around.
for me, in 2004, the blues is much more alive as a feeling and an influence than as a form. I just don't think it's creatively interesting to play the umpteen millionth cover of Dust My Broom, unless you can really somehow bring your own unique personality to it. the three musicians I mentioned above all infuse much of their music with the blues filtered through their own heritage and circumstances, and especially Connors and Sugimoto (his earlier work more than his most recent superminimal stuff) have forged original musical identities for themselves.
did the blues die (as a form) with Hendrix? with Stevie Ray Vaughan? dunno, not something I think about much, but I know it's not an area of music I care about anymore (and I'm only posting in this thread because Derek brought me in). but I do think the spirit of the blues is alive in the work of the musicians I mentioned.
Posted by: Jon Abbey at March 16, 2004 9:53 AMNot saying I disagree with you, Jon. I just don't understand what you're trying to say, or exactly why those players are close to modern bluesmen. Are you saying it's the discipline in their playing? I don't know enough about the Japanese players' culture to determine any shared aesthetic. If it's rebellion to current forms in their playing, then I'd have to disagree, since what strikes me the most about Akiyama, Sugimoto, et al. is their passive turning of accepted standards upside-down, especially through what I've seen of them in performance. That, IMO, is better digested and understood from an academic standpoint than as cultural rebellion.
You could be talking about the fraternal aspects of their assocation and a likemindedness in their reasons for playing the music they do, but I really don't know.
What about their music shows traces of the blues? Their circumstances? If it's just the aesthetic you're suggesting, then you just just as easily argue that elements of country and hip-hop permeate the music they're making. Sorry for all of the assumptions, but your comments have me puzzled.
Posted by: al at March 16, 2004 10:52 AMJon, sounds like you’ve surveyed a fairly good sampling, though most of my revelatory surprises (other than the aforementioned Kimbrough) have come from the lesser knowns on the label. Guys like Robert Belfour and Charles Caldwell. Their techniques are a long stretch from perfect, but it’s grit and blemishes that I’m most drawn to. Same goes for the blues from a historical perspective. Someone like Stevie Ray Vaughn can play the shit out of a guitar- no argument- but I’d rather hear John Lee Hooker meander through a one-chord boogie. Most recent blues hits my ears as way too urbane and polished.
I’m not familiar with DON’T FORGET THE BOOGIE. But by my reckoning the blues as a feeling is alive in a wealth of places outside the conventional parameters of the idiom. Just check Fred Anderson or Alejandro Escovedo or Bob Mould for just a few nooks off the beaten path.
Also, placing a premium on original voice as a barometer of quality is a bit problematic. The version of “Dust My Broom that closed out the concert last night was unlike any I’d heard before & definitely saturated with the unique personalities of the players. But by the same token I’ve heard far better versions. Anyone heard Luc Houtkamp’s THIRTEEN BAR BLUES? That’s a novel take on the form that did very little for me personally.
No offense intended, but claiming the blues (as a form) died is just as ineffectual as arguing that jazz did.
Al, I don't think I can explain myself much better, maybe someone else can.
Derek, as you well know, I believe both jazz and blues have been essentially creatively dead for decades now. so we'll just agree to disagree on that...
ok, I'm out of this thread. as I said before, I wouldn't have chimed in to begin with if Derek didn't mention my name.
Posted by: Jon Abbey at March 16, 2004 11:09 AMJon, fair enough. Part of me just wishes you weren’t so jaded toward both. Then again, it’s a bit of my pot calling your kettle given my own prejudices. Glad you chimed in & definitely not trying to scare you away.
Posted by: derek at March 16, 2004 11:20 AM
I think I understand what Jon's saying (presumptious, ain't I?
He senses a similar feeling from blues when he hears LMC (he's not the first, either, Connor definitely plays the blues [a highly idiosyncratic blues but blues it is]). This is pretty personal, and should probably not be taken as prescriptive even if presented as such - it must lean on what aspect of the blues serves as the prime identifier for a particular listener.
To Jon's statement that blues&jazz are creatively dead, I'll say that while I admit I rarely listen to any blues or jazz from recent years (I'd MUCH rather listen to, say, the NYAQ, than, say, Ware&Shipp, and I almost never listen to the NYAQ either), it seems somewhat disengenuous to call bullshit on the work of people who do something I'm not interested in. By that logic, I could say that Math is dead, since I lost interest in math after Calculus.
Shitty analogies aside, I heard R.L. Burnside with SPencer's band 5or6 yearsago and was not interested at all.
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