Touched by the Blues
by Eli Marcus
Artwork: Eli Marcus
- Joined Feb 2014
- Published Books 3
Copyright © 2018
Preface
Have you been touched by the Blues?
Can you tell us about how the Blues touched your life, when, how, who, where?
Here are a few personal stories of being touched by the Blues
Introduction
This is a collection of stories gathered from all over the
world over a period of two years. My good buddy Johnny
Mayer, the creator of www.BluesForPeace.com, and himself
an unsung hero of the Blues, called me up one day and said:
“Hey man, let’s put together a book of stories and articles
about the UNSUNG heroes of the Blues, you know, all those
folks out there all over the world who love the Blues, can
play their hearts out, but never seem to get any recognition or
glory. Even some of the veteran Blues players that are local
heroes but not too many people have heard of them
nationally or internationally…and I want you to be the
editor”.
So we advertised on the Blues For Peace website and in
Blues forums, and invited people to send their contributions
or entries. Anyone out there that’s been “Touched by the
Blues” could send us their story, or the story of their own
local unsung hero, or an encounter they may have had with a
Blues hero.
We started receiving entries from all over the
world, little by little, and I put them into a book format and
edited them just enough to make them readable.
In the three years plus that I have been working on this book,
I have discovered literally dozens of Blues artists I never
knew existed, in countries and places that I simply didn’t
imagine had any Blues awareness. It seems that the Blues is
everywhere, but much of it is “flying low, under the radar”
and goes unnoticed by the major media channels. Many
artists that contacted me are such lovely people and amazing
musicians that it makes me wonder how they could not be
famous in some way, which is the reason for this book – to try
and in some small way increase the awareness that the real
Blues is alive and well. The Blues is out there and is being
played by many fine people, young and old. I think that being
a Bluesman (ladies included) means having humility and
patience, knowing that you are doing this because you love
the music, it makes you feel good, and you know that
someday your star will shine.
To quote B.B. King on the event of his 80th birthday (happy
birthday Riley B. King):
“I think of blues this way: It’s life as we’ve lived it in the past,
life as we’re living it today, and life I believe we will live
tomorrow. Because to me, it has to do with people, places
and things…”
“I haven’t been lucky like some of the rock ‘n roll players. A
lot of them go out for three or four months and then they stop
for two or three years. I’ve never been able to do that, I’m a
blues singer.”
I know that I cannot possibly hope to include every unsung
Blues hero that is out there, but it’s been an interesting
adventure discovering those that are included here. So if you
or someone you know was left out, please contact me, and
we can start collecting material for another book to celebrate
the Blues.
It’s been a privilege and an honor, thank you,
Eli “Dr. Blues” Marcus
www.EliMarcus.com
Brown-baggin’ it with Brownie
by Eli Marcus (Israel)
I was walking across Yorkville Ave. (in Toronto) one day
with my Martin guitar in hand, the case of my Martin had the
inscription “Folk, Ragtime, Reds, and Blues” painted across
the back. An elderly black gentleman puts his hand on my
arm holding the guitar, and asks: “Do you like the Blues?”,
“Do I? Oh, yeah!” I replied, to which he told me that Brownie
McGhee and Sonny Terry were in town and he was playing
piano with them. He promised me that if I came down to the
Riverboat club that night, he’d introduce me to Brownie
during the break.
Now, I had grown up listening to a couple of old 10 inch
records my father had of Sonny Terry, Brownie McGhee, and
Coyle McCann from the early 50’s, and when I was just
learning the Blues, it was Brownie’s solid rhythm guitar
playing and basic fingerpicking that got me started. So I was
thrilled to be able to meet one of my Blues heroes in the
flesh.
My cousin Lisa from California was visiting at the time, so I
invited her to come down to the club with me that night to
share the experience. During the break, I discovered for the
first time the truth behind the Sonny Terry and Brownie
McGhee legend – they were a great team on stage, but behind
the scenes they kept apart and didn’t talk to each other at all.
I was kind of saddened to see Sonny sitting all alone in the
back room of the Riverboat, I told him what an honor it is to
meet him and what a big influence his music had on me.
Then I was called out back into the parking area behind the
club by the piano player (don’t recall his name at all). There
was a big dark colored Cadillac in the driveway, with the
initials B.McG. on the door. The rear door was open, and
Brownie was sitting sideways in the back seat with his legs
out the door. In his hand was a bottle of whiskey in a brown
bag!!! Here is a man who was in a hit show on Broadway
recently, in movies, etc. – he had “made it” in the celebrity
game, and he’s “brownbaggin’ it” in an alleyway. Old habits
die hard I suppose. When Brownie saw my cousin Lisa, tall
and lean and fairly attractive, he immediately straightened up
and seemed to hide the bottle behind him. We were
introduced to him, and I got him to tell some stories about
how he came up in the business – his earliest days in North
Carolina, living on a farm, etc. All the while we were talking,
he didn’t take his eyes off Lisa for a moment, and he also
invited us to come back every night that week to be his guest
at the show… I came back once with Lisa and once on my
own, and got a few more tidbits of his story from him. That
meeting with one of my heroes is an experience that I will
always treasure, despite the shock of some of the truths I
learned behind the scenes.
Fare thee well Dave Van Ronk
By Eli Marcus
“Tell old Bill, when he gets home this mornin’,
Tell old Bill, when he gets home this evenin’,
Tell old Bill, when he gets home,
To let them downtown girls alone
This mornin’, this evenin’, so soon
Bill left here ’bout half past eight this mornin’
Bill left here ’bout half past eight this evenin’
Bill left here ’bout half past eight
Well he left here by that old front gate
This mornin’, this evenin’, so soon
Sall was home a bakin’ bread this mornin’,
Sall was home a bakin’ bread this evenin’,
Sall was home a bakin’ bread,
When she heard the news her Bill was dead ”
****
Dave Van Ronk was a troubadour, a real folksinger’s
folksinger. To him, even Jazz songs fell into the category of
folk and he certainly sang them that way, with his own
special vocal style, accompanied mostly on guitar, but was
also quite capable on the dulcimer, autoharp and harmonica.
I use the term “was” because a few weeks ago Dave Van
Ronk – the man, the legend, an icon of Greenwich Village –
titled the Mayor of McDougal St., succumbed to cancer at
age 65. Van Ronk was born in Brooklyn, and lived most of
his life in the heart of New York city in the Village. To me,
Van Ronk was a blues singer, to others he may represent the
father of eclectic folk revival.
He was perfectly comfortable singing an old traditional folk
song like “Tell Old Bill”, or sweetly whispering the a
cappella “Come All Ye Fair and Tender Maids”, followed by
the “Hesitation Blues”, “Sweet Substitute” (Jelly Roll
Morton), and even “Mack The Knife” or a Joni Mitchell or
Randy Newman song.
Dave Van Ronk was a great man in more ways than one, he
was tall and wide and had whiskers like a bear, had a very big
rough voice, he was a friend and great source of inspiration
to many and had a big appetite for liquor – which sometimes
marred his public image or performances. His career spanned
four decades, though his greater moments of fame were
probably in the 60’s. He was one of Bob Dylan’s main
mentors in the early part of the 60’s, giving him shelter
sometimes, teaching him some guitar, introducing him to a
vast repertoire of blues. It was Van Ronk who spurred
interest among the folkies in “House of the Rising Sun”, and
he was the catalyst that brought Dylan, the Byrds and Paul
Simon to record the folk song “He Was A Friend of Mine”
(which took on new meaning and became a eulogy to JFK
after the assassination).
When I finally met my hero, Van Ronk was spread across a
couch in an after hours get-together at the Toronto Folk
Festival in the summer of 1980. There was a small party
going on, and I jammed a bit on guitar with country blues
artist Andy Cohen and even sang fifth part harmony with a
cappella R & B group the Persuasions. At one point, I
approached Van Ronk, who was a bit drunk and reclining on
the sofa. He motioned me over, took my hand, and proceeded
to tell me a series of dirty jokes….that was the first and last
time I saw him up close, the man whose records I had worn
out while trying to figure out complex guitar riffs, or just
enjoying the humor in songs that he made his own such as
“Swinging On a Star”.
Fare thee well Dave Van Ronk.
“I ran into a restaurant ’bout as hungry as a bear
And like a raving maniac I grabbed the bill of fare
The waiter said what will you have – give me a steak I say,
He took my order, bowed his head, and slowly walked away,
And he never came back, he never came back,
Though I waited an hour or more,
Oh his face I will break, if he don’t bring my steak,
When we meet on that beautiful shore…”
Champagne Charlie is My Name
by Eli Marcus
Late one night in Toronto, I was closing up at the
Fingerboard Coffee house, a once a week folk club that I was
running in 1977. Champagne Charlie had played a set that
night at the Fingerboard, and after the show, we were
walking back home together. Charlie saw an abandoned chair
that caught his eye, left out in the street. He sat down in it,
testing it out as a chair for playing the guitar – it had a
comfortable padded back and seat – and most importantly –
no arm-rests to get in the way of the guitar. Before I knew
what was happening, I was carrying his Martin guitar for
him, and he had slung the chair on his shoulder. I had only
known Charlie for a few weeks, having been introduced to
him by Colin Linden (another amazing Canadian Bluesman
at the time). Charlie had a fantastic black brush moustache,
and almost always dressed well for his stage shows, often
with a black tuxedo jacket and white shirt. The man certainly
had style.
I was asking Charlie about the Ragtime guitar styles that he
played, and he said he’s be more than happy to show me
some tricks. So when we got to the student cooperative house
that was my home at the time, we went up to the second floor
and into an empty room that had no furniture or anything else
in it as one of my roommates had just moved to
Australia.’Lucky thing we had brought that chair!! It was
around 1:00 AM, and the room was pretty dark, except for
some moonlight shining from the window. Charlie sat on the
chair, and I sat on the Martin hardshell guitar case, and just
like in the Blues fables of the famous Crossroads, I received
my first lesson in Ragtime guitar techniques after midnight
from a stranger…
When I took a year off from the university to pursue more
music activities, I moved into the same rooming house as
Charlie and we were the best of buddies for two years – until
Charlie fell in love with a lady named Theresa, married her
and moved out to Guelph, retiring the Champagne Charlie
moniker, to become a family man under his given name of
Thom Roberts.
Champagne Charlie has made one studio album to date – a
collaboration with Canadian Harmonica wizard Carlos Del
Junco, “Big Road Blues”.
Shoplifting the Blues
by Avner Strauss (Israel)
I was all of fourteen years old, and I don’t really think I was
too aware of the blues yet. I had been taking some guitar
lessons from a local guitar guru at the time in Haifa, named
Dave Lichton, who told me a little bit about Josh White and
the Blues. I had an inexpensive locally made electric guitar
with a bright red finish and three silver pickups. Now, I had
received a slight taste of the blues from an American friend
living in Israel, who had some old Blues records in his
collection. I later became professional musician and a big fan
of the blues.
The selection of blues records available in Israeli shops in the
60’s was very limited and consisted of a few records by
Champion Jack Dupree, Memphis Slim, John lee Hooker,
B.B. King and Big Bill Broonzy. One day after my guitar
lesson with Dave, I was in the biggest record store in Haifa-
Beit Hataklit (the “Record House”), when I saw a Big Bill
Broonzy LP in a rare French edition (or so I thought at the
time – being all of fourteen years old). As I was admiring the
LP, examining the photo on the cover of Big Bill singing in a
dark club with his eyes closed. Trying to read the titles of the
songs on the back. I don’t recall all the details, but somehow
this fine LP found its way into my guitar case as I left the
store, making me guilty of the crime of shoplifting the Blues.
To this day, I still love to sing Broonzy’s “Black, Brown, and
White Blues” which I learned from that record…
Avner Strauss
Avner Strauss is a virtuoso guitarist in the Jazz,
Flamenco,and Classical traditions, and singer of the Blues,
as well as writing modern Israeli verse and songs. He is a
producer of music and theater in the schools, has four record
albums to his name, and has recently put out a new album
and a DVD of animated shorts of his songs for children. He
also happens to be the great-grandson of the philosopher
Martin Buber.
White Trash Blues Girl
the story of Candye Kane
I’m Candye Kane. I was born in Ventura, California on
November 13th. I am a scorpio. I was raised in Highland
Park, which is in north east Los Angeles. I went to Franklin
High School where I became friends with many Mexican
Americans and first learned to sing and speak in Spanish. My
parents still live in the same house I was raised in. I had my
first child when I was 17 years old, and for economic
reasons, became a stripper, topless model and “plus-size”
porn star. Through it all, I used my money to subsidize my
musical ambitions and hired top notch musicians to play with
me. I learned to exploit the sex business to my own
advantage, and continue to exploit them, just as they
exploited me!
I started developing breasts at the age of 13. I was not happy
about my changing body, as I was a tomboy and wanted to go
topless all summer. Little did I know that eventually I would
go topless for hard cash!!
My first musical experiences were as a child, organizing
plays and musicals in my neighborhood. My first band was
with my cousins, Shawn and Shay. We were called “The
Gemini 3”. My money making band was called “Rawhide”
with Damon and Lissa Kaye. We played with many punk
rock bands at the now defunct “Cathay De Grande” in
Hollywood. It was a great time to be in music. You could see
Black Flag, Los Lobos, Dwight Yoakum, The Circle Jerks,
The Screamin Sirens, The Blasters and Rawhide on one stage
in one night. My next band was with Jumpin’ Jerry Sikorski
and American Patrol. In those days I was the receptionist at
the L.A. Weekly in between stripping tours. Later I formed a
country band in L.A. called “The Armadillo Stampede” with
Will Ray on guitar. We got a lot of great attention in the early
L.A. country scene and landed a developmental deal with
CBS/Epic. Eventually, I tired of country music and the
hypocritical Nashville country game. I started singing blues
when I was introduced to singers like Etta James and Ruth
Brown, Big Maybelle. I used to think that only blacks could
really sing the blues, untill I saw a blond white girl singing
the blues in San Diego one night, and I saw the light! I
realized that the Blues would forgive me for my controversial
past, and I sure wouldn’t have to lose weight to be taken
seriously as a blues singer.
I got married in 1988 to Paladins bassist Thomas Yearsley
and we had one son together. (His first, my second). We were
married for 14 years and the Paladins produced my first CD,
“Home Cookin'” for Antones records.
Today, I am a devoted single mom and a touring musician. I
tour about 250 days a year. In between touring and recording,
and raising my son, I lend my support to my fellow sex
industry workers. I believe everyone should have a chance to
realize their goals and live their dreams. I was told by many
that it couldn’t be done. I persevered and refused to give up,
in spite of all the naysayers who discouraged me. I had many
obstacles, being a large-sized, teenage welfare mom,
outspoken bisexual porn star raised in a dysfunctional
household in the ghetto. But I know that if I can be successful
as a singer, anyone can acheive great things. I hope to inspire
others to live their dreams and love and accept themselves in
the process, even though it seems like a daunting prospect in
todays world. If I could have people say one thing about me
when I am gone, it would be: “She had a big heart and she
made a difference!!”
Love and a whole lotta juicy kisses,
Candye Kane
You can get more information and read Candye’s stories
from the road at:
Portable Man
by Del Goldfarb
Born in Buffalo, NY 1950. My history begins with the five string
banjo and Pete Seeger’s red Oak Publications book
(acquired with Bar Mitzvah gift money). Pete’s voice and
advice sank into my head like no adult’s advice had ever
previously done. He talked about not being materialistic and
collecting stuff, and how important it was for everybody to
all join together and help each other. My Bar Mitzvah year
began after the Cuban Missile Crisis, when President
Kennedy spoke on television in the fall and warned Fidel
Castro against escalating the tension. We had all been
practicing air raid drills regularly at school and people were
building fallout shelters. My mother was crying after
Kennedy spoke: “This is the end, this is the end.” Well, the
missile boats turned back and we didn’t have to die. I turned
twelve and started exploring book stores and finding out
about Beatniks, the Village Voice, the Realist, Allen
Ginsberg…
That January, something special came out of my little
transistor radio. A tune called “Walk Right In” came on with
a distinctly non-“Four Seasons”, non-“Beach Boys” sound.
‘Totally gave me shelter from the storm, telling me to relax,
be myself, everything’s cool, make yourself at home. Not the
typical message to hear from a song in those days.
I Graduated from Amherst High School in 1968, a few years
after school mates Andy Kulberg (of the Blues Project) and
Eric Anderson had graduated from the same place. Shortly
after bar mitzvah age (October 63, right before JFK
shooting), I started hanging on weekends in the Village. The
speed limit on the NY State Thruway back then was 80 mph.
There were always rides available with University of Buffalo
people going back and forth to the Big Apple. Great ride
message board at the student union. I was touring with
mandolinist Frank Wakefield while still in high school. I was
actually in Alabama when Dr. (Martin Luther) King was
assassinated, and I marched in the funeral procession in
Atlanta. I came to Oregon from Memphis in 1977 but started
going back and forth five years later. Pretty much have
residency in both places ever since. The Great Hoboes tagged
me with my NYC upbringing. I actually told them that I
launched my journey from there.
Over the years, I’ve heard billions of arguments regarding
what is and what is not the blues. As far as I’m concerned, it
the words. Any type of tune or rhythm can work.
Furthermore, as a blue-collar worker, a person has other
certain advantages. It began for me when I memorized lyrics
and played them back in my head in cadence with hikes and
marching in the USMC. Later on in the work force, I found
myself side by side for hours with either a printing press or a
donut machine. Lots of clickety-clack assembly line sounds
provided a back drop to my inner-head tunesmithing. For my
blues history class, I demonstrated this idea by showing a
clip from the film Blue Collar, which opens with a massive
steel press pounding interspersed with a ripping blues riff…
I would say that music, and blues music in particular, did
“save” me in many ways, similar to what the author of
“Vietnam Blues” (J.B. Lenoir) described. I’ve spent lots of
time trying to examine where I’m going and where I’ve been,
so I’ll try to pinpoint some of the moments as best as I can.
My song “Portable Man” is quite true to life. I’ve added an
opening verse since recording it that is quite chilling. The
title came from an exchange between myself and my then
four year old daughter. We were driving past some people
sleeping on benches next to shopping carts and she asked
about them. I told her that the only difference between them
and us was that they didn’t sleep in houses, they were
“portable”. So as of late, my first ritual of the day is to figure
out where the hell I am… and I know that age is helping to
kick in the confusion a bit.
I recall a moment a few years ago when I went to visit
Napolean Strickland in a Hernando, Mississippi hospital.
He’d been in a car wreck, his cousin Jessie Mae (Hemphill)
had turned me on to him. I introduced (film director) Robert
Mugge to Napolean, a fife player, and he used Napolean to
open the film “Deep Blues.” Jessie Mae called him “Po-
Lene”. He’d been in a car accident and was laying in bed.
Even in the best of times, I never could figure out what he
was saying, and I don’t think he always knew what the hell I
was all about. But we always had a lot of laughs for some
reason, and he was going to teach me how to burn fifes out of
a piece of cane with a red-hot iron rod. I don’t think he could
read or write, but he could punch a few smoking holes right
where they’re supposed to be and then just start playing the
darn thing. He caused me to think with the simplest of
questions. This time at the hospital was a long quiet moment.
We never really yakked, mostly goofed around, so what was
there to talk about? The guy was ancient. Napolean asked
me, “Where you from?” and that got my brain going. New
York to Tennessee to Oregon had become a blurry cycle, but
actually to Napolean anything outside of Senatobia or Como
was all the same. I’d just come down from Memphis.
Now when people ask me where I’m from, I tell them I’m
from whatever’s just behind me. I’m from whatever is the
opposite of where I’m headed. Because if I look back to find
any semblance of a launching pad or home turf, there’s
nothing there.
Del Goldfarb
Among his accomplishments, and in addition to his role as an
active Folk and Blues musician, Del Goldfarb has acted as a
Blues historian over the years, here are some highlights:
- Founded the first Waterfront Blues Festival (originally Rose City Blues Festival) in 1987, produced first five festivals presenting artists such as James Cotton, Charlie Musselwhite, Elvin Bishop, Jessie Mae Hemphill, Johnnie Shines, Lowell Fulson, John Lee Hooker, Bo Diddley, John Mayall, Frank Frost and many others.
- Submitted presentation of the washtub bass (on behalf of Fritz Richmond) to the Smithsonian Institute. Received letter acknowledging my contribution in helping to preserve “this key chapter in popular music history.” (1988)
- Discovered the grave of Gus Cannon nearly buried in overgrown weeds in N.Mississippi. With the Beale Street Blues Society (particularly Dennis Brooks), raised funds for the tombstone and coordinated efforts of John Sebastian and Eric von Schmidt in the design with a Memphis stone-carver.
- Assistant to curator Richard Hite (Canned Heat bassist) Memphis Music Hall of Fame and Beale Street Blues Museum, (1992-1994). Worked with Stax and Sun artists cataloging their items, Isaac Hayes, belongings of Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis, Johnny Cash.
See the story Oral Historian of the Blues, and
you can also see Del’s wonderful gallery of photographs and
Blues memories at www.DelGoldfarb.com
Oral Historian of the Blues
Del Goldfarb recalls Blues heroes
Editor’s Note: In addition to his role as an active Folk and
Blues musician, Del Goldfarb has acted as a Blues historian
over the years, including working as assistant curator to the
Memphis Music Hall of Fame and Beale Street Blues
Museum.
*****
I once had landed myself a three-hour ride with Geoff
Muldaur, going from Portland to the coast. In an insightful
chat, he asked Have you ever noticed that it is easier to talk
to old black men than to old white men? Why is that?
Muldaur and I are similarly moved by strange, unseen spirits.
In his early days, he had travelled across the country with a
broom specifically to sweep off the grave of Blind Lemon
Jefferson. When I look back on what special ability lead me
to be a historian, I think it was a knack for talking with old
men. To me history is really his-story. How I became a
historian is simply by being a helper and a listener to old
men.
*****
Up on Beale St., the Center For Southern Folklore occupies
what used to be Lansky’s, clothier to Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis
and Isaac Hayes. In the 70’s I worked as a temp doing
inventory at the store. Now it was the Folklore Center. On
weekdays, Mose Vinson would play his barrelhouse style
piano and on occasion I’d sneak up behind him with a banjo
and give the tourists a run for their flashbulbs.
*****
You never knew who’s going to walk into one of the
museums (Memphis Music Hall of Fame and Beale Street
Blues Museum). It was usually pretty quiet. Situated on
Second, directly across the street from the 100 year old
Peabody Hotel, we were two blocks from Beale. Stomping
grounds of Rufus Thomas and Albert King. Pops Staples
popped in from time to time.
Being so close to the Peabody Hotel made us a real power
center. One day, a musician named Eureka Jones came into
the museum.’Showed me a photo he had taken of Fred
McDowell’s grave. The name had been mis-spelled
McDewell. At the time, Bonnie Raitt was in town across
the street, her guitarist Stephen Bruton was in the museum
right then; he said she was over at the Peabody. Eureka and I
ran over there and found her sitting in the lobby with Dick
Waterman and some of her band members. We showed her
the photo. She subsequently arranged for Fred to have a new
tombstone.
*****
A friend from the Peabody came in one day and told me that
Gatemouth Brown was over at the Peabody right now. I went
over there and found him seated at a small table in the deli
area. As he was alone, I worked my way into an invite to sit
down with the man in black. He pushed aside a bowl of
chicken noodle soup and bit into his sandwich. I asked if he
wasn’t going to eat the soup. He laughed and told me to help
myself, which I did. As I started spooning the noodles,
Gatemouth grinned widely beneath his cowboy hat and
picked up a dill pickle.
You want this too? he asked.
Hell no, I told him. That’s going into the Blues Museum.
*****
Another moment of serendipity at the Memphis Music Hall
of Fame. During the Handy Awards week, many wandered in
such as John Cephas, and Jimmy Rogers. I was showing Roy
Bookbinder around the place when he was taken aback by
the display of steel guitars. There on display was his exact
same guitar, except that his was all worn. The one behind the
glass was in mint condition. I told him to go get his bio pack
and I showed it to the owner/director of the museum. The
guitars were switched.
*****
In the 60s I had plans to be the walk-on boy for Sonny
Terry, years later in the festival business, I’m walking-on
John Lee Hooker, Lowell Fulson, and Johnny Shines.I
brought Johnny Shines to Oregon, flew him and his wife in
actually a few months before he passed away, and had him
situated in the ancient home of the blues society president. I
came over in the morning, and Johnny was shuffling around
in his bathrobe. I asked him if he wanted to hear some guitar
and he said: “sure”, while he lined up a couple dozen pill
bottles on the kitchen table. While I’m strumming some slow
blues, he points to them and tells me that’s how many pills he
has to take every morning and then in slow motion he opened
each bottle and tapped tablets and capsules into his hand.
Then to the rhythm of my tune, he headed for the fridge and
opened the door, reached in and pulled out a tall can of
Budweiser. With a snappy pop of the top and the slightest
whisper of fizz, Johnny slugged them pills down and smiled
out the window at the rising summer sun.
*****
I had been looking down at Albert King laying peacefully in
his box. Hair combed, moustache trimmed, little plugs in his
nostrils, eyes sealed shut. Dead a few days now, we were
alone in the visitation room at the funeral home, early
evening when I stopped by after work. As I dwelled upon the
silence of the big man and how less imposing he looked, sort
of deflated and there was no pipe clenched in his jaw, I heard
several people enter the room behind me. Rufus Thomas, a
fellow Stax alumnus, came in with a few companions. I
stepped back from Albert’s coffin while Rufus stepped up to
it. He looked down at Albert and placed a hand flat against
the dead man’s stilled chest. After holding that pose for an
extended moment, Rufus spun around bug-eyed and blew out
a “lucky-that’s-not-me” whooshing of breath.
Rufus sang at Albert King’s funeral service after Joe Walsh
played a slide version of “Amazing Grace”. It was the
greatest of honors to know Rufus Thomas and to hang with
him.
He was known for his quote “Once you’ve been black on
Beale Street, you’ll never want to go back to being white”.
See the story Portable Man, and check out
Del’s website at www.DelGoldfarb.com
Furry’s Birthday Night
by Gershon Melnicove (Israel)
It was some time in 1971 that a number of my students at the
school of architecture in Knoxville Tennessee dragged me
across the state to Memphis to hear some real Blues. It turns
out, they had become buddies with an old Bluesman named
Furry Lewis, who once had a hit record with the song
Stakerlee back in the late 20’s. Furry Lewis was getting into
his 80’s and he had a prosthetic leg that caused him some
pain – so the boys would come by to sit with him and always
brought him a bottle of good whiskey. One night, the boys
told me it was Furry’s birthday, and they really wanted to
make sure he had a great one, so they organized a special
party at his home, and also brought along a young blonde
coed as his “birthday present”, as well as the mandatory
bottle of whiskey. Well, Furry and the young lady
disappeared into a room upstairs…and in the morning, Furry
comes out grinning with satisfaction, and the young lady
comes out right after him with an even bigger grin…
for more about Gershon Melnicove, see the story “The Real
Blues From Rosh Pina”
The Real Blues From Rosh Pina
Introducing Gershon Melnicove (Israel)
“Blues is an expression of having been taken advantage of.”
Gershon Melnicove used to think of himself as the rebel in
the family – the one who didn’t conform, didn’t play the
traditional success game, did not settle down and raise a
family. But that was many years ago, and as it turned out,
Gershon now has a wife and three children and lives in the
Gallilee region in northern Israel.
Gershon Melnicove is the grandson of Jewish Russian
immigrants to the USA who settled in Baltimore. He recalls
his grandfather’s butcher shop in downtown Baltimore in the
late 40’s and early 50’s, and the old house that the family
lived in above the shop. Growing up in the Washington
(D.C.) school system which was predominantly black, he
remembers sharing with his (black) friend Charlie Pryor the
feelings of being “down and under”. Gershon has a rich
history himself, including playing college football at the
University of Illinois with the likes of Dick Butkus and even
making it to the Rosebowl of 1965!!!
Gershon went on to a graduate degree in Architecture, and it
wasn’t until he had a teaching position in Knoxville
Tennessee that he met up and fell in love with the blues. His
students dragged him across the state to Memphis a few
times and introduced him to the legendary Furry Lewis.
It was while picking cherries on a farm in Montana that
Gershon met a Sioux Indian named Buckwheat who gave
him his first harmonica and told him “Just put it in the wind –
it’ll teach you how to play”. Over the years, he also
developed a talent for improvising blues lyrics off the top of
his head to any tune and any situation. He has been singing
with the Blues Rosh Pina band for nearly twenty years, and I
rmember those very special Friday afternoons outdoors at the
Logos club in downtown Tel Aviv, as Gershon would play
some harmonica and improvise about 20 blues verses as the
Blues Rosh Pina Band would jam on with love, peace, the
Blues and the abstract truth.
God Blues You
introducing Gor Delta Jr. (Israel)
Gor Delta Jr. sits back on the couch in his living room in the
desert town of Arad with a 7 string acoustic guitar in his lap,
a long metal “slide” on his finger, playing the blues. A hand
rolled cigarette is in his mouth, and a can of beer on the
coffee table, and one can see that the insides of his arms are
heavily scarred from some kind of serious injury. His homeproduced
recordings have been on the radio from time to
time, and have even been featured by a German DJ in a
discotheque on the island of Crete, but no one has really
heard of him in the general public – Gor Delta is an unsung
hero of the blues.
One of the first musical influences on Gor Delta Jr. was his
father. Gor was born Igor Chizhenok in in 1963 in Minsk,
Belarus. Gor remembers at the tender age of four years, his
father would come home drunk in the evening, and pull out a
trumpet. It was Gor’s job to put a Louis Armstrong LP on the
turntable and his father would play along with Satchmo…Gor
remembers that period of his life as a mix of sadness and joy,
the pain of his father’s drinking and rough behavior mixed
with the joy of discovering a world rich with music. That is
how Gor got the blues.
Gor learned to play the guitar in his early teens, buying a
guitar from a friend when he was 15 years old for a sum
equal to $2. He soon joined a school band, playing heavy
rock, rock and roll, and blues – this band even won a
competition of high school bands in Minsk. At the time, this
kind of music was not officially allowed by the government,
so Gor joined or formed a number of underground bands
such as “The Neighbors”, “Presence”, and “Visible
Invisible”. When the Perestroika arrived, he formed the legal
Rhythm and Blues band “Spoon of Honey”. They performed
at festivals like ” Gorki Park” in Moscow, and “Children of
Chernobyl” in Minsk. Gor also composed and recorded some
music for cinema and theater.
In 1989, Gor left Russia for Germany – settling in West
Berlin and playing festivals and recording sessions with
different bands for 2 years. It was during this period that his
drug abuse, which began after high school while still in
Russia, became more serious – Gor became heavily addicted
to heroin. This was also a time of great turmoil and confusion
in his life, leading to several suicide attempts, which
damaged the nerves and tendons in both his arms to the
extent that he could not play the guitar for a while.
Despite all of his suicide attempts (at least seven serious
incidents in ten years) the one thing in his life that Gor never
was willing to give up was the Blues – despite his injured
arms, Gor continued to play guitar. Due to a limited mobility
in his hands, he turned to playing slide guitar – which is
perfect if you are playing the Blues!
Gor married an Israeli woman in the early1990’s, and
together with their newborn son, they moved to Israel in
1993. That summer was the first time I met Gor – he played at
the Jacob’s Ladder Folk Festival in the Ezrael valley in the
north of Israel. After a few years in Israel, Gor was estranged
from his wife and decided to go wandering through Europe,
making stops in Minsk to visit his mother, and also managing
to record some blues in the studio with his old buddy from
the Spoonful of Honey band – Alex Tagunov. He then settled
for a while in the Netherlands. Upon joining Alcoholic’s
Anonymous (AA), he traveled to Tenerife, where he
performed regularly for a while. He later landed in Austria,
performing in the skiing resort town of Innsbruck. It was here
that he recorded a self-produced album of acoustic blues. In
the summer of 2000 he moved back to Israel, produced a
home-made but very professional album of electric and
acoustic blues, living in the ancient seaport town of Jaffa for
2 years, and then moving down to the desert town of Arad
where he now resides.
Big Joe and Me
by Marc Miller (Israel)
It was 1965 or thereabouts and my date and I were at a club
in Greenwich Village in New York listening to music. The
room was enormous, crowded, smoky and loud. The tables
were miniscule with barely room for drinks and no room to
stretch out our legs under them. Featured were two folk rock
bands, flaunting their wares with mega-amplification. They
were young, attractive, fashionably hip and very loud.
Sandwiched in between the two sets, perhaps as an
afterthought, was the bluesman Big Joe Williams (not to be
confused with the jazz and rhythm and blues singer Joe
Williams who sang with Count Basie). He looked terrible.
He had a big bulbous aneuristic protrusion bulging out of his
forehead. He was equipped with a beat up old acoustic guitar
which I think had nine strings and sundry homemade
attachments and a wire hanger contraption around his neck
fashioned to hold a kazoo while keeping his hands free to
play the guitar.
Needless to say, he was a big letdown after the folk rockers.
My date and I exchanged pained looks in empathy for what
was being done this Delta blues man who was ruefully out of
place. After three or four songs the unseen announcer came
on the p. a. system and said, “Lets have a big hand for Big
Joe Williams, ladies and gentlemen; thank you Big Joe”. But
Big Joe wasn’t finished. He hadn’t given up on the audience
and he ignored the announcer. He continued his set and after
each song the announcer came over the p. a. and tried to
politely but firmly get Big Joe off the stage. Big Joe was
having none of it and he continued his set with his nine-string
acoustic and his kazoo.
Long about the sixth or seventh song he got into his groove
and started to wail with raggedy slide guitar riffs, powerful
voice, as well as intense percussion on the guitar and its
various accoutrements. By the end of the set he had that
audience of jaded ’60’s rockers on their feet cheering and
applauding vociferously.
Our initial pity for him was replaced by wondrous respect.
He knew he had it in him to move that audience and he knew
that thousands of watts and hundreds of decibels do not
change one iota the basic power of a song.
Big Joe Williams died on December 17th, 1982. He was
inducted into the W. C. Handy Blues Hall of Fame on
October 4th, 1992. His accomplishments as a singer, song
writer and musician are considerable, but to me he will
always be the man who won over an unlikely apathetic
audience of rockers with uncompromising Delta blues.
Marc Miller
Marc Miller is a New York born folk-blues and ragtimeblues
singer and guitarist who now lives on Kibbutz Afiq in
the Golan Heights, overlooking the Sea of Gallilee.
Coming Up In Toronto
Micky Shaviv (Israel)
In 1969 I met Albert King, shook his hand and realized the
powerfully emotional range of expression in the simplest of
musical forms – the Blues. In 1971, I spent a week in a house,
in the middle of an upstate NY grey November, with Johnny
and Edgar Winter and Rick Derringer – they were just
forming their band “White Trash” and I heard some riveting
Blues from them, right in my face, all week long… I grew up
in Canada (my teenage years), seeing and hearing Lenny
Breau and Ed Bickert, and my touch (on the guitar) will
forever include the magic they passed on to me – especially
their interpretation of the Blues…
I was right there when “McKenna, Mendelson Mainline” and
the “Downchild Blues Band” each inspired everlasting Blues
power in me. I saw and heard Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi
Vaughan – and prayed hard to the gods in blue. I saw, in three
different concerts, the Miles Davis band with Pete Cosey on
9 different Stratocaster guitars!! In the summer of 1969 I saw
and heard and lived on – Muddy Waters and Led Zeppelin’s
first LP tour, when Page played nothing but the Blues.
Years later, I spent a night with a BB King’s bass player,
while they were touring in Israel, and learned some “outside”
stuff about the living Blues.
I also heard every note Allan Haynes played while on visit
here in Israel a few years back – and you bet, I believe it!
These are a few quick, life preserving vignettes, out of
thousands more that I was so fortunate to accommodate in
my blue hearted life. Thus far…
m shaviv
Make Me An Angel, That Flies From Montgomery…
by Shelly Ellen (Israel)
In the 60s my brother Michael, was my influence in music
and it was folk rock then…but during the (Yom Kippur) war
here (Israel) in 1973 I met a girl who played blues and sang
with a froggy type voice..and when the wartime curfew was
in force and we had to be indoors at dark, I had her move into
my flat…We’d play all the time. There was Taj Mahal and
Mississppi John Hurt and lots of other fingerpicking blues.. I
was 20 yrs old then and my playing with her helped to form
my style. Later on, Jimi Hendrix & Bonnie Raitt were
influences, but still with a love for acoustic blues &
fingerpicking, I started at first with a thumb pick & fingers
and later to this day with a flat pick & fingers to have the flat
pick already in my hand.
Shelly Ellen
Hanging Out with John Lee Hooker
by Ted Cooper (Canada/Israel)
I was 13 years old and had just started listening to the Blues.
I was already the drummer in a band with my best friend Jeff
Goodman. I had an old snare with real goatskin on it and a
broken bird cage on a stand that served as a cymbal.
Jeff called and said “John Lee Hooker’s playing at The
Mousehole in Yorkville”. That was all I needed to hear. By
8:30 that night, we were at the club dressed in suits with
Jeff’s mother’s mascara smeared above our top lips to
simulate mustaches. We knew from experience that even
though the Mousehole was a coffee house and didn’t insist on
customers being of legal drinking age, they sometimes didn’t
let you in if they thought you were a little kid.
John Lee came out on stage in a purple silk shirt and played a
hollow body Gibson electric. We were mesmerized as he sat
in a chair, eyes closed and played song after song taking us
with him to wild rent parties, lonesome road trips, and
women he’d loved with names like Fannie Mae and Ida.
He took a break and sat with some people at a table. Jeff
grabbed my arm and we walked over to John Lee’s table. Jeff
says,” Hi Mr. Hooker we have our own blues band and do
you mind if we play some of your songs?” He smiled and
said” Why don’t you boys come over to my hotel tomorrow
and I’ll play you a new one I’m workin’ on.”
We were so excited that we had to leave the club and run
around outside and celebrate and plan tomorrow. Also, we
had to be home by 10:30.
He was staying at the Ford Hotel. We took the subway
downtown the next day and knocked on the door. If you
knew downtown Toronto in the mid sixties you’d know the
Ford Hotel was a multi-storied “dive” at Bay and Dundas that
was later torn down to make way for the Eaton’s Centre
Mall.
The lobby smelled like stale sweat and tobacco. The door
was opened by a black man who ushered us in. John Lee was
lying on the bed playing his Gibson and watching a baseball
game with the sound off. Once in a while he’d take a sip of
some amber-coloured liquid in a water glass on a bed-side
table. After a while he sent the man who’d opened the door
for us on an errand. “Bill” he said.”Go get me some white
socks.”
John Lee asked us the name of our band and said he would
tell us the words of his new song that we could sing. He sang
the song and I wrote it down. It was called the Want Ad
Blues.
“I saw your ad this mornin’.
Said you want a real good man…”
The door opened and in walked Bill followed by two white
women. The first one was a hefty looking gal and said, “John
Lee. Wait til you see my new dress.” She went into the
bathroom and came out wearing a tight purlple mini-dress.
John Lee looked at her, slapped his knee and hollered “Hoo
Eee. Da meat’s on da outside.”
As you can imagine all this was pretty exciting for a couple
of suburban kids who had just started listening to the Blues.
We hung around a little longer and split.
That’s how I hung out with a blues legend when I was 13…
Ted Cooper
Brownie & Me
by Yoram Getzler (Israel)
Special memories from The Ash Grove.
Sometime in the later 1950’s when I was newly married and
in my first year at Los Angeles City College, I took a job at
the Ash Grove, a folk club two blocks from where I lived. It
was the one and only folk club in the Los Angeles area. The
owner, Bernie Pearl was religiously committed to authentic
acoustic folk music. Any of the great folk musicians of that
era who would venture that far west from the Village, were
sure to play the Grove. I believe we were the only venue west
of Chicago.
One of the most enjoyable of the N.Y. characters that made
the Grove a regular performance venue was the wonderful
blues guitarist and singer – Brownie McGhee. For his initial
appearance he came out by himself. (Later he brought Blind
Sonny Terry the harmonica player with him.) Somehow,
Grove arranged for him to stay with a woman named Janie,
who had a cozy house in the hills of Echo Park with an extra
bedroom. Almost every night of the three week gig, many of
us who worked at the Grove and a number of Brownies fans
and those hoping to learn some blues licks would join
Brownie at Janie’s house after the last show of the night.
That usually meant between midnight and 2 am.
Janie was a woman with a regular day job, and would often
be asleep when we got there. No matter. Brownie would
plunk himself down on the couch and the rest of us would sit
around (at his feet) on the floor or on other furniture. He
would take out his ax and after playing for hours at the club,
set back and begin again to play and sing the blues.
Interspersed with the music were anecdotes (which he often
shared while on stage) of playing the blues in the south
where he originally came from as well as in NYC where he
had been living for quite a while. The evenings often ended
at dawn, with Brownie cooking all of us breakfast.
That was my first year at college and I did not do so good at
staying awake for many of the classes. Especially the 8am
ones.
In his childhood Brownie had suffered from Polio, or some
other deforming childhood disease. The result was a
deformed leg. He was a man of average height but of wide
girth. Together with the limp from the deformed leg he
was quite a sight. He moved gracefully like a ship in the
swells of the ocean. This physical condition made it
uncomfortable for him to carry his large guitar. So when I
would take him places, it was I who usually carried the
guitar.
I well remember one night when instead of going home to
Janie’s after the gig, Brownie asked me if I would drive him
up to Shelly’s Manne Hole up in Hollywood. We got to the
door, the big black man & I. Eyeing me carrying the guitar,
the bouncer asked Brownie Are you the musician?, No
answered Brownie, chucking his head in my direction, He
is!
When Sonny Terry began to appear with him, Sonny would
hold onto Brownies arm as they walked through the audience
to the stage. It was the most graphic expression manageable
of The lame leading the blind. Sonny had a system of
placing the different keyed harps in different pockets.
Brownie would play the opening chord, and Sonny would
reach unerringly into the correct pocked and put the properly
keyed harp to mouth and play. He always wear a vest, I
believe that added four pockets (two inside, two outside).
One of the highlights of our late night private parties were to
persuade Brownie to sing one of the Dirty Songs he knew.
He would never sing them on stage, but at 3 AM In the hills
of Echo Park, it was an opportunity. I never knew if they
were his original work or some kind of standards. The one I
most remember began with Baby let me look under your
hood, and went on the offer to check her oil with his
dipstick etc. If anybody out here knows the rest of the
words, I would love to hear them.
Brownies style was tight and precise; he could play the same
song hitting the same exact notes, time after time. I was
always amazed how he could be both accurate and gentle
with his big fingers on the fret board.
NOTE: This is one of my fondest memories of Sonny Terry.
But I do not know if its proper to tell, after all his wife, or
children might be offended
Now both Brownie and Sonny would regale the gang in the
after show gatherings. One of the favorite songs Sonny sang
on stage was Hooray, Hooray, dis woman is akillin me!
One night when Sonny retired early to his bedroom, I walked
by on the way to the bathroom and heard him bellowing with
great enthusiasm the well known refrain Hooray Hooray,
dis woman is akillin me! Not being able to resist, my eyes
moved to observe the room, there he was, lights on, door
open (remember he was blind) with this blond woman Mary
on top of him. While in my car after a show Brownie would
often tease Sonny Sonny would say, I saw Mary in the
audience tonight., Whatcha talking bout, you can’t see!
would respond Brownie. Then they would spend half an hour
discussing whether or not Sonny could see Mary, or the road,
or anything else. I kept the Ash Grove job through my two
years at LACC and the next two years at USC. I never found
out what eventually became of these two close friends.
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To be continued…
Published: Oct 22, 2018
Latest Revision: Aug 17, 2021
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