My friend E. asked me to introduce him to Robert Johnson.  E. is mostly a fan of canonical rock and metal.  As such, he’d heard about Robert Johnson (whose “Cross Road Blues” was covered by Cream, whose “Love In Vain” was covered by the Stones, whose “Traveling Riverside Blues” was ripped off by Led Zeppelin in “The Lemon Song”, etc.) but  had never heard the music.  I presented him with a ceedee full of Robert Johnson sides, and I wrote a little letter to go with.

I wish I had included this quote from Paul Williams, about “Traveling Riverside Blues” (Robert Johnson’s first record):

History has nothing to do with it.  Let’s wipe away the romance, too, all that stuff about Johnson being seventeen years old and less than two years from death by poison at the hands of a jealous woman.  Somebody should make a movie, and they did, so let’s forget it, okay?  Everything that matters is in the grooves.

Rock And Roll: The 100 Best Singles.  Carroll & Graf, 1993.  Emphasis mine.

Here’s what I wrote:

Sketch Of Robert Johnson’s Life:
(Cribbed from various sources)
Robert Leroy Johnson born May 8, 1911, Hazelhurst, MS, to Julia Major Dodds and Noah Johnson. (The date is uncertain, based only on his mother’s recollection.  Official records are sketchy and contradictory.  Chronology is hard to establish.  No one has yet found his birth certificate, if he ever had one.)   Julia was married to Chas. Dodds and had 10 older children with him.  Robert was born “out of wedlock” as they say.  Raised in Hazelhurst, Memphis, and Tunica.  From a boy he was into music, playing Jew’s harp and diddley bow (a piece of wire nailed to a house or barn that functions as a sort of one-string guitar) until he could afford a guitar.  As a teenager, learned from and played with Ike Zimmerman, Son House (one of the greatest blues cats of all time!), Willie Brown.  House described Johnson as mouthy and proud as a peacock.  Feb. 1929, married 16-year-old Virginia Travis.  Shortly, she and her baby died during childbirth.  Spring 1931, remarried to an older woman, Calletta Craft.  From around 1932or3 on, traveled extensively working juke joints (and chasing women), often with Johnny Shines.  Long term on-and-off affair with Estella Coleman of Helena, AK, mother of Robert Lockwood.  Johnson instructed Lockwood, who later became a prolific session guitarist in the Chicago blues scene.  (My friend R., expert on American music, believes Lockwood a liar who was never taught by his father personally, who only learned from the records.  The preponderance of evidence however does not seem to be on R.’s side.)  Son Claud born 1931 to mother Virgie Mae Cain.  Originally named Claud Cain, he later changed his name to Claud Johnson.  In 1998 the Mississippi supreme court named Claud Johnson as Robt Johnson’s sole heir, upholding a county court’s decision from 1989. In 1936, Robert met talent scout H.C. Spier who arranged a recording date.  Made first recordings in San Antonio, TX, for Don Law and the American Record Company.  The first record to be released, “Terraplane Blues” b/w “Kind Hearted Woman”, sold about 5,000 copies.  Second recording session for Don Law in Dallas, 1937.  Died August 16, 1938, Greenwood, MS, supposedly as a result of poisoning by a jealous boyfriend.  His death certificate however identifies cause of death as syphilis.  There are a bunch of stories about how he died, none is more convincing than another.  3 different graveyards near Greenwood claim to be Robert Johnson’s final resting place.

The Blues Thing:
Johnson, like most “blues” musicians of his time, played in a wide variety of styles.  Basicly, he played whatever the audience demanded: pop, country, ragtime, polkas, waltzes, and so on.  According to Johnny Shines, Johnson could play anything; any song he heard on the radio, he could imitate right away.  This might be an exaggeration, but mimicry must have been an important skill for a traveling musician like him.  To make his living he had to be willing and able to please any available audience—Black, White, Cajun, whatever.  Shines identified Johnson’s favorite songs as “Yes Sir That’s My Baby”, “My Blue Heaven”, and “Tumbling Tumbleweeds”.  Pretty different from his recorded material!  On record, he played mostly blues, as did his peers.  Probably because record companies didn’t think White record buyers would accept Black artists, and blues was a genre they knew they could market to Black consumers. 

The Devil Thing:
There is a legend, common in the world Johnson came from, that if you wait at a lonely crossroads after dark, you will meet the Devil and he will teach you to play anything you like.  According to folklore, the Devil has taught lots of guitarists, fiddlers, and banjo-pickers to play.  One of those, according to a persistent rumor, was Robert Johnson.  The story can be traced to a comment by bluesman Son House.  When House first met Johnson, he was a snotty kid tagging along behind him and Willie Brown.  House described his musical skills at the time in two words: “No good.”  Johnson took off for a couple months.  By the next time he met House, he had acquired amazing skills on the guitar.  The supernatural solution for Johnson’s miraculous turnaround is much more compelling than the more mundane explanation that he might have spent that time—I don’t know—practicing?  So, the story hangs around, perpetuated by the rockers who romanticized Robert Johnson in the 60s.  Lots of church people believed that blues (all secular music, really, especially anything you can dance to) belonged to Satan anyway.  The blues mavens in Clarksdale will tell you exactly where it happened, at the junction of Highway 61 and Highway 49.  Folks in Rosedale will tell you it happened in their town.  Rosedale is referenced in “Cross Road Blues” but that song has nothing to do with the Devil.  It’s just about thumbing a ride.  Infernal imagery appears in a couple of Johnson’s songs like “Me And The Devil Blues” and “Hellhound On My Trail” but to me these songs seem to be about a simple fear of death, putting him more in line with other stars in the twice-as-bright, half-as-long category whose work seems after the fact to have forecasted their untimely deaths.  Anyway, more songs in Johnson’s catalog are fun-loving and humorous than spooky.  Don’t take the material too seriously or you’ll miss the point—watch out for puns and sexual metaphors.

The RPM Thing:
Some people have suggested that we have been hearing Johnson’s music wrong all these years on account of the masters were recorded at the wrong speed.  It should go just a little bit slower. There is a lot of interesting discussion going on around this and valid arguments to be made on both sides.  I almost buy this theory.  At this point tho, there’s no way to be sure.  I’ve heard some of the slowed-down versions and they sound good. 

The Photos:
There are 2 photographs of Johnson known to exist.  #1 was taken at Hooks Brothers portrait studio in Memphis, and Johnson is nattily dressed.  (He was known to be a bit of a dandy.)  #2 (probably taken earlier) is a photo-booth self portrait.  In it Johnson looks more like our latter-day image of a blues man.  He has the look is his eyes of a young and talented man confident he is about to take over the world.  And look at those fingers.  This year another photo surfaced, supposedly of Johnson & Johnny Shines.  Uncertain if it’s really him though.

King Of The Delta Blues:
In 61, Columbia (who bought Vocalion’s parent company in 1938) released an LP collection of some of Johnson’s records.  This was the disc that influenced Clapton, the Stones, etc. and ultimately led to widespread interest in the man’s fantastic music.  If it weren’t for that record, today nobody would know who he was.

The Complete Recordings:
In 1990, Columbia released a 2-disc set with all the songs, all the alternate takes, everything Johnson ever recorded, which amounts to 41 cuts.  Much to Columbia’s surprise, the set was a big hit.  People started talking about Robert Johnson again.  A lot.  There have been a couple different versions since then.  The mastering of the most recent one is supposed to be much better.  I might buy it.

Enjoy.  This is some of the best stuff I’ve heard.

Via Jesse Thorn, who has very good taste in rap, this video drips Cool.  I love the flannel shirts.  I love the elemental beat.  I love all the little details of place.  I love how almost evryone feels like people you might see on the street, not someone dressd up for a video.  I love that someone’s granny is just jammin out in the background.  I love the slammin girl at the chicken stand.  I love how people are actually working in the back of the chicken stand.  I love the density of the lyrics.  I love halal food in ny.

Occasionally my mind drifts to a place where I find myself wondering who I would most like to have the chance to see play live, if time’s arrow was no barrier that is. I don’t draw conclusions, just enjoy musing over the possibilities. A prime candidate would surely be Howlin’ Wolf. Here he is from 1964 with a corker, Killing Floor. With a band featuring Hubert Sumlin, Willie Dixon and Buddy Guy, the Wolf takes blues music to the next level, a black monolith moment.

Seconded, Mr. Wah.  Tho I will always maintain the superiority of th band Wolf had in Memphis in ’51 over any subsequent group, and if I could hear any band play live, laws of time & space notwithstanding, it would be that one, no fucking contest.

“Black monolith moment.” I like that.

Head over to Diddy Wah’s place an’ hear this record and plenty more.

Booker White is one of my favorites.  Here he is whupping a steel guitar.  (And don’t call him Bukka.)

The awesomeist flag.

Oh, and I don’t have an opinion about the new design.

Hill Country Revue, Sep. 26, Bluebird Theater, Denver.  A few things…

Some bands take a second to heat up.  This band, as soon as they hit th stage they were at 11. And they went up from there.

I didnt really care about the interminable guitar noodeling so I watcht th rhythm section.

Ed Hot Cleveland is ay fucking mazing.

Chris Chew is a brilliant master of ceremonies, the king of any room he is in, plays crazy licks on the bass like it’s nothin, and has fun all th time.

They named a song after themselves, which is awesome and ridiculous.  “Hill Coun-try/ Revue oo oo-oo/ Is com-ing/ Stomp your shoe.”

An indestructible sense of rhythm allows this band to do anything.

Poor Cody lost his dad 6 weeks earlier.   Certainly no grief in his playing tho—pure ecstasy.

“Hey Bo Diddley”—which became “Hey Hill Country” which became “Not Fade Away”—was the highlight for me. Evrybody sang a verse.  Chris’s verse was based on “Froggy Went A-courtin’”.

Electric washboard.  With reverb.   This sign hung from the microphone stand:

(Drawing is from memory.)

I’ve got a fever and the only prescription is More Washboard!

They sound even more like the Allman Bros than NMS Allstars do.  (I suppose it’s th double guitar.)

Seriously, one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen.

Addenda 10-06:

Jen points out that Ed Hot Cleveland is always ahead of the beat.  She’s right.   And I don’t like a driving, ahead-of-the-beat style as much as I like a laid-back, behind-the-beat one.  But it don’t change th fact that Cleveland is probably the best drummer I’ve seen live.

The band never took a break as a group.   None of that theatrical shouting for an encore. They had their set workt out so evrybody could take a break but not all at once.  So we got hours of solid music.

We got a very good return on our $15 investments.

Late once again, I got hip to RED via Cosmic Rock (Read That Muthafuckin blog!!) and I mustve listnd ta this jont a dozen times today.

“The Man Without The Machine”:

The remix.  Dam-Funk adds the machine:

Preview: “Ghost Ride The Hips”

Red has been supported by LA art gal HVW8 (their press release). They collaborated with Stones Throw Records to bring “I Should Tell Ya Momma” out on 7ʺ vinyl.

Media has gotten wise:  Gross style mag Fader praised him.  Faith-Ann Young wrote about Red on Justin Timberlake’s website.  Her piece referenced Auto-tune.  Mr. Unter of Cosmic Rock wdnt hear it cuz he has an ax to grind with the Auto-tune haters.  To my ear, the way Red bends pitches is reminiscent of the way some are using that technology.  His voice replicates all kinds of sounds usually made with computers, hence the “Man Without The Machine” moniker; that’s what some people find interesting about him.  What I find interesting about him number one is that he is simply and without a doubt a dope artist.  Number two, I havnt heard evrything but I’ve never heard anything like this.  You can identify many influences but the result is unique.  Number three he sounds like Captain Beefheart.  #4 his bass notes sound like the steel rumbling when some dork drives by bumpin they system too loud.  I wd hate t see an artist like this reduced to fodder for th dumbass debate over auto tunes.

This is the way I remember hearing it.  I’m not looking for any conformation cause I like my story and I don’t want to find out it didnt happen this way.

They started their drummer with a 3-piece drum set.  He was allowed to add more only if he tied one limb behind his back for each extra piece.

Michelle at This Is Not Pitchfork says, of the Von Blondies’ album Pawn Shoppe Heart,

I love that they switch between male and female singing; it makes the album feel continuously fresh, no matter how many times you play it.

I wonder if this is consistently true?

I was a snob from an early age.  In elementary school I sneered at th kids who rocked Thriller jackets and white gloves.  Later on I came to an appreciation of pop music, learing to love unabashédly records like “Billy Jean”, “Rock With You”, “Man In The Mirror”, “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’”, “Smooth Criminal” etc.  But I never really cnsiderd th scope of the man’s artistic legacy until now.  Right now people who know are talkin about his career in ways that make me reconsider his significance…and I’m lissenin.

In particular, this essay took me to school.

Also lissen to this conversation (empeethree) with Jesse Thorn, Jay Smooth, and Oliver Wang, 3 astute, sensitive dudes who know their shit.  It focuses mostly on the cultural legacy, rather than musical; and the essay linkd above soundly refutes some of the ignorant comments that slip in, like, “He wasnt a songwriter.”

What’s better than not-givin-a-fuck creative punkrock kids?  Via BoingBoing.