Tad Richards' odyssey through the catalog of Prestige Records:an unofficial and idiosyncratic history of jazz in the 50s and 60s. With occasional digressions.
Showing posts with label Lightnin' Hopkins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lightnin' Hopkins. Show all posts
Lightnin' Hopkins is, by most counts. the most widely recorded of all blues singers, under his own name and a variety of others. and they're all worth listening to, but most people, indlucing most blues lovers, will not have amassed a complete collection of Lightnin's discography. You'd have to pretty committed just to own a complete set of Hopkins on Prestige--there are 11 albums, on the main label, Bluesville and Prestige Folklore.
This is the last Prestige session, produced once again by Samuel Charters, and distinguished by alternating tracks of Lightnin' singing and Lightnin' talking, creating a mini-memoir. The songs are great, in the Lightnin' style, and the interviews are fascinatng. If
you were only going to buy one Lightnin' Hopkins album, you'd probably not choose this one. You'd go for the music, and you might well choose one of the Prestige albums, because they have higher standards for recording than a lot of the other labels he turned up on. But if you're a folklorist, or just someone who wants to get to know the musicians he listens to better, this is an excellent choice. Called, appropriately, My Life in the Blues.
Bluesville is gone, but Prestige is not quite done with the blues, so here is Lightnin' Hopkins back in the studio for two days, and two albums' worth of songs.
The details of many early blues recordings under hastily thrown-together conditions and often for obscure fly-by-night labels are shrouded in mystery, but this is hardly an early recording or a fly-by-night label, and a certain amount of confusion abides.
Wikipedia's entry for for the first-released album,
Down Home Blues, lists it as a Bluesville release, and gives a catalog number, BVLP 1086. Stefan Wirz, the German blues discographer, lists it in his Bluesville discography, with a catalog number of 1086. Jazzdisco, the Japanese jazz discographical site, lists it as a Prestige release, catalog number PR 1086.
Wirz's illustrated discography shows the album cover, and the same album cover can be found on the Wikipedia site and the Discogs site, so it would seem to be the only album cover. All of these covers bear the Prestige logo and not the Bluesville logo. Further, the Discogs site also shows the back cover, with the Prestige logo and the words Prestige 1086. Which should settle the matter...except...
Prestige has no PR 1000 line. And Prestige Bluesville did, and BVLP 1086, were it anywhere on the label or the packaging, would fit quite nicely into it, as the last Bluesville recording (save only BVLP 1089, the belated release of a 1961 session with Scrapper Blackwell protégé Shirley Griffith).
The rest of it is fairly straightforward. Well, maybe not. The sessions were recorded in New York City (Jazzdisco) or Englewood Cliffs (Wikipedia) with Ozzie Cadena producing (Discogs) or Sam Charters (Wikipedia). The sleeve of Soul Blues lists Ozzie as producer.
Chris Albertson, a frequent Prestige producer who wrote the liner notes to both albums, says that:
The rhythmic accompaniment is supplied by bassist Leonard Gaskin who has recorded with Hopkins before but whose wide range of musical associations also include Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker and Eddie Condon, and drummer Herbie Lovell who counts Earl Hines, Arnett Cobb, Teddy Wilson and Buck Clayton among his past associates.
Which would seem to suggest that Gaskin and Lovell are once again recording with Hopkins. But The Penguin Guide to Blues Recordings posits that "Gaskin and Lovelle's parts were probably added at overdub sessions." That would not have been Prestige's normal way of doing things.
The recording took place over two days, with all of the songs that would appear on Down Hone Blues and some that were destined for Soul Blues recorded on May 4, and the rest on May 5 -- Monday and Tuesday.
Hopkins was probably the most-recorded of all the country blues singers, under his own name and a variety of others. He has appeared on seven earlier Prestige recordings -- as a solo, with other Houston bluesmen, with New York jazz musicians. One would have to be awfully dedicated to collect everything he ever recorded. But if one wanted to start listening to Hopkins, or add a little to an ongoing collection, any of these Prestige recordings would be good. These two albums, or the Double Blues reissue put out by Fantasy on LP or CD, with Rudy Van Gelder's sound engineering, would be excellent.
Two 45 RPM singles came from this session: "Let's Go Sit On The Lawn" / "I Like To Boogie" and "I'm Going To Build Me A Heaven Of My Own," Parts 1 & 2.
Sam "Lightnin'" Hopkins recorded any time, anywhere, with any musicians, for any label, and for that matter, under any name. Throw in all the nom de session recordings, and the total is anyone's guess, but he may well have been the most recorded of all blues singers. His last time out for Prestige, he was recorded in Texas with local musicians, some of them his road band at the time, and produced by folklorist Mack McCormick. This time he's in New York -- Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, to be precise -- with Rudy Van Gelder manning the controls, Ozzie Cadena producing, and two first rate jazzmen, Leonard Gaskin and Herbie Lovelle, backing him up.
Both were versatile musicians, at home in a variety of styles. Closest to Gaskin's heart was probably trad jazz, and Lovelle possibly rhythm and blues, but both had played across the board (they'd played together once before, on Gaskin's Prestige All Stars outing). Hopkins's last session had featured Texas drummer Spider Kilpatrick, who was praised in the liner notes to an Arhoolie album:
Finally here was a musician who could follow Hopkins wherever he went, plus one providing a snappier beat that the guitarist could hang phrases of a bit more aggressive nature than usual on.
That was not going to be the case with Gaskin and Lovelle. The Penguin Guide to Blues Recordings describes their accompaniment thus:
they are propulsive rather than responsive and never allow the music to drag.
Either way, it's still Lightnin' Hopkins: clever, wry, passionate, deep in the tradition, and an inexhaustible source of material, much of it made up on the spot, all of it deeply personal, and yet touching on universal themes.
Hopkins, of course, recorded so prolifically that listening to everything he ever recorded would be a Herculean labor. But just listening to the Bluesville recordings reveals a lot. The musical standards of jazz are exacting in the extreme. The cutting sessions in Kansas City speakeasies, at Minton's Playhouse, were designed to weed out all but the most technically adept. The story of a young Charlie Parker being forced off a Kansas City bandstand by Jo Jones throwing a cymbal at him is one of jazz's most enduring legends. So it's understandable that a jazz critic, praising the work of Gaskin and Lovelle, would comment on their ability to "follow his ramshackle, instinctual sense of rhythm quite dexterously, giving Hopkins' skeletal guitar playing some muscle." Hopkins's guitar playing had plenty of muscle, as the instrumentals on this session and the previous Houston session show. More to the point, Hopkins's professionalism is shown in his ability to adapt to the seat-of-the-pants accompaniment of his Texas cronies and the exacting standards of New York jazzmen.
Naturally, pros like Gaskin and Lovelle are going to set the tempo, "propulsive rather than responsive" in the Penguin Guide's wonderfully descriptive phrase. As Elvin Jones put it,
The greatest contribution jazz has made in music has been to replace the role of the conductor with a member of the ensemble who, instead of waving his arms to keep time and convey mood, is an active member of the musical statement. That person is the drummer.
But like the conductor, the drummer is there to serve the music, and the soloist. If you want Lightnin', it's wonderful to hear him in two such different settings. But essentially, if you want Lightnin', you get Lightnin'.
Goin' Away was a Bluesville release, and the two 45 RPM singles that came out of the session were also on Bluesville: "Business You're Doin'" / "Wake Up Old Lady" and "Goin' Away" / "You Better Stop Her." Jazzdisco, my main discographical source, began with its 1963 listings to include release dates, so I know that both the singles were released in 1963, and apparently quite close together: their serial numbers are Bluesville 45-823 and -824.
A month after his January session, Lightnin' Hopkins was back in the studio for two more dates with Mack McCormick,now with an amplified guitar and different members of the band that he customarily used for club dates around Houston for each session. They were:
Buster Pickens on piano (second session). He was one of the west Texas piano players who had roots going back to the 1920s and were known as the "Santa Fe group," but not because they had any connection with that New Mexico tourist mecca. They used to travel to gigs around Houston, Galveston, Richmond and other southwest Texas destinations by hopping freights on the Santa Fe railroad line. He recorded with many blues singers, including Texas Alexander, Hopkins' mentor and perhaps his cousin. Pickens recorded an album of his own in 1960
Billy Bizor on harmonica (first session). After playing on several Hopkins recordings in the early 1960s, he got to do two recording sessions on his his own in 1968 and 1969, but they weren't released for a couple of decades, or long after Bizor's death.
Donald Cooks on bass (second session). He was the go-to bass player for a number of Texas bluesmen, recording with Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown, Smoky Hogg, Goree Carter and others.
Spider Kilpatrick on drums (both sessions). He was raised in the same New Orleans orphanage that Louis Armstrong sprang from him, worked with Hopkins for many years, and was praised in the liner notes to an Arhoolie recording:
Finally here was a musician who could follow Hopkins wherever he went, plus one providing a snappier beat that the guitarist could hang phrases of a bit more aggressive nature than usual on.
One of the reasons Hopkins had such a long and prolific recording career is that he had a vast repertoire. Of course he did repeat himself from time to time, but he also knew a whole lot of songs. had written a whole lot of songs, and was able to extemporize a whole lot of songs. One such, on this album, is "Happy Blues for John Glenn, about which Mack McCormick says in his notes:
Most of them...are lost as the impulse and the circumstances which occasioned them fade away. That "Happy Blues for John Glenn" was caught in a recording session is an accident resulting entirely from the flight having fallen on the date for which studio time had been booked...Ordinarily, he would have forgotten it in a night or two, and as a matter of fact at this writing Lightnin' says he can't remember the song.
Walkin' This Road by Myself was a Bluesville release, producer credit to Kenneth S. Goldstein and Mack McCormick, although McCormick was the only one with actual hands on down in Houston. Three 45 RPM singles were released from the session. "My Baby Don't Stand No Cheating" / "Katie Mae" came out on Bluesville.
In his liner notes to this album, Mack McCormick notes that
In a brief three years Lightnin Hopkins has become an international celebrity who receives fan mail from England, Australia, Sweden and Germany. A cascade of recordings, night club, concert and TV appearances have brought him to a glare of limelight of a kind accorded few blues singers.
That fame would date from 1959, when Hopkins was discovered by both McCormick and Samuel Charters. Charters recorded him on January 16, 1959, on a home tape recorder, one mike, in a furnished room in Houston, for Folkways. McCormick followed on February 16 and 26, with the same sort of basic equipment. His recording was released on Tradition, a folk music label started by Patrick Clancy of the Irish folk group the Clancy Brothers, along with Kenneth S. Goldstein, who would later run the Bluesville label for Prestige.
Hopkins, of course, had had a long recording history before being discovered by Charters and McCormick. going back to the 1940s and rhythm and blues labels like Aladdin, Modern, Harlem and Herald. Both Charters and McCormick had the idea of stripping the R&B commercialization from Hopkins, and having him sing the old-style Texas blues he learned from his cousin Texas Alexander and Blind Lemon Jefferson.
It was the right time and right approach for Hopkins, coming at the beginning of the blues revival of the 1960s, although McCormick may have been overstating the case for his celebrity by a bit. He may have gotten fan mail from England, Australia, Sweden and Germany, but Black musicians in America were still not getting the acclaim and adulation that went to Bobby Vinton or Connie Francis--and that's not even mentioning the white tsunami that is just a year away from sweeping in from Britain.
This is Hopkins's fifth album for Prestige, and by no means his last, so I'll digress a little and talk about Mack McCormick's liner notes, probably the strangest I've ever seen,
McCormick could have been a real prototype for the Beat Generation, except that he spent most of his life on the byways of Texas and didn't cross paths with Kerouac and Ginsberg and that crew. A high school dropout, carnival worker, jazz buff, rambler, he stopped into a music store in New Orleans one day in 1946, got into a conversation with the store owner, who was compiling a jazz discography, and was hired on the spot to be its Texas editor. That brought him to Texas and Texas folklore, and the unearthing of many Texas bluesmen, most notably Hopkins and Mance Lipscomb.
But perhaps Hopkins was not sufficiently grateful? There's an undertone in the paragraph quoted above that Hopkins might not deserve all the acclaim, and that note becomes more strident as McCormick goes on: "In acknowledgement of my own position as mentor and monster-maker, I am continually asked, 'Has he changed much?'"
McCormick hastens to let us know that he's not the one criticizing Hopkins, but "in the minds of some critics...college and coffee house crowds have corrupted him."
And McCormick goes on to deliver his verdict--Hopkins didn't even need "Hollywood night clubs, Harvard University and the State of New Jersey" to become corrupt. He has always been "consumed by self-pity and everlastingly trying to persuade the world that it is his valet."
I don't want to denigrate McCormick, whose contributions as a folklorist were enormous, but he certainly seems to have been caught in a mood when asked, probably by Kenny Goldstein, to write these liner notes. And he was very much a product of his time, a time marked, even for people with social and artistic consciences, with a heavy overlay of white privilege.
Does Lightnin' even have a right to sing the blues? His songs may "reflect the mistreatment which has been and, in lesser degree [white privilege creeping in] is the condition of Negro life. But...Lightnin' is not in any real sense subject to it in the way his neighbors are."
McCormick ticks off a few of the advantages that disqualify Hopkins from a right to sing the blues, including being "pursued by women of two races."
Hopkins, McCormick believes, is "free to exercise all but a fraction of the rights of first class cltizenship [but] nevertheless maintains he is victimized from all sides. He sees injustice in the fact that the police continually arrest him for drunk driving" (try explaining that to the families of Michael Brown or Taylor)...He goes to astonishing lengths to maintain himself in a pathetic, blues-producing state."
Lightnin' Hopkins had a right to sing the blues. He had a right to make a little money doing it, and the longevity of his career--he may have made more recordings than any other blues singer--is a tribute to the amount of work and dedication he put into his art form. Many blues singers of the twenties, many rhythm and blues and rock and roll and country and western singers of the 1940s, 1950s and on up, only made a handful of records, were "one-hit wonders," because they really only had one great song in them. This is, in itself, a heroic accomplishment. Most of us don't even have one great work of art in in us. But it puts Lightnin' Hopkins long history of accomplishment into perspective.
Smokes Like Lightning was produced by MeCormick, and he did a creditable job, this time in a professional recording studio (ACA Studios in Houston). McCormick produced a second session in February, which included three songs that filled out this album and enough material for a second album, Walkin' this Road by Myself. The latter session was actually released first, in 1962 (Smokes Like Lightning came out in 1963), so its liner notes found McCormick in a more positive frame of mind.
The album was a Bluesville release. "T-Model Blues" and "You Cook All Right" were released as a 45 RPM single on Prestige.
Lightnin' Hopkins may have produced more blues recordings than any other artist.
Partly, this was because he lived and recorded in the LP era. If Blind Lemon Jefferson had been brought into the studio, as Hopkins was, to record whole albums worth of music on the same day, he might have recorded more. Lead Belly died in 1949, before the LP era, which I knew without thinking about it, but I've only seen LP releases of his music, so this actually comes as a little surprise to me. His voluminous recordings for the Library of Congress were released as LPs. But because of his prison time, Lead Belly's recording career was relatively short.
There was a perfect convergence for Hopkins. He lived in the LP era, he lived a long time, he managed--unlike Scrapper Blackwell, for example--to keep himself in the public eye and in the recording studio. But there's another reason why one musician recorded output is plentiful while another's is sparse.
Like Jefferson and Lead Belly, and others who recorded a lot, he knew a lot of songs.
And this is significant. Obvious, if you think about it. But there are reasons why -- in blues, in rhythm and blues, in country, in rock and roll--you see so many brief careers, or one-hit wonders. There are other reasons, early death being right up there. Or addiction, or bad career choices, or prison. But an important reason is simply not having enough songs. You see it a lot in the doo-wop groups of the 50s, groups like the Penguins, whose "Earth Angel" is one of the most beloved and popular recordings of the era, but who never had another hit. And often, if you follow the careers of these groups, as Marv "Unca Marvy" Goldberg has, you discover that these one-hit groups made a number of other recordings, often moving from label to label, trying to catch that lightning in a bottle again. And if you listen to a few of these other, less successful recordings, you often discover that these singers really only had that one idea. That one spark of genius that produced a great harmonic idea wedded to a great beat--and the rest were imitations of that one spark.
Hopkins was as prolific as he was because he knew a lot of songs, because he could improvise moments of his life into song, and because he was subtle. The twelve-bar blues is a constant form, but Hopkins's lyric gifts were such that he could craft a lot of stories, and his variations on guitar licks and vocal approaches made each song a new experience.
This session for Prestige is a perfect example of that. It's just him and an acoustic guitar, which means he can set (and vary) his own tempos. He starts with two songs by others, "Buddy Brown's Blues" by his cousin Alger "Texas" Alexander, and the rhythm and blues standard "Wine Spo-Dee-O-Dee" by Stick McGhee. The lyric is mostly same, let's all get together and drink some wine, but the acoustic accompaniment, and Hopkins's introspective vocal styling, give it a very different feeling.
The rest are listed either as "Traditional" or by Hopkins, and it's sometimes hard to tell where the distinction falls. Some of the songs are little slices of Hopkins's life, like his ride on a DC-7 (His mama says "Son, you almost been to heaven." He says, "What you mean, Mama?" She says "Son, you been ridin' that high-flyin' DC-7.") "My Grandpa is Old Too!" is part sung, part spoken--a tribute to his grandpa who has "been takin' care of me ever since I was a boy," and who now deserves a little peace and quiet, not to be bothered. It's not sentimental wallowing like Eddie Fisher singing the English language version of the German song about my Papa who was so wonderful. or hero worship like Randy Travis thinking that his grandpa walked on water. It's the blues, and the blues are about how things are. And it's very moving.
"Beans, Beans, Beans" is jointly attributed to Hopkins and Traditional, which is really a little odd, since all these traditional songs are given alterations and tailored to fit Hopkins. This one is a mixture of song and story, mostly story, about working in the fields, and I would guess that the traditional part is the smallest. "Goin' to Dallas to See My Pony" run is listed as traditional, but it's new to me. But as I said, Lighnin' Hopkins knows a whole lot more songs than most people.
Houston folklorist Mack McCormick and Kenneth S. Goldstein produced. Since the session took place in Houston, so Hopkins needed no DC-7 to get to it, that probably means McCormick did the hands-on producing, which mostly meant getting a mike and sticking it in front of Hopkins. Well, nothing is ever that simple. But simplicity was the key here, and Hopkins nailed it.
Blues in My Bottle was the title of the album. "Sail On, Little Girl, Sail On" and "Death Bells" were the 45 RPM single.
This short session of four songs, reminiscent of the old 78 RPM days, was recorded in Houston by Texas folklorist Mack McCormick and Kenneth S. Goldstein. Lightnin' Hopkins's path may have crossed with Chis Strachwitz as he headed for California while the latter was heading for Texas, but the Lone Star state was home ground for Hopkins, and he returned.
These four songs would be added to a longer 1962 session to make the Bluesville album Walkin' This Road by Myself, and I'll write more about it when we get to that second session.
Three of the songs are credited to Hopkins, but "Baby Don't You Tear My Clothes," a cheerfully bawdy number in the hokum tradition, goes back at least to the 1930s, is generally credited as "traditional," has spawned a number of other songs with the same melody, the best-known being Bob Dylan's "Baby, Let Me Follow You Down." It was first recorded in 1935 by the State Street Boys, a Chicago group that sometimes worked with Big Bill Broonzy and Jazz Gillum.
The fourth, "Good Morning Little Schoolgirl," is credited as "Traditional," but it probably does have a progenitor--the first Sonny Boy Williamson, who recorded it on Bluebird in 1937 and is listed on that record as composer.
Also on July 7, a quintet led by Gene Casey, consisting mostly of guys who had played with the Latin Jazz Quintet plus Ray Barretto, had a recording session at the Van Gelder Studio, but it was never released. Too bad. Anything with Ray Barretto is worth hearing.
Lightnin' Hopkins is back, this time without Sonny Terry, although again with the rhythm section of Leonard Gaskin and Belton Evans is still there;
With Ozzie Cadena producing the session and Rudy Van Gelder at the controls, this is one of the best of the myriad recordings Hopkins produced in his lifetime. The material is familiar--songs by Hopkins, and three blues standards by others which Hopkins had performed often and recorded not infrequently--but here they're heard to their best advantage, and the reason why Hopkins lasted so long, and recorded so often, is that he was very good. This is the blues the way you want to hear it.
The originals are all good. The covers are songs that have become blues standards. "Mean Old Frisco" was written by Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup, and first recorded by him in 1942. It was covered in the 1940s by Brownie McGhee and Champion Jack Dupree, in the 1950s by Snooks Eaglin and B. B. King (both in 1959). Since then, it's become not only a blues standard, but a jazz tune, recorded by both Richard "Groove" Holmes and Junior Mance.
The others have more confused provenances. "Come Back Baby" was written and first performed in 1940 by Walter Davis. It was hit for him on the race records charts, and then became a hit again in 1950 with Lowell Fulson's version. That began its ascent to standard status, but it was really locked into the consciousness of the blues audience and blues performers with the Ray Charles version in 1954, the flip side of his big hit "I Got a Woman." Charles' version was brilliant, inspired, and...with composer credit somehow slid over to Charles.
Since then it's had a double life. It's been recorded by B. B. King, Mance Lipscomb, Snooks Eaglin, James Cotton and others as a straight ahead blues. By white blues revivalists like Dave Van Ronk, Danny Kalb and Charlie Musselwhite. By folkies like Carolyn Hester (with Bob Dylan on
Harmonica), Bert Jansch and Fred Neil. By rockers like Hot Tuna and Jefferson Airplane. Even by present-day rockers like the Lords of Altamont and the Black Sorrows...all as "Come Back Baby" by Walter Davis. It has also been recorded by Stevie Wonder, Junior Parker, Aretha Franklin, Eric Clapton, Etta James,and many others, with jazz versions by Les McCann and George Benson...all as "Come Back" by Ray Charles.
"Back to New Orleans" is credited on Hopkins' Bluesville disc to Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee, who were Bluesville artists at the time, but where it comes from is anyone's guess. It's more often called "Baby Please Don't Go," and was probably first recorded in 1934 by Big Joe Williams. Hiw often it's been recorded since, and under what titles...pretty close to impossible to guess. French blues historian Gérard Herzhaft (quoted in Wikipedia) reckons that it is "one of the most played, arranged, and rearranged pieces in blues history." It's essentially a traditional blues with origins lost in the past. Williams gets composer credit on his original Bluebird release.
Taken all together, this is a seriously satisfying immersion in the blues. The Bluesville release was called Lightnin', and a Prestige re-release was The Blues of Lightnin' Hopkins.One 45 was released on Prestige -- Mojo Hand" / "Automobile Blues," and three more on Bluesville:
Sonny Terry is sprung loose from his usual partnership with Brownie McGhee, and paired with a different blues guitar man. Lightnin' Hopkins was an altogether different proposition. From Texas, he was not at all of the Piedmont school of Blind Boy Fuller-influenced finger picking. He got something from serving as an on-and-off lead boy for Blind Lemon Jefferson on the streets of Houston, and by playing on the streets. He bounced back and forth between playing music, picking cotton, and working on the railroad, until in 1946 he was offered a recording contract by Aladdin Records in Los Angeles (one of his songs on that session was "Rocky Mountain Blues," which he would record again for Prestige). That began a long, strange recording Odyssey for
Hopkins, which made him, by the time he was finished, the most recorded blues musician of all time. Nobody knows how many records he made, or for how many labels? Eight hundred? A thousand? More? You pays your money and you takes your choice.
The first heyday of his recording career lasted from 1946 to 1956, the rhythm and blues years, and the small independent record label years. with a style that was loose, rough, not too overly concerned with time signatures or even staying in tune, but always powerful and authoritative. He was limited in developing a name for himself in that he didn't much like to travel and he didn't much like to leave Houston, but he left a remarkable legacy of recorded music. And he wasn't through yet.
In 1959, he was discovered by Samuel Charters, the first of the
white scholars to take a serious interest in the blues. Charters, who was married to literature professor and Beat Generation scholar Ann Charters, was particularly interested in the richness of blues lyrics. As he put it, "I really got bored with all those damn guitar solos. To me, they all sounded like B.B. King, and what I really wanted to hear was great text."
Hopkins was a perfect choice for Charters. At a time when the blues was going electric, and guitar solos were starting to dominate, Hopkins still played acoustic, and with all those recordings he made, often of the same songs over and over, he would find subtle and improvised variations on the lyrics. Filmmaker Les Blank recalls one such improvised lyric:
You make your bed hard, baby,
and calls it ease.
The blues is just a funny feelin’,
yet some folks calls it a mighty bad disease.
This line was composed late one night while I was filming what started out to be an ordinary interview. I had asked him to tell me what the blues meant to him. He picked up his guitar and started to sing about a woman named Mary who had left him. Earlier that evening his wife had left him after a nasty argument that caused her cousin to attempt to shoot Lightnin’. While the song was being sung, the cousin was lurking outside the apartment door with a loaded pistol. Lightnin’ also had a large loaded gun stuck down the front of his pants. Hardly a situation in which to delve into an academic and linear exploration of the nature of truth and the blues, but I came away feeling I knew a lot more about it than before, but I couldn’t exactly put it in words.
Charters was one of the first to ignite the new interest in the blues that would grow into the blues
explosion of the 1960s, with blues festivals and new recordings. His interest in Hopkins led to a second career for the old bluesman, one that Hopkins himself was reluctant to enter. He had played all his life for black audiences, and was almost completely unknown to whites (not completely--I had his 45 RPM recording of "Good Old Woman" on the Harlem label). But this was suddenly to change. His first appearance, on a bill with young white urban folkies to the Houston Folklore and Folk Music Society, was a huge success, and before long he was appearing in New York on a bill with Pete Seeger and Joan Baez. and recording for new record companies that made LPs and marketed them to white audiences.
Like Bluesville, where he was teamed up with Sonny Terry, a bluesman who had thrived for some years in New York, playing for whites, and put under the supervision of a white producer, Ozzie
Cadena. It was an odd pairing. Terry, no less authentic a bluesman, was technically more organized, and was used to playing with musicians like Brownie McGhee who were similarly more structured. An odd pairing, but not a bad one. Each knew enough to let the other do his thing, so although the same musicians--Terry, Hopkins, bassist Leonard Gaskin and drummer Belton Evans--were there for the whole date, it was really two separate sessions, with Terry front and center for the first one, and Hopkins taking center stage for the second.
There were similarities between the two, beyond a deep familiarity with the blues. While it's probable that no bluesman has ever been as prolifically recorded as Hopkins, Terry was no stranger to the recording studio. And he, too, had often recorded variations on the same material.
Terry begins his session with "One Monkey Don't Stop the Show," one of many songs to have been written under that title. The first recorded version was by Brownie's brother Sticks McGhee, with whom Terry had also recorded, including a Prestige session just two weeks previous. McGhee's "One Monkey Don't Stop No Show" bears no relation to Terry's. His is actually a reworking of a song he and Brownie McGhee performed regularly, and recorded more than once, called "Better Day." Both songs had the same verse-chorus structure, the same melody, and the same theme--things are bad, but that's all right, because they'll get better.
To the early blues musicians, authorship of lyrics was not that important, which is why there are so many "traveling lyrics," verses that pop up in one blues after another -- and part of the reason why their descendants in the 1950s were often a little too casual about nailing down lyricist credit for a song, leading to later lawsuits over the ownership of hits like "Earth Angel" and "Why Do Fools Fall in Love." Guitar styles were a different story. Charley Patton was way ahead of Jimi Hendrix with flamboyant tricks like tossing his guitar in the air, playing with his teeth, playing behind his back. Partly it was showmanship, partly it was so that no would would quite be able to figure out what he was doing. Something not dissimilar was done with Fats Domino's recordings, which were ever so slightly speeded up -- partly to make them faster and livelier for the rock 'n roll crowd, but also so that they were not quite in any key, and couldn't exactly be duplicated.
So both of these blues masters knew a million songs, which were inexhaustible variations on a hundred or so songs, and both of them bring their mastery to this session. And if they weren't exactly made for each other, it would be hard to prove it by either Sonny is King or Last Night Blues. They are two very different sessions, each of them rewarding in its own way.
One unusual cut that showcases both of them is "Lightnin's Stroke," from the Hopkins album, a mostly instrumental number that features guitar, harmonica, and a little lick from "When the Saints Go Marching In."
Sonny is King featured songs from this session and a later one, produced by folklorist Kenneth S. Goldstein. Last Night Blues had a couple of rereleases, as Gotta Move Your Baby on Bluesville and Got to Move Your Baby on Prestige. The Prestige 45, b/w "Sinner's Prayer" (not the Lowell Fulson song also covered by Ray Charles), was "Got to Move Your Baby," Other 45 RPM releases from this session, also combined with tracks from other sessions and released on Bluesville, were "The Walkin' Blues" / "Last Night Blues" and "Hard To Love A Woman" / "Back To New Orleans."
Listening to Prestige Vol. 2, 1955-56, and Vol. 3, 1957-58 now include, in the Kindle editions, links to all the "Listen to One" selections. All three volumes available from Amazon. The most interesting book of its kind that I have ever seen. If any of you real jazz lovers want to know about some of the classic records made by some of the legends of jazz, get this book. LOVED IT. – Terry Gibbs
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