The Reverend's Favorite Blues Artists

After hearing guitarist Albert King's "Born Under A Bad Sign" sometime during my early apprenticeship in the blues, it literally blew my mind. Sure, I'd heard the song performed by Eric Clapton and Cream back when I was still wearing Pampers, but ol' Slowhand couldn't hold a candle to the dark, dirty tone of King's original version. After digging up some of King's albums for the Memphis Stax Records label, I would follow King's career through his underperforming Tomato Records albums, losing touch with him during the heady days of the '80s. After hearing King's influence on Stevie Ray Vaughan's work, though, I was overjoyed when In Session, the album of King and Vaughan performing together, was released in 1999.

Riley B. King wasn't my first blues hero (Furry Lewis probably earns that distinction), and he won't be my last, but the blues giant will always have an honored place in my blues canon. While I was way too young to have enjoyed King's prolific early-1960s releases, I first picked up on the guitarist's talents with 1971's Live In Cook County Jail, and would become enamored of his charisma, great tone, and jazzy licks. Luckily, King albums were plentiful for a 16 year old with a job and disposable income, and King's Live At The Regal, In London, and Indianola Mississippi Seeds albums soon found their way onto my turntable.

As a teenager living in a rural suburb of Nashville, I won a copy of the two-disc 1972 Alabama State Troupers Roadshow album from a local radio station. Although the album featured Memphis soul giant Don Nix, one entire side was provided to the Bluff City's favorite bluesman, Furry Lewis, who had opened the tour's shows on the road. Something about Furry's country blues sounded right to my teenaged ears, and his storytelling on songs like "Furry's Blues" and "Brownsville" was simply infectious.

As a young music fan, I became aware of blues music by reading interviews with folks like Eric Clapton in music rags like Creem magazine and Rolling Stone. After I'd read enough words of praise from British blues-rockers for Chicago blues artists like Howlin' Wolf and Muddy Waters, I decided to check out some of their music. The London Howlin' Wolf Sessions, featuring the legendary Wolf backed by Clapton and other rock royalty, was my entry, and quickly led to the artist's more accomplished work. After hearing Wolf's roaring voice and houserockin' style, there'd be no turning back….

Sadly, I didn't discover the great John Lee Hooker until I was 22 years old and living in his adopted hometown of Detroit. One day, a friend and co-worker took me to visit his grandmother who, upon hearing that I was a blues fan, dragged a beat-up old record player from a closet somewhere, opened up a jug of wine, and proceeded to school me with her collection of Hooker's early-1960s albums. Seeing John Lee perform in person cemented my love of the man's music, and luckily recordings are available that span Hooker's career from his earliest sides during the 1940s until his final album, Don't Look Back, in 1997.

As explained above, my initial exposure to the blues came from artists like Clapton, which would lead directly to Muddy Waters. The London Muddy Waters Sessions, with guitarist Rory Gallagher, would be my first Waters' album, but after I found a copy of Fathers and Sons, with Muddy and pianist Otis Spann hanging out with Paul Butterfield and Mike Bloomfield, it was off to the races. Waters' At Newport 1960 would become a regular visitor to my turntable, and by the time that the Johnny Winter-produced Hard Again was released in 1975, I was hopelessly hooked on the blues.

Unlike most of the artists that I discovered and embraced during my exploration of blues music, harp wizard Sonny Boy Williamson had been long gone by the time that I discovered him. Again, it would be interviews with rock musicians that led me to the great Sonny Boy, and for a long time Williamson's collaboration with British blues-rockers the Yardbirds, Sonny Boy Williamson & The Yardbirds, would serve as a tantalizing introduction to his mad harp skills. Later, I would find a vinyl copy of One Way Out, a collection of Williamson's late-1950s output for Chess Records, in a local bargain bin for some ridiculous price. This would hold me over until the CD era of the 1980s would release more of Williamson's music in dribbles and drabs.

The legendary folk-blues duo of harpist Sonny Terry and guitarist Brownie McGhee visited Nashville more than once during the early-1970s, just as my interest in the blues was becoming an obsession. While I was too young to legally buy a ticket, I remember sneaking into some seedy west side club (probably Sam's Pizza) and witnessing these guys crank out some righteous country blues music on a tinier than tiny stage. Later, once I'd become an "adult," I recall catching one of their last shows together at the Old Time Pickin' Parlor in Nashville. I liked Terry and McGhee for the same reasons that I enjoyed Furry Lewis, because of their honesty, simplicity, and heart.

My buddy Willie and I were hanging out backstage after an early-1980s Fabulous Thunderbirds show in Nashville, drinking free beer and eating complimentary sandwiches when the band members, one by one, began detaching themselves from the butt-smooching leeches and came over to see what we were doing. We ended up drinking with the band for hours, and I remember that after complimenting Jimmie Vaughan on his guitar playing, he said something to the effect that, "it's nothing, you should see my brother!" I did get to see Stevie Ray Vaughan perform a couple of years later, and it would be unlike anything I'd heard since Hendrix. People who take Vaughan's legacy in the blues for granted never witness this force of nature live and on stage.

As an avid reader of album liner notes, it didn't take long for me to figure out that this Willie Dixon guy was something special. Although it took a while for me to dig out his solo work, his fingerprints were all over records that I was buying by Waters, Wolf, Koko Taylor, and many others. Dixon stepped out on his own and into my record collection with 1970's I Am The Blues, the talented musician, songwriter, and producer taking back songs like "Seventh Son" and "Little Red Rooster" as his own with his robust vocals and dynamic performances. When Dixon's The Chess Box was released in 1989, featuring the best of his solo recordings and work with fellow Chicago blues legends, I would be beside myself with joy.