Sunday 30 August 2009

SUBJECTIVE GUIDE TO THE BLUES - THE DELTA

Here we go, guide to the blues part two. We’ll be kicking off with a snapshot of the region that is most associated with blues music: The Mississippi Delta.

The Delta is actually a little too associated with blues music. One of my pet blues hates (of which I have plenty) is the label ‘Delta’ that gets stuck on to any old blues release. It’s a mark of authenticity that doesn’t really have much to do with any historical Mississippi Delta style.It just gets used to mean blues that’s authentic, rather than blues that’s made by Stevie Ray Vaughan. If you look in the blues section of any record store you’ll see plenty of supposedly Delta compilations, filled with artists like Muddy Waters (who at least was born in Mississippi) and Lightnin’ Hopkins (who had no relation to that state at all). Sorry. I’m sounding like Steve Buscemi in Ghost World now.

There’s a reason though. When the blues revival hit, it hit way back in nineteen sixties Britain. At the time, part of the attraction of blues music was how obscure it was. Blues records had to be imported from the US by collectors who had no real context for the music. As a result, the stuff that got over was pretty random. Of all the bluesmen whose records did make it across the Atlantic, Robert Johnson was the oldest available. If you ever listen to people from the time talk about blues, he’s the name that'll keeps on popping up, especially on the lips of English blues revivalists like Clapton. It's maths really: Robert Johnson came from the Mississippi Delta. He played the oldest type of blues on record. The oldest blues must be the most authentic blues. Ergo Delta blues must be the most authentic blues. Add to the equation the fact that Muddy Waters, Howling Wolf, Sonny Boy Williamson II and their Chicago blues pals were all born in Mississippi. So, in the revivalists' minds, the Mississippi Delta equals the blues. Bam! Compilations of ‘Delta Blues’ flood the shelves of 1960s England. The British Invasion then spreads this interpretation of the blues across America with the end result that
, since the 70s, the blues really has become semi-synonymous with the Delta .

It’s interesting that this Delta monomania was until this point only a British thing. If you look at American musicians who were into the blues before bands like the Stones or Led Zeppelin came preaching its gospel, you’ll find a far wider understanding of what blues music means. Musicians like Bob Dylan or John Fahey had a better rounded understanding of the blues than English artists like Eric Clapton or Jimmy Page. It’s just that the ones making all the fuss were the Brits. End result is that Robert Johnson’s a household name, while Blind Willie McTell, Frank Hutchison or Frank Stokes are all unknowns.

What’s funny is that even the revivalists’ idea of what constitutes Delta blues was skewed. It’s really based on Muddy Waters and the Chicago bluesmen, who played simple electric blues indebted to the urban bluesmen of the 30s, like Roosevelt Sykes, Kokomo Arnold and Lonnie Johnson. There’s not much that’s Delta in style about the Chicago musicians: they lived in the northern states and played blues from the northern states. Even though many of them were born in Mississippi, they weren’t interested in sounding like a buncha hicks from the provinces. They wanted to look cool. This had actually been the case since way back even before Robert Johnson’s time. Generally, if blues music sounds like ‘blues’ should sound, with 12 bars and an AAB verse structure, chances are whatever you’re listening to is derived from urban forms of blues music. Delta blues doesn’t really sound like this sort of thing music at all.

The authentic Mississippi blues sound is pretty special. If you’re looking for that Blind Lemon Jefferson kick that I described to you before, Mississippi's the place. Blues from Mississippi is also the direct ancestor of the urban blues that I mentioned before, largely through the influence of Tommy Johnson. But it’s still in a place apart from anything as sophisticated as Depression-era urban blues. In fact, I’m going to stick my head out and say that it was the least sophisticated style of them all. That’s a good thing for audiences in the twenties, when the most popular national pastime was smoking imported cigars in bathtubs filled with money and people felt secure enough to embrace their inbred side, but it would spell death to the style when the Depression rolled along, and people were desperate for a bit of glamour and sophistication in their lives. Unlike Piedmont blues, which soldiered desperately on, Mississippi blues was commercially dead from 1930, although it continued to act as an incubator for future musicians who’d play in other styles.

I’ve been talking about Mississippi blues here. In actual fact, there’s no single Mississippi style. Mississippi, the state, has such a rich blues heritage that it actually gave birth to no less than three regional sub-styles. Just like that. Delta blues is most recognisable to us now, but at the time, music from the hills country in the south of the state was as big a presence. We’ll call this Mississippi Hill Country blues, because the style deserves a name and I like that one. The third style is the Bentonia school blues, which is less a regional style than a type of blues made by a few individuals in the town of Bentonia, Yazoo county.

We’ll kick off with a run-through of Delta blues, because you’ve heard of that one.

Delta blues is weird and alien - it’s got almost no influences from pop music. It really is a type of folk, and you can tell. Folk blues. Remember that 12 bar blues has very little to do with blues from this period, dismiss it from your mind.
Unlike its blues cousins from Atlanta or Memphis, Delta blues also has no truck with pop influences like jazz & ragtime. By the way, when I say folk blues, I don’t mean like Nick Drake-style acoustic pop music with a blues-ey edge, I mean the sort of folk where there’s not so much as a time signature to be seen, and the music barely approaches tonality. Old music, from a time before music was proper. The way the performers go about their work is pretty similar to the folk ballad tradition. If you listen to white ballad singers like Dillard Chandler or the Paddy Tunney (an Irishman) you’d get a similar musical approach: the song has a set tune and set speed, but if the singer gets excited or the crowd looks bored, the musicians will just go faster, or change the tune, or shout, or whatever.

Delta blues music also commonly uses a slide. People talk all kinds of nonsense about how using a slide is a residue of slave music, but it’s really a borrowing from Hawaiian music, which was very popular around the turn of the century and which had an even more powerful influence on early country music. There are two main benefits of using a slide. The first is musical: a slide can give a strong rhythmic kick when needed. The second is that it sounded really exotic to the ears of people at the time – if you want proof that exoticism was one of the main pulls, there are plenty of black and white photos from the time of totally non-Hawaiian Hawaiian bands dressed in grass skirts staring witlessly at the camera. There’s occasionally an influence from work songs and chain-gang songs that pops up too, especially in Charlie Patton’s music. Basically, be prepared for rawness. One thing that the Delta didn’t really give to blues is flashy technique, with the obvious exception of Robert Johnson, who’s all technique. Georgian blues is a feast for guitar nerds. Mississippi blues just isn’t.

Why is Delta blues like this? Basically, Delta blues is music made by hicks in a state that’s a proverbial backwater even among other laughably backwards states. It’s more rural than rural. Other regional centres of rural blues were actually provincial cities, like Atlanta or Memphis. The Delta is different. When Tommy Johnson sings “Who’s that yonder, coming down the road?” in ‘Maggie Campbell Blues’, he’s talking about something that’s an event. His listeners live in homes so isolated and miserable that you can see a visitor for twenty minutes before they arrive, and when they do, it’s exciting. That’s why the blues from the Delta has such pronounced folk culture elements, it’s because, in its own flat, miserable and impoverished way, the Mississippi Delta is every bit as inaccessible and cut off from the world of culture as folk centres like the Appalachians or the Scottish Highlands. We tend to think of this backwardsness as being what the blues is about, but it isn’t - it’s specific to the Delta. In fact, almost all of what passes for the mythology of the blues is Delta-specific: cotton plantations, levees breaking, juke joints, poverty, chain gangs, devils at crossroads. None of this is anything to do with the blues, only the blues as it was formed in the Delta.

Enough generalisations already. If you want a crash course in the Delta blues, there’s three individuals who;ll need introducing. They’re the pure unpolluted source of Delta style: Charley Patton, Son House and Tommy Johnson. But what’s good about the Delta is that it produced literally hundreds of strong bluesmen. We’ll go through a couple of them too, especially the ones who might pop up on your radar somehow. But first, the big three.

Monday 17 August 2009

BODYMORE MURDERLATTE


Dominic West, AKA Jimmy McNulty, is currently promoting a brand of unremarkable mid-market coffee by reading a book. Spurious. The tagline is "For a more seductive coffe break" - evidence that Kraft Food are aiming this one right between the tiny, piggy eyes of menopausal, book-clubbing laydeez everywhere. Hunky Dominic with his clean shirt and Etonian vowels is seranading our womenfolk.

Watching the ad is hard for me on two fronts. Firstly, as a man, I feel simultaneously threatened by West's smoldering masculinity and sickened by his smarmy, kickable face. Secondly, as a fan of The Wire, this as is akin to walking in on your best friend fellating a Labrador. As soon as I pressed 'play' on the video I felt like I should have been backing out of that tastefully lit, oak wood study as quietly as possible.

Jimmy's reading a book called The Wake. It's just been published so really this is an advert for two products. I hate that Jimmy was complicit in this. If he was back on Westside, Rawls would have his ass for something like this. However, if we are going to be forced to watch actors reading extracts from books to sell products here are a few that I could get behind:



The actor Steven Seagal
Reads from Shoot to Kill: Cops Who Have Used Deadly Force
To flog Rolex watches
Seagal would make a good reader. He has a pleasant squint and in his old age he has become quite the gentleman-scholar. I chose Shoot To Kill because, as an acting officer in the New Orleans Police Department (true) Seagal knows a thing or two about deadly force. Also, Seagal's limited acting skills would not be a problem as, according to the most positive review on Amazon, "most of the stories are not very exciting".

The product link is an obvious one. Watches are worn on the wrist, and who knows more about wrists than Seagal? The print ad could say something like "The last thing Steven sees before he breaks your arm in five places is your watch. Give him something nice to look at."

The actor Chris Latta
Reads from Living the Dream: My Story by Chantelle Houghton
To flog Sheba cat food
If you don't know who Chris Latta is don't panic - you're probably a normal person. Latta, who died a while ago, was the greatest children's cartoon voice-over artist of his generation and the mere invocation of his name is enough to send certain corners of the internet into a paroxysm of orgasmic abandon. Remember how every cartoon in the 80s had at least one character who sounded out of their fucking mind? That was Latta. Lord Darkstorm from Visionaries, Starscream from Transformers, Cobra Commander from GI Joe. The list goes on. Listen to him turn it up to 11 at about the one-minute mark in this.

Just to make his CV even more bullet-proof, Latta chose to make his big-screen debut in what is perhaps the 20th century's most well-regarded film; Roadhouse. He has just one line - but it's a great line, about "touching my girlfriend's tits". If Latta hadn't died in mysterious circumstances in 1994 I think it's safe to say he would be sitting on top of Oscar Mountain at this point.

I've got Latta reading from the only text that can match the violence of the man's voice pound-for-pound. Chantelle Houghton's autobiography as it stands is a completely extraneous blip in the stagnant waters of 21st century pop culture. Read by a man alternating between five different kinds of "evil voice" however, it becomes genre-defining. If it's advertising cat food then it's even better.

The actors Kevin Bacon and Dylan Baker
Reading from Lolita by Vladmir Nabokov
To flog Zovirax coldsore cream

Two of modern cinema's most accomplished on-screen paedophiles join forces to read Nabokov's earth-shaking treatise on sexy children. If you've winced your way through Todd Solondz's Happiness you'll know that Baker has significant "peder-acting" ability. Bacon too, has shown in The Woodsman, that he knows how to kiddie-fiddle it up on film.

Ideally Kevin Bacon would be sitting on Baker's lap, playing with his friend's hair as they take turns reading from a tatty, yellowed paperback. Then occasionally they break off from the text to whisper in each others ears and giggle nervously. As the advert is for cold sore medication both men would have to be clearly suffering from severe oral herpes. When not reading one could apply cream to the others' blisters and open sores.

Monday 10 August 2009

GREAT SONGS ON FORGETTABLE ALBUMS #2

Canibus | Second Round KO
A fantastic song from a truly horrible album. Before his debut record the underground buzz that surrounded Germaine 'Canibus' Williams was considerable. In lieu of actual, professionally recorded music, hip hop nerds had spent years trading cassette tapes featuring Canibus' fleeting appearances on radio stations. His flow sounded natural like Rakim or Nas, yet it had a violent, abrasive edge like Ghostface. Surely there was a list of competent producers who would have given anything to help deliver rap music's most anticipated baby into the world?

In their extremely finite wisdom record execs decided that Canibus needed none other than Wyclef Jean at the controls. The album was ruined faster than you could say Fugee-la-leprosy. Where there should have been a jagged vortex of rap brutality there were beats so tepid that LL fucking Cool J would dismiss them as gay. This one track is the album's only redeeming feature. It's a stark, relentless battle rap on which Canibus mentions that he wants to "shine", and boasts about running in the sand and "eating a nigga's ass". But somehow it's actually scary! All the while a disembodied choir are warming up over a simple but menacing three-note bass line. Canibus may not have lived up to being the Third Coming of Rakim, but this track makes a great case for what the First Coming of Canabis might have sounded like with the right guidance.

Great songs on forgettable albums #1

Friday 7 August 2009

HOW I ORGANISED MY RECORD COLLECTION (AND FINALLY BROUGHT ORDER TO THE GALAXY)

There’s a point in the film Hi Fidelity where John Cusack’s character sinks into a depressive slump and tries to get out of it by comprehensively recategorising his entire record collection. That one little scene made me a laughing stock for years, despite the fact that I’ve always been record collecting small fry, with a mere 943 alphabetically arranged compact discs in my active collection. Luckily, now that record collections have ceased to be normal, I’ve gone from laughing stock to charming anachronistic crank overnight. It’s finally safe to max it up a gear.

Actually, I’ve been feeling my love for music has been getting a bit stale over the years. I think that the reason is that my music taste’s a little too diverse. I’d always been proud to have George Clinton, John Coltrane, Company Flow, Comus, Conflict and the Congos all next to each other on my creaking shelves. It certainly had its advantages. Just imagine you’re an attractive girl and you come home with me to find P funk next to avant-garde jazz next to hip hop next to acid folk next to awful crusty punk next to roots reggae. You’d be pretty wet right? Sorry, of course you wouldn’t – you’d be ridiculously wet. I’m feeling pretty sexy just writing this stuff.

But aside from its powerful and occasionally deadly aphrodisiac effect, my collection was getting to be a pain in the arse. How do you pick what you want to listen to when your collection is that size and that jumbled? I ended up just listening to the Kinks all the time. Just copping out. Browsing was just an effort. So I took a step back and had a long look at my life and how it had all turned out wrong. There I was, 25 years old, weighed down by 943 CDs which just sit there, taking up a ridiculous amount of space; I barely listen to half of them and, with mp3s nowadays, who the hell needs CDs anyway? The answer was obvious; change was needed. I had to recategorise my collection.

In Hi Fidelity, Cusack is really pushing the boundary by reclassifying his records autobiographically. That’s the ‘wow’ system apparently. Bullshit. The truth is that different systems work for different collections. Cusack’s is all pop and classic rock. All of it. What a walk in the fucking park. What a fucking loser. For a rock based collection, alphabetical classification actually works. Better than that, you could use chronological. Autobiographical is only tough if all your music’s from the sixties. But for a collection like mine, which covers genres, autobiographical is just a cop-out. I got into hip hop in Winter 2002, so all my hip hop CDs are from the 02-05 period. By then I’d bought all the classics and it was just a matter of coasting. And it goes on: reggae – Summer 2003, black metal – 2000. I get into a genre, I stage a takeover, then I move on. That’s how it is. Deal with it. For my collection, autobiographical categorisation would just be genre-based, but lame. Plus, this wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about me at all. It was about the music.

Chronological is a pretty good system. Like alphabetical it’s objective and it’s quantifiable. But it doesn’t work at all for collections. Chronological's nice because you can see the progression: rock'n'roll flows into British invasion, which grows into the psychedelic era, which then matures into prog before the punk backlash hits. The downside is that the pop chronology gets pretty laboured once you're into the 80s, when rock counter-culture unity breaks down for good. Once the 'Disco Sucks' movement had split rock down the middle into its first two camps: dancey and rocking, chronological just gets more and more of a pointless hassle. Imagine a chronological approach to 90s music and you'll see what I mean: you'd have Nirvana, Ice Cube, Aphex Twin and Darkthrone all rubbing shoulders: that's not progression, it's disintergration.
That ruled out chronological, for my collection at least.

So I took the plunge. I decided that what my life needed was for me to embark on a comprehensive program of genre-based recategorisation. Genre-based categorisation, or its subjective counterpart mood-based categorisation, is actually pretty good for people with more socially acceptable record collections of say 250 CDs. It’s easy because you’d only really have two genres max. Hey, I used to order it like that myself. But when you’re looking at upwards of ten genres, genre-based becomes tough. Sensible, but tough. That’s why I’d originally moved into the placid waters of alphabetical classification. But alphabetic wasn’t working for me. The recategorisation was all about changing my life by reminding me of the things that I most loved. I needed to return to the font. That’s why my collection had to become genre based again. I couldn’t go into this thing unprepared. So I did what came naturally and drew up a comprehensive excel spread sheet.

So... genres. I started by allocating all my CDs to a ‘class’, to supergenres if you will. The ones that were obvious were classical, rock, jazz, hip hop, dancehall, world, dance/electronic and folk. These classes would be separate from one another. They’d be like sections in a record store. I was on to a good thing. In my most fevered dreams I saw visions of plastic dividers, setting one class off from the other, sheltering the genres within their nestling plastic arms. Ranks and ranks of them, with type-written labels. It was how St Teresa must have felt. I was flying high, but I had to come down sooner or later.

Problems began immediately. To start with, there are a whole lot of liminal genres. Jazz that is avant-garde would obviously in the jazz section. But what about free improv? Where would my John Zorn and Derek Bailey (may he rest in peace) albums go? What about folk music? Is Leonard Cohen folk? No. Is Dylan folk? A bit. What about Donovan? Pentangle? Devendra Banhart? Jesus. I definitely needed some sort of folk section, because an enormous chunk of my collection is smelly pre-war WW2 music made by blind hillbillies, but what would go there and what would go in rock baffled me. That was problem number one. The second problem was just as serious: how to deal with rock, which still occupies the lion’s share of my collection. I decided to take it down a peg by having separate punk, metal and soul/funk classes and by siphoning off all my British folk rock into a newly formed ‘roots’ class covering pre-war folk, post-war stuff made for a specialist audience (the Seeger crowd etc), and British folk revival stuff. My final class list looked like this:

  • Classical
  • Dance/Electronica
  • Hip hop
  • Jazz
  • Metal
  • Punk
  • Rock
  • Roots
  • Soul/Funk
  • World

Great. On a roll. The next step, the one I was really looking forward to, was the genre part. I decided to go with several ‘genres’ within each ‘class’, which would be subdivided into further ‘sub-genres’. I’ll lay it out for you, daddy.

Take Destruction’s thrash metal classic Infernal Overkill. Class is clearly metal. Metal is then sub-divided into three genres: heavy metal (incorporating new wave of British heavy metal onwards), extreme metal and doom/stoner/drone. 70s heavy metal bands, like Sabbath, go in a separate genre in the rock class, while metalcore and sludge go in the punk class. Are you following? I’m taking extreme metal to start with Metallica’s Kill ‘Em All and the convoluted family tree which that album founds, so extreme metal the genre is divided into the sub-genres of thrash metal, death metal and black metal (all real-life genres instantly recognisable by any metal fan). Within thrash, I further divided the bands into the so-called big four (Metallica, Slayer, Megadeth and Anthrax), then the B League thrash bands (Exodus, Testament, Nuclear Assault etc), and finally foreign thrash bands. Now Destruction were part of the Teutonic thrash scene, so the final classification for Infernal Overkill would be:

Metal > Extreme Metal > Thrash > Foreign > Destruction > Infernal Overkill

Here’s Wynton Marsalis’ Black Codes:

Jazz > Be-Bop > Post-Bop > Marsalis > Black Codes

And Biggie Small’s second album:

Hip hop > 90s Gangster > East Coast > Notorious BIG > Life After Death

What a joy. What a fucking joy. And the genres carry a chronological edge to them too: in jazz, say, be-bop follows on from classic jazz, and is then itself followed by fusion, then avant-garde. Within be-bop you can see the progression from be-bop to cool to hard bop and then finally to post-bop. This was it. This was living.

Of course there were problems. There are always problems. The examples I’ve given: metal, jazz and hip hop, anatomise nicely. Other genres weren’t going to play ball. How do you figure out how to convey chronological sweep in punk? 70s UK and New York stuff is fine, but once you’re into the post-punk and hardcore eras you’re struggling. UK and US punk mature at such different points in time that's hard see how to organise it all. Some classes were clearly just miscellaneous (I mentioned folk) and they resented it by resisting classification. I still won in the end. Lo. Like the Holy Spirit bringing form to the void I did settle upon my collection and I did bring order to chaos. And I saw that it was good. Check out these bad boys to see how I whipped my newly renamed ‘roots’ section into shape:

Roots > American Pre-War > Blues > Piedmont Region > Blind Boy Fuller > Get Your Yas Yas Out
Roots > British Folk Rock > Acid Folk > Incredible String Band > Wee Tam and the Big Huge
Roots > American Post-War > Country & Western > Honky-Tonk > Lefty Frizell >
Collection


But like God's creation of Earth, this system still left open the possibility of evil. I’m talking about rock here; rock is a shit-eating bastard to categorise. I think I mentioned that a rock-heavy collection will favour a chronological or alphabetical approach. What it won’t favour is genre based. Rock bands stubbornly refuse to fit neatly into categories. Case in point: The Stones. The Rolling Stones started life as a British invasion R&B group, only to mature into a loose rock band. Lots of bands did this too around the seventies. It would be logical to put an album like Exile on Main Street in the company of pals like Toys in the Attic or Funhouse. An obvious name for the genre would be 70s rock, right? But, the problem is that Beggar’s Banquet, the first of the Stones’ loose country rock period, is actually from 1968. Shit. Can’t put it in with Aftermath, because it doesn’t sound similar. Can’t put it in with Exile on Main Street because it’s from the wrong decade. What to do? Create a genre called ‘loose rock and roll’? Ugh. No. Too subjective. This is about genre, not mood. Mood-based is a classifying system for children. And what about those Haight-Ashbury bands like the Grateful Dead that never had a clear changeover period and tumbled gently from 60s pop to 70s drugs music? These are questions that I still can’t answer.

In the end I went for a loosely chronological approach to genres within the general rock class: rock'n'roll, sixties/seventies and then later music, taking new wave to be a changeover point. Within those genres there are rough divisions into sub-genre. For example 60s/70s rock is divided into 60s pop, 70s rock, hard rock/heavy metal (e.g. Led Zeppelin), country/southern rock, prog/krautrock etc. It works okay for the early period, but for later stuff it just falls apart. Past new wave, the divisions are just 80s arena rock, alt/indie (including really divergent stuff like post-rock, nu-metal, anti-folk and madchester stuff) and then contemporary.

Contemporary’s the real problem, the gaping wound. It should be a triumph, but instead it’s the writing on the wall. The writing says that instead of going out and experiencing fun new music, I’ve let my taste ossify while wasting my life playing with dead genres and trying to build the ultimate acid folk or LA hardcore punk collections. I’ve barely got any contemporary rock music in my collection. Now it’s all caught up with me and I’m left sadly trying to find a musical link between Animal Collective and MGMT, wondering how it all went wrong.

I tried going to friends with these problems. For some reason they were all fascinated. I expected them to edge nervously for the door when I brought it up, but they were all amused. I guess there’s something compelling about watching even a train crash. They probably see me as some sort of Sid Vicious character – no point stopping crazy Joe they say to themselves. That probably means that they’re bad friends. Good friends would have staged an intervention by now.

So, classifying the rock section continues to raise more questions than it solves. I still don’t have the answer to any of it. If you read this and have any ideas let me know. They’d be appreciated. I’m still happy with it though. Life’s all about compromises. Obviously, no collection is perfect where Gram Parsons gets to live in the constant eye-level party that is the rock section, while Prince has to toil in the shin-level electro-pop gulags of soul/funk, but hey, life goes on.

The excel sheet was a few months ago. I’ve now put theory into practice. My collection sits proudly on six mighty Ikea shelves, occupying an entire wall of my house. I feel I’ve grown as a person. Browsing CDs is a new-found pleasure. So is cutting up the card dividers – it’s a happy ending.

Thursday 6 August 2009

SUBJECTIVE GUIDE TO THE BLUES – A MANIFESTO

I’ll put this ridiculous vanity project into context.I’ve always been a huge fan of American roots music – country, folk, blues and all the rest of their weird inbred family, before they got militant and became rock and roll. These pre-war genres feed directly into rock music, without ever being really visible. They’re like some sort of enormous Basilica Cistern, lurking unseen underneath a well-known city. Roots music just sits there, feeding pure water into the polluted system of modern pop music, but without ever really being noticed by anyone other than a couple of crazy-eyed people whose job it is to maintain the system.

It’s probably a good thing that no one pays attention to this music. First of all, the music that’s preserved from the pre-rock and roll era isn’t too welcoming. It’s crackly and alien. The blues doesn’t sound like blues, the country doesn’t sound like country, and it’s best not to talk about the folk music at all. It’s all wrong you see; it’s actual folk music, from olden times. But there’s a second reason why I’m glad old folk etc doesn’t really get name checked: pre-war roots music’s such an unknown musical world, that it’s open to any huckster or snake-oil salesman to talk whatever they want about it, and there’s barely anyone to call them on their nonsense. The worst casualty of all this has been blues music. It’s the richest musical source of all, but unlike country, which was popular enough to be well documented, and folk, which is a bloody academic discipline, information on the blues is always a bit murky. Take this particular gem from the Wikipedia article on Robert Johnson, relating to the well known legend that he gained his musical ability by making a deal at the crossroads with the Devil:

“When African-Americans born in the 19th or early 20th century told interviewers that they or anyone they knew had "sold their soul to the devil at the crossroads," they did not intend to convey thereby that the person in question was an evil, hell-bound anti-Christian. The confusion arises in the eyes of white interpreters who don't understand that the crossroads deity is a survival from polytheistic African religions and that he has been assigned the only name he can be given in a monotheistic religion. There is ample evidence supporting the African religious retentions surrounding Legba and the making of a "deal" (not selling the soul in the same sense as in the Faustian tradition cited by Graves) with this so-called "devil" at the crossroads.”

See! If white interpreters were just a little more aware of syncretistic survivals of West African Voudun rituals in American popular music, they’d have realised that the myth about Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil was actually about him communing with Legba. Stupid interpreters! They were probably too busy noticing the similarity of the Johnson myth to exactly equivalent myths relating to non blues musicians selling their souls at crossroads (e.g. Paganini) and wondering why the myth wasn’t supported by any folktales at all. They also might have noticed that’s it’s total and utter nonsense. This is a relatively benign bit of nonsense, but there’s worse out there, but that’s all a bit aside from the point. This is still music, and it’s the musical bullshit that’s most damaging, especially to blues.

Blues from poorer backwater areas of the American South hit in the middle of the 1920s. Rural blues is the ancestor of all modern blues, and, through its son jump blues and its nephew country, it’s the grandfather of rock’n’roll. Blues music had first broken ground in 1912 in Tennessee, and then soon became successful in the early twenties as a sort of urban comedy music, sung by big fat ‘comediennes’ like Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith.It was billed as a type of folk music, so it became popular with Harlem Renaissance intellectuals and the New York communist folk groupies. But it wasn’t taken particularly seriously. At this point blues wasn’t really widespread even in the southern states (ragtime was still in its ascent in the South), but it was growing, especially among younger musicians. In 1923, Fiddlin’ John Carson’s version of the folk-pop song ‘Little Log Cabin’ was recorded and became a hit, kicking off a boom of hillbilly folk music. It occurred to record company execs that there might be money in recording in-bred black musicians too. Somehow they hit on Blind Lemon Jefferson, an enormously overweight blind professional wrestler and musician who specialised in Gospel, Folk and Blues, sounded like he was fucking insane and had a great name. Listen to a blues track like ‘Matchbox Blues’ and you can hear it. It’s him bellerin’ away (can’t hit the notes, doesn’t care), strange modal music, no discernable rhythm at all, just this weird man and his guitar. Listen to his recording of the traditional folk-gospel song ‘Two White Horses’ (his version’s called ‘See that my Grave is Kept Clean’). He’s got this trick where, whenever he gets to the line “have you ever heard that coffin sound”, he really plucks that guitar string, and it goes “boing, boing”. That must have really impressed his audience when he did it live. On record it doesn’t really work, but he does it anyway, because he’s on a level and he doesn’t care. What I’m trying to say is that this man, Blind Lemon, makes music that is so alien to what we consider to be necessary to music that it barely registers as music. It just hits you in the gut. Muddy Water’s records are great – they’re tough and sexy – but they don’t have that effect at all. That’s why I like older blues so much (I get a similar kick from the folk equivalents of the time too).

Jefferson’s records were decent hits, and suddenly the rural blues boom burst into being. It was actually centred in the Piedmont region, and especially Atlanta, Georgia, but there were other big regional scenes like Tennessee, the Appalachians, Texas, and of course Mississippi. This is before radio, so all these different types of blues sound noticeably different to each other. Piedmont blues is particularly different to other types of blues; it’s all complex and ragtimey. Piedmont’s my favourite. Appalachian blues was a funny mostly white outgrowth that eventually matured into Country music. Blues from Tennessee tends to have a simple, quite standardised jazzier side (in the sense of classic jazz, dismiss Charlie Parker from your head right now), and was famous for its jug-band music. Mississippi blues is pretty heavy.

Here it is then, coming to the Great Atomic Power: my one man crusade to rescue blues from the bullshit that everyone else writes about it and instead cover it with my own unique layer of bullshit. A subjective guide to the great blues styles. Stay put for a tour of the various regional styles of the blues as it grows and evolves. First stop, the Mississippi Delta.

Monday 3 August 2009

BOOKER 2009: THIS TIME IT'S FICTIONAL

Man. Booker. Prize. Booker. Prize. Man. Man. Prize-prize. Man. Any way you say it the Man Booker Prize is big news. Old people, English teachers and autistic teenagers the world over are at this very minute engaged in fevered debate over who takes this year's award. The judges are priming themselves - soon they will gather round the winner to shower them in a literary bukkakalypse.

But what if - like most people - you believe that books without pictures are simply heretical, pointless devilment? What then? Don't worry. Simply read this handy synopsis-guide to some of Booker 2009's front-running titles. It'll set you straight.

Hilary Mantel | Wolf Hall
Mantel's chilling re-telling of Jane Eyre, in which all the principle characters are recast as wolves, has been described as "lively". Although the plot stays close to the original, the decision to translate all the dialogue into howls, snorts and barks casts Jane and Mr Rochester's relationship in a whole new light.

Ed O’Loughlin | Not Untrue & Not Unkind
Who would have thought that a long list of statements which are "not untrue and not unkind" would make such fascinating and compelling reading? Choice excerpts include "an ocean is a large body of water", and "the Chinese are - in general - a hard working people".

Adam Foulds | The Quickening Maze
What's scarier than a maze? How about a maze which somehow speeds up the aging process of all those who enter into its leafy realm? The film rights for Fould's psychological-romance (in a maze) were sold to Universal this year. Ben Affleck is in talks to direct and star as the titular maze.

Sarah Hall | How to Paint a Dead Man
Controversial martial arts-decorator Sarah Hall spills the beans on exactly how much gloss paint needs to be applied to a man's skin before his pores clog up and he suffocates. It turns out it's not much at all.



J M Coetzee | Summertime
Two-time Booker-winner Coetzee's explosive, and entirely unwarranted, racist tirade against "thieving Turks". Over the course of 1,540 pages Coetzee tears apart Turkish people, culture and history with scant regard for decency or truth. Contains a truly mesmerising final chapter in which Coetzee imagines that you, the reader, are in fact Turkish.

Sarah Water | The Little Stranger
An oversight at the printing press meant that Waters' book was published with one letter missing from its title. Her gruesome, unflinching autobiography of Ernie "The Vile Dwarf" Gower (aka The Little Strangler) is not for the faint-hearted.