Between them, singing guitarist “Big Frank” Mirra and harmonicat Mike Smith must possess an awesome collection of blues records. Because both dig into a wide span of sepia-tinted history with the studied reverence that comes with absorbing A-sides as well as buried gems coveted by serious cratediggers.
Given the steady path beaten between Chicago and the Mississippi Delta by their setlist, a pair of train blues aptly bookends Outskirts of Town. Sonny Boy Williamson II’s “Bring It on Home” runs first in line. The steady rhythmic slap swings loose and relaxed—kind of the way old Jimmy Reed or Eddie Taylor records do. It grooves. Eleven songs later, “Empire State Express” pulls into the station. Locomoting for sure, but notably different. And understandably so, having originated with the intense Son House, who rubbed off on Robert Johnson and, later, Muddy Waters. Mirra sees that the hard, telltale ring of a steel-bodied guitar still yanks this sturdy country-blues taut. In between those tracks lies material stretched from what once spun beneath an almighty Chess (postwar) to an almighty Paramount (prewar) label.
Sometimes, Mirra chews on a lyric. Other times, he strangles up a phrase akin to how Tennessee bluesman Sleepy John Estes would cry the blues. At all times, his guitar lays the rails on which everything rides. For his part, Smith breathes the entire hour through the reeds of his harp, which stays welded to his lips throughout, ever moving air in continuous blue ribbons, never resting. Together, the duo works a natural rapport built upon years of backing one another. Combined, they also sit on a stockpile of personal gigging stories. Next time you run into them, be sure to ask about Hubert Sumlin, James Cotton or Little Charlie & the Nightcats.
Outskirts of Town was recorded the way Nature intended blues to be recorded: live. Over the course of two studio days, Mirra and Smith stomped and chugged and crept just like any night on a stage somewhere across New Jersey or New York. Just the two of them, aside from an acoustic bass sporadically fattening the sound. The pace—tied to the emotional baggage carried—ebbs and flows. Rumprollers “Shake Your Boogie” and “Ice Cream Man” pick it up; the sullen “Casual Friend” sinks it back down. Down further yet goes “That’s Alright,” drawing to a near stop what was once Jimmy Rogers’ recording debut away from the Muddy Waters Band, a pulse barely hanging on, just a few strums and puffs away from packing it in, all in the name of wringing out every drop of heart-crushing defeat. The classic title track likewise inches along, its brew of jealousy and infidelity offering a nearly-seven-minute soapbox for the harp to somberly twist through.
“Pony Blues” represents the Delta in its purest, ruggedest form. Grumbly ol’ Charley Patton crafted the standard; competitors like House and the more finessed Tommy Johnson soon pocketed the piece for their own 1920s repertoires, each tinkering with the lyrics (“Black Mare Blues” is one such disguise). Here, the churn gets Mirra percussively snapping strings and tossing in a few Tommy-like falsetto spikes, as Smith rides shotgun until grabbing the reins for a nicely downcast, wheezy solo.
Sometimes, they plug in, beefing up all the more. A pinch of amplification runs through the pulsing “Gambling Blues” and the homicidal “Cheating and Lying Blues,” a song that belongs to Chicago’s obscure “Doctor” Clayton but ended up most famously in Robert Nighthawk’s Maxwell Street gutbucket (sometimes listed as “Goin’ Down to Eli’s”). Nighthawk’s version is the one that works up Frank’s gruffness.
Straight-up blues delivered as if rock-n-roll never existed.
Label: JoJo Honey
Release Date: 2023
Artist Website: https://www.facebook.com/BigFrankAndTheHealers/
Reviewed by Dennis Rozanski
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