Welcome to murderers’ row. For the next 40some minutes, gritty, old Chicago sends up one killer track after the next, pulled from a lineup of kingpins, titans, mainstays and complete unknowns—all as heard in the 1950s. Go ahead, drop a needle on any of these 15 tracks and brace for an old-school shellacking. Warning: Just don’t come expecting another of the city’s mundane greatest-hits packages. Curators Chris Bentley and Mike Rowe don’t skim—they excavate. No warmed-over rehash gets served here. Nor is this a forum for polite musical decorum. “Date Bait,” an unissued Chess rarity, and the gloriously assaultive “Howlin’ Wolf Boogie” are among those that’ll obliterate any such preconceptions.
After all, Down Home Blues: Chicago, The Beautiful Stuff wastes no time tipping its hand as to the visceral entry requirements for inclusion. Wienerworld, the U.K.-homed label known for being a cratedigger’s haven, once again shows off its powers of archeological sleuthing with another eclectic, ‘where’s that song been hiding?’ collection. Better yet: All this majestic brute force thrives within grooves of an LP. Blue vinyl, appropriately enough. Even better yet.
Upon entering, you first encounter “Rollin’ Stone.” Born in the Mississippi Delta as “Catfish Blues,” this standalone spinoff was squarely a child of the streets of Chicago—that then happened to christen “the greatest rock and roll band in the world” over in the streets of London at the start of the next decade. Muddy knew how to build its suspense with only his electrified guitar belching out in between his carnal wishes. The utterly stark yet sonically rich performance endures, perfectly. A few months later in that same year of 1950, Jimmy Rogers is heard moonlighting away from his steady gig as second guitarist in the Muddy Waters Band. “That’s All Right,” trotting its grin-and-bear-it attitude in the company of Little Walter’s fluttering harp, is his first issue. As well as an instant smash. Boom! Boom! A one-two Chess punch, right out of the gate here.
Then, all bets are off, as promiscuous sampling of assorted labels of the day begins: J.O.B, Chance, Fury, Ebony, Atlantic. Add in Vee-Jay and Chief, for good measure. Basically, going wherever treasure lies.
J.B. Lenoir’s “The Mojo” boogies, whipped along by a booting saxophone, a chattering piano and, of course, his own chomping guitar. The most curious attribute, however, lies in Lenoir’s sky-high singing. Johnny Shines likewise sports a signature voice, except spiraled into a tight, dense, strong Delta vibrato. It is used modestly as “Evening Shuffle” bounds in a steady gallop. Shines, drubbing guitar strings, and Al Smith, briskly walking his bass, triangulate the drumless trio with Big Walter Horton’s harping forming the third piece—as well as the centerpiece by staying persistently glued to the song through every hill and valley. J.B. Hutto, Lil’ Ed Williams’ swashbuckling slide-guitarist uncle, opts for a perfectly muddy holler. “Things Are So Slow” lets you hear that hollering amid the grind coming off harpist George Mayweather, percussionist Eddie Hines (best known around Maxwell Street as “Porkchop”) and the rest of Hutto’s Hawks.
With tongue heavily wagging, Little Walter’s “Ah’w Baby” has one thing on its mind skulking about the room. Although ever so close in title, “Aw Aw Baby” absolutely churns under the hands of guitarist Robert Lockwood and a crew most expert at thick, heaving rhythm. It’s an amplified and intensified descendent of “Sweet Home Chicago,” the song first cut in 1937 by Lockwood’s original guitar teacher—Robert Johnson. And speaking of souped-up versions: In the summer of 1952, Memphis Minnie put significant meat on the bones of “Me and My Chauffeur,” her own declaration of carnal wishes, first built in 1941 upon the chassis of “Good Morning, Little Schoolgirl.” Thanks to amplification, a Chess rhythm section and an ever-buzzing Little Walter who never leaves her side, the updated redesign was better adapted to life in the big city.
“You Don’t Have To Go,” Jimmy Reed’s first national hit, works its hypnosis so well. The vibe becomes habit-forming, even over the short course of its three lazily head-bobbing minutes. Credit Reed’s long draws on a racked harmonica as well as his voice’s mystique. But the secret weapon resides in the lock between Eddie Taylor and Johnny Littlejohn’s loping guitars. Billy Boy Arnold’s insistently surging “I Was Fooled” likewise trances out, right up until his harp solo shatters the mood at its midpoint.
Any further sense of lulling hypnosis vaporizes once “Howlin’ Wolf Boogie” detonates. By some miracle, Sun Studios managed to record five men creatively abusing their instruments for two-and-a-half scorching minutes. Willie Steele smashes his drums. Albert Williams pounds a piano. And for as feral as Wolf is barking out party lyrics and rattling harmonica reeds, Willie Johnson is the most vicious. Within the opening five seconds, his acetylene guitar pegs the meters with a brutal blast. Sublime pandemonium.
The cast of characters helping stir up trouble in the background of many tracks is equally impressive, boasting accompanists as revered as Sunnyland Slim (piano), Willie Dixon (bass), Odie Payne (drums), Henry Gray (piano), Homesick James (bass, here) and guitar god Albert King (on drums, of all things). The separation between frontman and sideman grows murky at times, as roles swap back and forth. In-demand piano man Little Johnny Jones, for instance, pockets the lurching “Chicago Blues” for his own. But that murmuring slide guitar belongs to none other than an uncharacteristically discreet Elmore James, one of Jones’ many famous employers over the years.
Fear not: Elmore lunges into the foreground of “Coming Home,” his colossally lowdown stomp. Yet in spite of the squalid crunch coming out from a pair of extra guitars (Eddie Taylor, once again, manning one of them), James dominates the space with his shout. Oh, that plus his towering, four-story broomdusting riff. Eleven years later, Fleetwood Mac v.1.0 couldn’t resist harnessing such power for themselves when covering the song on 1968’s Mr. Wonderful.
Yet despite valiant efforts in neighborhood clubs, not every bandstand hero made it onto the commercial radar. Blue Smitty—electrician by day; bluesman by night—slipped through the cracks. “Date Bait,” loaded down with his guitar’s single-string solo and a charging rhythm constantly tugging on its leash, never saw the light of day. Not even a Chess label pasted atop did the trick. Think that’s a raw deal? Meet boogie pianist Mata Roy, an utter surprise. Released from abject obscurity, “Pete’s Shuffle Boogie (Part 1)” now rumbles for a chance to live again—to finally get heard. Her running dialogue escorts you into The Bucket of Blood, a smoke-choked South Side dive with shifty clientele and a steel-fingered keyboardist by the name of Pete. The fleet, unidentified guitarist backing her reenactment was even more unknown than she was.
With scholarly notes detailing these 15 headliners, you’ll leave wiser. But, with their 15 blues roaring, you’ll find it hard to leave.
Label: Wienerworld
Release Date: 1/17/25
Label Website: Chicago Down Home Blues LP
Reviewed by Dennis Rozanski
Comments