The Jughead Chronicles, Part 3: Memphis Rules

The advent of the phonograph in the early decades of the Twentieth Century helped to spread jug band music from the South to the rest of the country, according to amateur musicologist Will Melton, who is BSRR's special guest for this short series on the jug bands. The Dixieland Jug Blowers from Louisville recorded "Love Blues" in a Chicago studio in 1926.


BSRR:
That's a great jug band tune, but the record features horns as well.


WILL MELTON:
"Love Blues" is one of the early jug band recordings, but by this time the bands had been around for more than two decades. They were experimenting and adding more traditional instruments, and this band was one of the most technically sophisticated. Most of us don't associate Cincinnati with musical innovation, but there were some great jug band musicians there in the 1920s, especially Kid Cole, whose real name was probably Bob Coleman. He was the leader of King David's Jug Band.


BSRR:
You don't normally think of Cincinnati and Louisville as Southern towns. Where else were the bands coming from?


MELTON:
The Birmingham Jug Band was the best known in Alabama. This band featured the harmonica, which became an important jug band instrument. The band's leading musician was Jaybird Coleman, often using his voice and harmonica in a call and response pattern.

I like to say "The jug bands taught the blues to dance". That was especially true with the Memphis bands. And Memphis was where the jug bands most influenced the blues. Memphis is the gateway to the Delta. As one writer put it: " The Mississippi Delta begins in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel in Memphis." Today Memphis calls itself Blues City and Beale Street is the legendary hub. In the 1920s, the area around Beale Street was a center for prostitution and gambling and a very dangerous place after dark. This is where the jug bands held forth. Though they hung around the seediest part of Memphis, wealthy white businessman would hire the bands to play for barbecues and stag parties, even in the stuffy old Peabody Hotel. One of the great jug bands for dance rhythms , for example , was Jed Davenport and his Beale Street Jug Band.


BSRR:
Did the Memphis jug bands pick up on the sounds of the great Delta guitarists?


MELTON:
You bet. Many of those Delta guitarists came to Memphis, the biggest city in the Delta to play and record. One band that comes to mind with that distinctive Delta sound is Jack Kelly and the South Memphis Jug Band.


BSRR:
What was the first Memphis jug band?


MELTON:
Will Shade was the pioneer and he formed a band called The Memphis Jug Band. They recorded dozens of songs under that name for the companies recording in Memphis. It was a loose ensemble and he was quite a crafty band manager. He took advantage of every recording company he could and avoided contract problems by changing the name of the group. The Carolina Peanut Boys, The Dallas Jug Band, and The Memphis Sheiks are just a few of the names he used. And he didn't hesitate to switch between male and female singers, helping to launch the career of singer guitarist Memphis Minnie McCoy, among others. They had a terrific mix of vocals, kazoos, harmonicas, wash tub bass, strings, and, of course, jug. One of their classic songs dates from 1928, called the Overseas Stomp, which was written for dancers doing the Lindy Hop, a dance craze that celebrated Charles Lindberg's solo flight across the Atlantic.


BSRR:
You've said that the jug bands influenced lots of the bands that launched the music revolution of the 1960s. What are some examples?


MELTON:
There was a revival of the jug bands in the 1960s in America. The Lovin' Spoonful and the Grateful Dead started out as jug bands. In England, they were called "skiffle" bands and some of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones were fans of the music. Folk guitarist Dave Van Ronk was one of the first 60s musicians to cover a song by the Memphis Jug Band called "Stealin', Stealin'".


BSRR:
What about the new jug band documentary?


MELTON:
It is by an indie film maker and it is called "Chasin' Gus' Ghost". It is making the rounds of music festivals in Cleveland and Louisville among other places. The film features John Sebastian of the Lovin' Spoonful, Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead and Jim Kweskin, the leader of the most famous of the 1960s jug bands, which showcased a young Maria Muldaur as lead singer. Google the title to learn more - Chasin' Gus' Ghost. It refers to Gus Cannon, who lead another one of the famous Memphis jug bands, Cannon's Jug Stompers. When The Rooftop Singers covered Gus Cannon's song "Walk Right In" in 1963, the record shot to #1 in the charts and jug band music was back in the news.

BSRR:
Did that make Gus Cannon famous?

MELTON:
I wouldn't say that. Will Shade and Gus Cannon were still alive in 1963 and they tried to capitalize on the song by recording an album of the music they'd played years before. It was a modest success. But the Jim Kweskin Jug Band recorded dozens of songs over the next decade, many of them by Gus Cannon and Will Shade, joining in the folk music revival.

( Editor's Note: Many thanks to Will Melton for his insights on jug band music. More on this topic in future posts. )

The Jughead Chronicles, Part 2 : Will Speaks

The quest to document and preserve the musical output of the jug bands that rose and fell in the South during the opening decades of the Twentieth Century is being partially undertaken by a self styled aficionado and performer of the music by the name of Will Melton. Not only is he a walking encyclopedia of names and dates but he also plays and sings in several musical groups, plus constantly researching and acquiring new tunes. Will was a guest on BSRR's radio show last Sunday and shed some light on the genre:


BSRR:
So what is a jug band?


WILL MELTON:
It's one of the roots of the blues in this country, and a music style of the pre-war era that appealed to both black and white audiences. The basic idea was to start with some string instruments - fiddle, guitar, banjo, mandolin, and enrich the sound with homemade instruments. A bass fiddle might cost too much, but an old washtub would do if you turned it upside down, attached a cord to it with a broomstick connected to pull the string tight. And the sound of the tuba could be made by blowing into a large jug (that) you blow into like a soda bottle. A toy kazoo serves well as a low cost trumpet, and other things you have lying around the house, like a washboard, could be sounded with thimbles or spoons to create new percussion ideas. So the jug band was the poor man's orchestra. Then you add to that lots of hokum - jokes, double entendre and horsin' around and the result was a very entertaining act.



BSRR:
Who was the first jug band?


MELTON:
In 1898, two banjo players from Kentucky were looking for work in southwest Virginia. They were playing on a porch with their friends, the Anderson brothers, when a neighbor came over with an empty jug and started laying down a bass line, like a tuba part. When they finished playing they asked the old man about his instrument and all he could say was " I just picked it up and started blowing." Then he gave them some advice: " Look around for the right jug; a jug is a jug if you want whiskey, but if you want to blow on it, find one that's got music in it." They headed for Louisville and formed the Cy Anderson Jug Band. Soon they were making real money playing for Kentucky Derby crowds and on riverboats along the Ohio River. So the Cy Anderson Jug Band made Louisville their base but spent much of the next seven years playing the Ohio River towns and the jug band craze was born. It lasted for much of the next 30 years. But Louisville was where it first got rooted, followed soon after by Cincinnati, a city upriver on the Ohio. The Louisville bands like Whistler's Jug Band had a sound that bridged the blues and jazz. They had a Dixieland banjo sound.


BSRR:
What happened when the phonograph was invented? What kind of impact did that have on the jug bands?


MELTON:
From the 1910s to the 1930s, Jug Bands were hot and some of the most often hard ensembles in the small towns across the South. But the phonograph opened the whole country to the sound. Once again, Louisville was the originator. In 1926 Louisville's own Dixieland Jug Blowers made the first jug band recording in a Chicago studio.


Next - Jug Bands and the Blues Meet in the Memphis Sound

The Jughead Chronicles, Part 1

I've resisted telling the truth about my musical ability - or lack of - for over a year, but I can't hide it any longer - I'm a jug player.


I'm sure many of you are asking yourselves: "What is a jug and how do you play it?" The term "jug" - in fact - refers to an actual jug as in " Hand me that jug of moonshine, Billy Bob". Although it is not advisable to begin jug lessions with a full container of white lightning, the shape remains the same whether made of plastic, ceramics or whatever. Jug players simply blow across the open top of the requisite jug to produce sound and voila! - you have an instrument. However, the list of jug virtuosos who've met sudden death from inhaling a mouthful of bleach is fairly long, so, if you're thinking about pursuing the jug for fun and profit, make sure that your chosen instrument is totally empty and preferably washed before you use it.


Producing sound from the jug is problematic. You generate one type of tone by blowing across, but something entirely different by blowing - or spitting - into the jug itself. I guess you could say that one approach is more melodic while the other is closer to rthymn. It requires quite a bit of air and constant stomach motion to play the jug, which illustrates another occupational hazard associated with the instrument - never eat before a performance. In addition, vigorous playing typically generates spittle, so the conscentious jug player should avoid standing too close to anybody, and remember to empty the instrument regularly.


Embarking on a career as an itinerant jug virtouso has its drawbacks - you will, for example, never be able to pass the hat as you play on a streetcorner as the spray tends to keep people at a distance. Yet, there are some advantages. As long as you don't lose your hearing, you'll never have to tune up before a performance. You won't have to worry about buying any expensive instruments - just visit the local landfill to find a ready supply.


Personally, playing the jug has been rewarding. It has allowed me to pretend to be a musician, and lose weight in the balance from not eating those gluttonous special occaision dinners. I'm not sure if young jug players coming up these days are finding the profession lucrative, but I hope the tradition continues. Meanwhile, I'm hard at work finishing up my masterpiece- Quartet for Jug and Harpsichord Minus Two Instruments. Who says that Mozart or Beethoven wouldn't have turned to the jug if it wasn't so much easier to play a keyboard? One day the lowly plastic empty Clorox bottle will get the respect it deserves.

Deejay's Disease

I have been trying hard in my latest radio reincarnation to avoid the affliction, but it appears to have snuck up on me. Nevertheless, I am determined to fight the curse of repitition, the almost incurable condition of playing the same song at the same time in the same show. For example, I worked with one former personality who shall remain nameless who played "Jumping Jack Flash" every day approximately halfway through his show. The upside was a benefit for those who like the song as well as people who don't wear watches, because the timing was reliable, but ultimately, his preoccupation with the song began to destroy his credibility.


In most cases these days, song selection relative to on air product is tightly controlled which, based on the slow motion collapse of the recording industry, is totally understandable. Consequently, repitition is not eradicated but is used as a tool to drive sales. However, those of us in the lower echelons of broadcasting who can still pick and play their own cuts are not subject to the vagaries of program and/or music directors, which means people like me have to really pay attention to the on-air product.


I started keeping playlists a few months back. I was scared that I was falling into the same trap. Despite this attempt at keeping the tunes fresh, my lists clearly show that I played Keb Mo's version of Robert Johnson's "Come On In My Kitchen" during the last half hour of my show two weeks in a row. I've really broken the rules with "The Lights Are On" by Albert Collins, mainly because I can't get enough of Albert Collins, but the evidence shows that I've played this song nearly every program. The same can be said of Buddy Guy's " Damn Right I've Got The Blues" or "Got My Mojo Working" by Etta James or "Don't Lose My Number" from Blood Brothers by Smokin' Joe Kubek and Bnois King or "Blues With A Feeling" from Paul Butterfield's first album (also the name of the show) or "Mother In Law Blues" by Little Junior Parker. I find myself still unable to resist playing these songs even though I know what I'm doing. In order to manage my addiction, I've come up with a long list of rationalizations: I don' t get paid so who cares - nobody listens - the show's only once a week - but none of these excuses help the poor listener.


I'm not sure what will cure this habit. Certainly new product always helps. But the other concern is that blues songs tend to be covered by various artists thus adding to that "I keep hearing the same song" feeling. For example, I've got versions of "The Sky Is Crying" by Elmore James, Stevie Ray Vaughan, George Thorogood and Etta James; "Black Night" in my modest music library is performed by Roomful of Blues, Charles Brown, James Cotton, and Buddy Guy.


What's a poor unpaid, unassuming air personality to do? I'll try my best to fight my instincts and remember the most important factor in radio - the audience.

Raisin a Ruckus With Roomful of Blues

For a little state, Rhode Island is big on the blues, and the best example of that is Roomful of Blues. BSRR caught with them last weekend at Chan's in Woonsocket for a sold out show, and spent a few minutes talking to lead guitarist Chris Vachon:

BSRR:
It's been a rough year for you guys. Can you tell us what happened and how the benefit went a couple of weeks ago?

CHRIS VACHON:
Most people know that Bob Enos passed away on the road with us. He had been in the band for 28 years. It was a big shock to us. It really took a lot out of us. We still haven't really gotten over it. We just had a benefit for him at Rhodes-on-the-Pawtuxet in Providence, Rhode Island. It went over really well. About 850 people showed up. It was to benefit his family. We're proud about that.

BSRR:
How's the response so far to "Raising a Ruckus"?

CHRIS VACHON:
It's been very good. We've been on the Billboard charts since it came out. We've charted every week.

BSRR:
How long ago and how did you guys form originally?

CHRIS VACHON:
It was Duke Robillard and Al Copley that started the band. That was around 1971. Just kind of a straight up Chicago blues band without horns. They added horns a couple of years later. It's been going on ever since, so I guess it's probably 39 years now, something like that.

BSRR:
All the years you guys have played and now, finally, fame's catching up with you.

CHRIS VACHON:
Yeah, right.

BSRR:
I wanted to ask you about the song "While I Can". Tell me a little bit about that song.

CHRIS VACHON:
That's my wife's song. She wrote that. She wrote the words and I had an idea what to do with it. I helped her out with music and the band chipped in and that's how that came about.

BSRR:
What are some of your favorite cuts on "Raising a Ruckus"?

CHRIS VACHON:
"While I Can." No, seriously, I like everything on it. That's why we recorded these songs. We like them all. So I don't really have a particular favorite.

BSRR:
I'm a big fan of your break on "The Love You Lost Along the Way" (from Roomful's CD "Standing Room Only"). What guitarists would you say influenced you growing up?

CHRIS VACHON:
I started with B.B. King when I was about 12. Just went through Guitar Slim, Albert King, Albert Collins, all of those guys, there's way too many to name. I guess that's how I came up with what I do - whatever that is.

BSRR:
How many nights are you out on the road now?

CHRIS VACHON:
200 a year. We're still at it. That's what we do.

BSRR:
What do you have coming up for the future?

CHRIS VACHON:
We're building a schedule for the summer. We've got a framework of some festivals so we'll be out in the Midwest, go to California and do the same stuff we always do when we tour to support a CD.

Roomful played two sold out shows at Chan's with its solid mix of tight horns, flawless guitar and vocals, and rocking keyboards , the band's trademark R & B with an emphasis on the "B". But don't just take my word for it - pick up a copy of "Raising a Ruckus" on Alligator Records and see what the ruckus is all about. (http://www.alligator.com/)

Jery's Jazz

My late wife Jery loved jazz. She introduced me to the music along with Otis Sutton, who had a long standing show called Night Train on the former WCIB in Falmouth back in the day. Once Martha's Vineyard's first FM station got off the ground in 1975, I convinced the owner to see if Otis was still available, which lead to the creation of jazz weekends. Otis was on for several hours both Saturday and Sunday. His signature albums at the time included "Headhunters", Herbie Hancock's breakout explosion of funk, and " Swiss Movement", Les McCann and Eddie Harris live at the Montreux Jazz Festival with their anthem of alienation -"Compared to What".


Jery's favorite jazz tune was another Sutton staple at the time, "Land of Make Believe" which is a Chuck Mangione composition sung by Esther Satterfield. It is a symphonic blend of horns and strings that rise and falls in several crescendos with Satterfield's strong, clear voice leading the way. I liked it but found it a bit too polished and smooth - if you read this blog at all, you know by now my preferred sound is rougher and more primitive. I always wondered why she was so attracted to it. I think the song was an island of peace for her , a refuge from the emotional pain of stressful relationships that wore Jery down in the past , a chance to drift off into blissful fantasy if only for a few golden moments. We all need a song like that, a place where we can go to heal by ourselves.


Jery introduced me to Yusuf Lateef, especially "Nubian Lady", with its never ending flute solo and of course, from Swiss Movement, "Compared to What", with McCann's commanding piano riffs and Harris' swooping sax, not to mention the biting lyrics and the radical use of the word "goddamn". She still had a Miles Davis' "Kind of Blue" album when we got married , along with Glen Miller and several other swing records, Roberta Flack, even Santana, but Jery stayed faithful to Chuck Mangione.


She's gone now. I'm not quite sure what I'll do with her records, but I'll never be able to listen to Chuck Mangione again - well, not for a while, anyway. I just hope Jery finally found the peace she was always seeking in the "Land of Make Believe."

West Side Struttin' with Eddy "The Chief" Clearwater

The first thing that amazed me about Eddy "The Chief" Clearwater is that he is 73. At an age when most people might settle for shuffleboard, Eddy is out on the road, still playing hard from the West Side of Chicago to the ends of the earth, having toured in places like Russia, Turkey, Romania and Brazil. The second thing is that Eddy is part Cherokee, which manifests itself in the Indian headdress Clearwater frequently sports onstage. But the most remarkable thing about The Chief is the energy and style that comes to life on his new Alligator CD West Side Strut.


Edward Harrington was born in Macon, MS in 1935, and moved to Birmingham, AL in 1948 where Eddy taught himself to play his axe left-handed and upside down as well as gigging with gospel groups that included The Blind Boys of Alabama. Eddy moved to Chicago in 1950, starting out as a dishwasher, but at first limited to playing behind groups in local churches before finally making a name for himself as "Guitar Eddy" in 1953. Seeing Chuck Berry perform in 1957 had a lasting influence on Eddy's music , welding Clearwater's solid blues credentials with a touch of raucous rock and roll. In 1958, Guitar Eddy was renamed "Clear Waters" for his debut 45 on his uncle's label - "Hill Billy Blues" - his name thought up by his manager as a word play on "Muddy Waters" . The name Clearwater stuck, and the Chief was born. Fortunately, Eddy explains why in "They Call Me The Chief", featuring his jagged fuzz tone "drums" in the beginning as he spins a tongue in cheek ballad (Allow me to introduce myself..) laced with chopping guitar chords and mystical lyrics.


The CD opens with "A Good Leavin' Alone", Eddy's solution to good loving gone bad, a mixture of rough vocals and hard driving guitar. Clearwater's rock and roll persona comes to life in a high-powered duet with Lonnie Brooks on "Too Old To Get Married" in which both veteran bluesmen trade sizzling leads, reminding each other that they're: "Too old to get married / too young to be buried" . Eddy takes a Muddy Waters tune - "Walkin' in the Park" - and injects his own particular brand of blues and funk, turning it into an anthem. . "Blue Over You" is a more familiar ballad with cutting edge guitar and driving harp. Lowell Fulsom's tune "Trouble, Trouble" gets a workout as well, the relentless guitar laying it on the line. And that's just to name a few.


Lucky for us Eddy is aging graciously, because he's still earning his living out on the road. The Chief will be at Chan's in Woonsocket,RI April 17-18, but you can listen to him now at http://www.alligator.com/ . See if you don't start doing the West Side Strut.