Blind Blake: Complete Recorded Works Vol. 4 (1929-1932)

BLIND BLAKE: COMPLETE RECORDED WORKS, VOL. 4 (1929-1932)

1) Sweet Jivin' Mama; 2) Lonesome Christmas Blues; 3) Third Degree Blues; 4) Guitar Chimes; 5) Blind Arthur's Breakdown; 6) Baby Lou Blues; 7) Cold Love Blues; 8) Papa Charlie Jackson And Blind Blake Talk About It, pt. 1; 9) Papa Charlie Jackson And Blind Blake Talk About It, pt. 2; 10) Stingaree Man Blues; 11) Itching Heel; 12) You've Got What I Want; 13) Cherry Hill Blues; 14) Diddie Wah Diddie No. 2; 15) Hard Pushing Papa; 16) What A Low Down Place The Jailhouse Is; 17) Ain't Gonna Do That No More; 18) Playing Policy Blues; 19) Righteous Blues; 20) Rope Stretching Blues, pt. 2; 21) Rope Stretching Blues, pt. 1; 22) Champagne Charlie Is My Name; 23) Depression's Gone From Me Blues.

The last volume in the series is, unfortunately, quite far from great — not an atypical situation for the old bluesmen, decimated by life on the road, heavy drinking, and Depression depression no less harder than the rock generation youngsters would be decimated by their problems. Two ex­cellent pre-Depression sides may be found early on: ʽGuitar Chimesʼ, a slow blues shuffle that does indeed begin with some nifty «chiming», and the faster ragtime guitar showcase ʽBlind Arthur's Breakdownʼ — probably the last time you can hear the man relatively unburdened with atrocious hiss and crackle, doing his fabulously inimitable stuff.

The two-part «dialog» between Blake and Papa Charlie Jackson on the banjo, done in the form of a traveling minstrel show, is an excellent historical document, but the awful sound quality makes it all but impossible to understand the dialog as such, and they do concentrate on verbal exchange quite a bit more than on instrumental exchange. Then there are several more numbers on which Blake backs Irene Scruggs (tracks 10-13) — her vocals are a bit more distinctive and playful than those of the man's previous female partners, but the only well-audible highlight is ʽItching Heelʼ, where Blake plays it slow and cautious, but occasionally breaks into ragtime frenzy, changing the mood from passive-aggressive to comical.

By 1930, Blind Blake predictably had his studio time cut severely — and, according to most ac­counts, packed it with extra drinking instead, so that most of these late-period recordings were hardly up to the standards set in earlier years. The two-part ʽRope Stretchin' Bluesʼ is among his grimmest offerings, sung and played with tragic intonations that seem more heartfelt than ever be­fore (hard times taking their toll?). ʽChampagne Charlie Is My Nameʼ is an old Victorian music hall number that is so different in mood and style from Blake's usual repertoire that people have even expressed doubts about whether it is Blind Blake at all — one of those little mysteries that drives obsessive people crazy. No reason, though, why Blind Blake shouldn't have tried to make a different recording, especially considering that his standard blues repertoire was selling poorly. He could have been experimenting with his image a bit, deliberately choosing something upbeat and «jolly» to cheer people up — no wonder that the last track on here, a cover of the well-known standart ʽSittin' On Top Of The Worldʼ, is re-titled ʽDepression's Gone From Me Bluesʼ.

Depression would really be gone from Blind Blake several years later, when, unemployed and penniless, he would die from pulmonary tuberculosis (according to a recently discovered death certificate for one Arthur Blake in Milwaukee, provided, of course, that there is no coincidence involved). Had he lived, he would, of course, be eventually rediscovered and dragged out by an Alan Lomax, but, as it is, all we have left is just one photo, cleverly spread in four different di­mensions on four different album sleeves for the Document series — gradually zooming away from us as the years roll by. Technically, this last volume is the weakest of the lot and, according­ly, gets a thumbs down, but if you are hunting for the whole package rather than a best-of, there is no sense in bypassing it: with just four CDs worth of material from one of the era's most re­nowned and innovative guitar players, who'd want to intentionally ignore even his twilight years?

Blind Blake: Complete Recorded Works Vol. 3 (1928-1929)

BLIND BLAKE: COMPLETE RECORDED WORKS, VOL. 3 (1928-1929)

1) Elzadie's Policy Blues; 2) Pay Day Daddy Blues; 3) Walkin' Across The Country; 4) Search Warrant Blues; 5) Ramblin' Mama Blues; 6) New Style Of Loving; 7) Back Door Slam Blues; 8) Notoriety Woman Blues; 9) Cold Hearted Mama Blues; 10) Low Down Loving Gal; 11) Sweet Papa Low Down; 12) Poker Woman Blues; 13) Doing A Stretch; 14) Fightin' The Jug; 15) Hookworm Blues; 16) Slippery Rag; 17) Hastings Street; 18) Diddie Wah Did­die; 19) Too Tight Blues No. 2; 20) Chump Man Blues; 21) Ice Man Blues; 22) Police Dog Blues; 23) I Was Afraid Of That Pt. 2; 24) Georgia Bound; 25) Keep It Home.

Vol. 3 of Blind Blake's starts out rather inauspiciously, with a couple of fairly bland Elzadie Ro­binson urban blues tunes which are then followed with lotsa lotsa slow blues, most of them with hi­deous sound quality that prevents from discerning any tricks and flourishes even if Blake actu­ally had them on these tracks — and I am quite unsure of that. (He gets particularly lazy on tracks like ʽSearch Warrant Bluesʼ, whose recording session must have caught him in an utterly un­in­spired state, or an utterly inebriated one). These six or seven slow blues laments are really only noticeable for the lyrics, which have been occasionally accused of excessive (even for the times) misogyny ("to keep her quiet, I knocked her teeth out her mouth" etc.). But since Blake hardly ever comes across as a pathological character, we should still ascribe these bleak feelings to then-current conventions. Good old happy times, when «bitch-slapping» was the norm and nobody wanted to be left out of the fun.

The real fun — musical fun — starts only on the eleventh number (ʽSweet Papa Low Downʼ), the first feel-good number on the CD, and Blind Blake's fingers only really worked wonders when they were feeling good: here be a nifty little Charleston with some cornet and xylophone accom­paniment, and Blake himself happily mumbling and dee-daa-daaing under his nose as he spins his tricky ragtime chords.

From there, as we move on to 1929 and the last months of nationwide happiness, it is all steadily uphill once again: ʽHookworm Bluesʼ, with a funny guitar/piano soloing duet; ʽSlippery Ragʼ, which is anything but slippery — in fact, it features some of Blake's most complex soloing; and, most importantly, ʽDiddie Wah Diddieʼ, one of his signature tunes (nothing to do with the much later Bo Diddley song of the same name) that introduced the line "I wish somebody could tell me what diddie wah diddie means" into popular culture.

Best of the lot is concealed at the end: ʽGeorgia Boundʼ, also done in a ragtime tuning, recorded with a rare degree of cleanness, sung with an unexpected sweet natural tenderness, and bursting into diverse, but always optimistic solo melodies after each verse. The melody may be well known from a million other performances (it is exactly the same as Robert Johnson's ʽFrom Four Until Lateʼ), but, with Blake at the helm, a good melody will always bear individual traces, re­gardless of how well we know it. If you do not play guitar, these sounds may well taunt you into trying — and if you do, you might as well quit, because you'll never beat this kind of sound, no matter how technically simple it might seem to the modern player. Thumbs up.

Blind Blake: Complete Recorded Works Vol. 2 (1927-1928)

BLIND BLAKE: COMPLETE RECORDED WORKS, VOL. 2 (1927-1928)

1) You Gonna Quit Me Blues; 2) Steel Mill Blues; 3) Southern Rag; 4) He's In The Jailhouse Now; 5) Wabash Rag; 6) Doggin' Me Mama Blues; 7) C. C. Pill Blues; 8) Hot Potatoes; 9) Southbound Rag; 10) Pay Day Daddy Blues; 11) Elzadie's Policy Blues; 12) Goodbye Mama Moan; 13) Tootie Blues; 14) That Lovin' I Crave; 15) That Lonesome Rave; 16) Terrible Murder Blues; 17) Leavin' Gal Blues; 18) No Dough Blues; 19) Lead Hearted Blues; 20) Let Your Love Come Down; 21) Rumblin' And Ramblin' Boa Constrictor Blues; 22) Bootlig Rum Dum Blues; 23) Detroit Bound Blues; 24) Beulah Land; 25) Panther Squall Blues.

The ratio of mediocre to great on this second volume is more or less the same (as is the ratio of crackle to cleanliness). Early highlights of late 1927 include ʽSouthern Ragʼ, which features some of the most complex guitar runs recorded at that time — people amazed at the ability of Robert Johnson to play rhythm and melody simultaneously should take a listen to this, where at times it sounds like there are three guitars playing at once, where there is only one (and somehow he also manages to rap out brief accounts of Southern life as well); and a solid version of ʽHe's In The Jailhouse Nowʼ with the original, political lyrics ("Remember last election / Everybody was in ac­tion") rather than the depoliticized tale of crime and punishment, popularized by Jimmie Rod­gers and then, further on down the line, in Oh Brother Where Art Thou? Particularly of note is Blake's suddenly-turned-gravelly voice as he changes the refrain from "He's in the jailhouse now" to "He's in the graveyard now" — a classic moment in country blues history, I'd say.

Further on down the line, we get some diversity: on ʽDoggin' Me Mama Bluesʼ, Jimmy Bertrand all but steals away the spotlight with a funny xylophone part, while Blake is content with provi­ding rather ordinary accompaniment; and on ʽC. C. Pill Bluesʼ, he is paired with Johnny Dodds on clarinet — incidentally, this happens to be one of Ry Cooder's favourite pre-war recordings, due to the sheer added value of all the talent involved (apparently, Dodds is considered to be one of the pre-Benny Goodman era clarinet greats). Bertrand, meanwhile, switches to slide whistle, an instrument rarely heard in principle and almost never as a counterpart to acoustic blues perfor­mances in particular.

Later on, Blake is again accompanying singers, such as Elzadie Robinson and Bertha Henderson; however, neither of the two is tremendously interesting, and neither seems to have had any inte­rest in supporting Blake's interest in ragtime guitar, preferring to stick to generically slow urban blues. We do get to see the man in some exciting piano action, though, on ʽLet Your Love Come Downʼ, which proves that he was just as adept on the ivory keys as he was on the strings (hardly sur­prising, though: you'd have to learn your ragtime on the piano first, before transposing it to guitar). But overall, for most of early 1928 Blind Blake was generally engaged in playing so-so urban blues, even when playing solo, exactly the way that, say, a Leroy Carr would perform it on piano. The worst thing about these performances is not even the lack of a proper territory to show off his technique, but rather the very fact that urban blues sifted through an old-time Delta atti­tude is almost a contradiction in terms. «Urban blues» is generally middle-class entertainment, whereas Delta blues grows on much lower depths, and both require different skills and attitudes to be successful.

«Smooth» players like Lonnie Johnson could get away with it — Lonnie was quite «urbanized» in his soul and sound; Blind Blake, on the other hand, was a figure cut out for dance frenzy, de­bauchery, and drinking (which is why the former lived to a ripe old age, and the latter only left us one single photograph). So give me ʽSouthern Ragʼ and ʽHe's In The Jailhouse Nowʼ over boring material like ʽDetroit Bound Bluesʼ any day. For these songs alone, the second volume earns ano­ther certified thumbs up; but filler will always be filler, no matter how many thin-grained subtle­ties a jaded listener's ear can locate in the blueness of the man's blue notes.

Blind Blake: Complete Recorded Works Vol. 1 (1926-1927)

BLIND BLAKE: COMPLETE RECORDED WORKS, VOL. 1 (1926-1927)

1) Dying Blues; 2) Ashley St. Blues; 3) Early Morning Blues; 4) West Coast Blues; 5) Early Morning Blues; 6) Too Tight; 7) Blake's Worried Blues; 8) Come On Boys Let's Do That Messin' Around; 9) Tampa Bound; 10) Skeedle Loo Doo Blues (take 1); 11) Skeedle Loo Doo Blues (take 2); 12) Stonewall Street Blues; 13) State Street Blues; 14) Down The Country; 15) Black Biting Bee Blues; 16) Wilson Dam; 17) Buck-Town Blues; 18) Black Dog Blues; 19) One Time Blues; 20) Bad Feelings Blues; 21) Dry Bone Shuffle (take 3); 22) That Will Never Happen No More; 23) Brownskin Mama Blues (take 2); 24) Hard Road Blues; 25) Hey Hey Daddy Blues; 26) Sea Board Stomp.

Arthur Phelps, a.k.a. Arthur Blake, a.k.a. «Blind» Blake (because, back in the day, what was a blind black boy to do but to play blindingly blisterous blues guitar?), only recorded for Para­mount for eight years (1926-1932), before the Depression drove him out on the road, where he either drank himself to death or got run over by a streetcar (accounts differ). I would be lying like a dirty dog, or a surprisingly exalted fanboy, if I told you that everything he recorded during those years deserves to be heard. Yet Blind Blake is still a tremendously important figure in the early growth of country blues; anyone interested in this type of music at all is obliged to have at least a one-disc collection (the 23-track long Best Of Blind Blake will do nicely).

The Document series did a good job of collecting all of the man's known output on four discs, though (with the usual reservation about sound quality: everything here is quite crackly-hissy, not as awful, perhaps, as on Charley Patton records, but still, reflecting the usual lack of quality con­trol for Paramount). The first volume goes heavy on filler, since on several of the tracks Blake is simply heard as a backing player for urban blues performer Leola Wilson — a Bessie Smith wan­nabe with a smaller set of lungs and an annoying nasal twang. And, honoring the contract, per­haps, Blake honestly does nothing but back up the singer — his playing on these slow numbers is utterly by the book, in fact, it almost seems as if he did not have any major liking for this type of music, simply playing for cash while he had the chance.

The first glimpse of Blake's greatness comes with ʽWest Coast Bluesʼ, jammed in between two takes of the much more straightforward 12-bar ʽEarly Morning Bluesʼ. It is the first example of his «ragtime blues», essentially a transferral of the genre's piano chord sequences to a guitar-based setting, which gives the music a decidedly rustic, rather than urban, flavor, but preserves all the toe-tappiness and playfulness. A «throwaway» instrumental dance number with a number of Blake's own spoken «directions» to the dancers, it shows a level of technicality that was quite rare even from jazz players at the time.

Then come the fully worded tunes — ʽCome On Boys, Let's Do That Messin' Aroundʼ, which, true to its name, already shows Blake «messin' around» with the chords as they go (showing his famous ability to «scatter» a musical line and then quickly pick it up together from the pieces for the next bar); and ʽSkeddle Loo Doo Bluesʼ, which does the same, but with an increase in tempo. With more and more confidence gained in the process, the man even starts to show off on others' records — ʽWilson Damʼ, on which he backs Leola Wilson again, already has the player eclip­sing the singer, as he changes keys in between verse lines and plays arrogant little flourishes even as Leola is singing, pulling away the attention.

Instrumental diversity is not the key here — one of the tracks features a lonesome kazoo accom­panying the guitar, and there are a couple of instances of «rattlebone» percussion — but every time Blake picks up speed, that ceases to be an issue. It all culminates in the last track on the disc, ʽSea Board Stompʼ, where the man pulls all the stops: sometimes slipping into one-bar long waltz tempos, sometimes spinning sentimental folksy phrasing, then effortlessly going back into rag­time mode, then showing a bit of sliding technique, then going into a brief bluesy interlude, then «scattering» the melody and picking it up again — basically, this is everything you need to know about Blind Blake rolled into one.

ʽSea Board Stompʼ alone would have earned this early collection a thumbs up; the fact that it is loaded with about a dozen not-too-interesting slow blues numbers (and even these tend to be «de­corated» by the end of the disc) should certainly be disregarded, since Blind Blake was a man of his times, and recorded what the people of his times wanted to hear — and the demand for gene­ric 12-bar blues was greater back then than it has been ever since. Well, maybe not «greater», but «holier» or something, if you get my drift.