Big Joe Williams: Classic Delta Blues

BIG JOE WILLIAMS: CLASSIC DELTA BLUES (1964)

1) Rollin' And Tumblin'; 2) Hellhound On My Trail; 3) Bird's Nest Bound; 4) Crossroads Blues; 5) Special Rider; 6) Pony Blues; 7) Pea Vine Special; 8) Walking Blues; 9) Dirt Road Blues; 10) Banty Rooster Blues; 11) Terraplane Blues; 12) Jinx Blues.

Far from the last «original» Big Joe Williams album (the man went on recording all through the 1970s, although the average pace was certainly less prolific), Classic Delta Blues will, neverthe­less, be his last record to get a brief individual mention here. The ones that came after are way too hard to find these days, and the payoff cannot be imagined as substantial anyway.

The pleasure of Classic Delta Blues is mainly in that, after several years of being set up as part of a small blues combo, this time around Big Joe gets completely solo billing. He also switches to 6-string rather than his usual 9-string guitar, which might, in theory, look like he's downplaying his own special thing, but believe me, he is not. On the contrary, out of all of his post-war LPs, this one is the most authentically Big-Joe-ish record of them all.

Back in Chicago, Big Joe is consigned to the cares of engineer Norman Dayton and producer Pete Welding, who do the best thing possible in this situation: leave Big Joe completely alone and me­rely ensure that the captured sound be provided with some depth and a small echo layer, to get the proper «playing from inside a deep well» atmosphere. Combined with the fact that, for this ses­sion, Big Joe has selected to play almost exclusively the tunes of Charley Patton and Robert John­­son — blues' «tormented loners» par excellence — this makes up for cool results.

Fact is, Big Joe is overall a better blues singer (at least, certainly a scarier blues singer, at times, sounding like the direct predecessor to Howlin' Wolf) than both Johnson and Patton — as good as Robert's original 'Hellhound On My Trail' and 'Crossroads Blues' are, I can certainly see how some could think that the song deserves a deeper, more «hellish» vocal reading than Johnson's almost effeminate whine, and Big Joe's interpretation here suits the bill perfectly. And how wise of him, too, to have held off these recordings right until being left all alone in the studio, with no se­cond fiddle to spoil the «just me and the devil» effect.

Simply put, some musicians are born for bands and some are born for nobody but themselves, and Classic Delta Blues explicitly shows that Big Joe is at his very best when no one is there to bug him about setting up a «party atmosphere». As classic as his recordings with such giants as Sonny Boy Williamson or Willie Dixon could be, he tends to wither up next to these guys. But give him some echo, a dark, personal-apocalyptic tune or two, and suddenly he turns into Mr. Deep Blues Incarnate. This is an exceptional LP — highly recommended. Thumbs up.

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Big Joe Williams: Back To The Country

BIG JOE WILLIAMS: BACK TO THE COUNTRY (1964)

1) Ain't Gonna Be Your Lowdown Dog; 2) Annie Mae; 3) You Can Stay Out; 4) Mean Backstabber; 5) Worry You Off My Mind; 6) Miss Ida B; 7) Put On Your Nightcap; 8) Woody Woodpecker; 9) I Got My Ticket; 10) Shake Your Boogie; 11) See See Rider; 12) Blues Everywhere I Go; 13) Worried And Lonesome; 14) My Black Woman; 15) The Moon Is Rising; 16) Down The Line; 17) My Baby Left Me A Mule To Ride; 18) Desert Blues; 19) Breakdown.

The distinguishing factor here is the constant accompaniment of Willie Lee Harris on harmonica and Jimmy Brown on fiddle (he also takes lead vocals quite a few times). This gives you a laid-back, front porch atmosphere. Blue moon rising, 'gators in the swamp, jambalaya on the bayou, that sort of thing (I'm too lazy to go hunting for additional Delta / Louisiana clichés). Unfortuna­tely, it sort of leaves open the question of whether anyone would give a damn if, surreptitiously, they snatched Big Joe from under our noses and replaced him with Average Joe.

The trio gets a fairly authentic sound, to be sure, but the collective powers of Brown and Harris cannot replace the solitary power of Willie Dixon's bass, and Big Joe does not seem to be particu­larly trying. He is doing what he is expected to be doing — recreating the atmosphere of a friend­ly get-together — and if that is what you want to hear, an honest 1964 recreation of an amicable musical encounter between three amicable black country-blues musicians around 1934, that is exactly what you are going to get. But at his best, Big Joe is an exciting entertainer, energetic and unpredictable, and in the settings of a friendly get-together, there is no need to be an exciting en­tertainer, since there's no one to entertain anyway.

Meaning that these twenty tracks (many of which are not repeated from earlier recordings, but it never really matters) are mildly interesting for one listen unless you are a Delta dweller all by yourself, but, overall, it is not going to displace Walking Blues as the one late period Big Joe al­bum to own if you really have to own one.

Big Joe Williams: Walking Blues

BIG JOE WILLIAMS: WALKING BLUES (1961)

1) Levee Camp Blues; 2) Low Down Dirty Shame; 3) Gambling Man; 4) Ain’t Gonna Rain No More; 5) Feel So Good; 6) Prowling Ground Hog; 7) Back Home Again; 8) Sugar Babe; 9) Tell Me Mama; 10) Studio Blues; 11) I’m A Fool About My Baby; 12) 38 Pistol Blues; 13) Pearly Mae; 14) Walking Blues; 15) Highway 45; 16) Meet Me At The Bottom; 17) Skinny Mama; 18) Jockey Ride Blues; 19) Coal And Iceman Blues; 20) Army Man Blues; 21) Black Gal; 22) Pallet On The Floor.

For precision sake, it should be mentioned that this collection originally came out as two LPs: Blues For 9 Strings in 1961 (the last 12 songs) and Studio Blues in 1966 (the first 10). Both were, however, recorded during the same session in 1961, with a small combo involving Larry Johnson on harmonica and the great Willie Dixon himself on bass (usually, with Big Joe around, one hardly gets to hear anybody else properly anyway, but Big Willie was the bass player to rip at the strings with the kind of thick ferocity that agreed with Big Joe’s style better than any other playing style).

By now, it was relatively clear what Delmark, Folkways and the others were trying to do: short of «authentic» pre-war blues artists, yet faced with the ever-increasing demand for genuine Delta blues on the part of the younger generation, they expected of a happy find like Big Joe the com­plete recreation of the entire Delta repertoire, no less. Of the 24 songs recorded during these ses­sions, only a very minor portion overlaps with previous recordings. Instead, Joe covers songs made famous by Son House (‘Levee Camp Blues’), Big Bill Broonzy (‘I Feel So Good’), and probably others (many of the titles I simply do not recognize, but, clearly, there is no talk of ori­ginal com­posing here).

It goes without saying that the substitute is not ideal: Big Joe has his own middle-of-the-road style, and taking on the entire Delta legacy is a bit like the Grateful Dead taking on the entire le­gacy of American popular music: formally, they pull it off, but who will remember Jerry Garcia for playing ‘Johnny B. Goode’ or ‘Death Don’t Have No Mercy’ instead of ‘Dark Star’ when no one has so far taken care to burn all of Chuck Berry’s and Rev. Gary Davis’ records?

But I have to admit that Big Joe’s take on ‘Feel So Good’ is still pretty amusing, with the song slightly sped up and boogified. Joe even tries out some quasi-rockabilly licks in the solo: some of these all but demand being accompanied by duckwalking, and I am pretty sure that the man, un­like many of his peers, did not turn a deaf ear to those hot new sounds on 1950s radio.

Overall, this is probably the best choice for post-war Big Joe: the session is long, well-recorded, diverse (covering all of Big Joe’s proper bases and touching upon many others), and, like I said, Big Joe’s gruff and gritty playing style is a perfect match with Dixon’s amazing blues bass skills. Some of the tracks, especially fast ones like ‘Tell Me Mama’, are worth it just for Willie’s fat, but smooth runs alone. Thumbs up.

Big Joe Williams: Blues On Highway 49

BIG JOE WILLIAMS: BLUES ON HIGHWAY 49 (1961)

1) Highway 49; 2) Overhaul Your Machine; 3) Blues Left Texas; 4) No. 13 Highway; 5) Down In The Bottoms; 6) Poor Beggar; 7) That Thing's In Town; 8) Walk On, Little Girl; 9) Tiajuana Blues; 10) 45 Blues; 11) Arkansas Wo­man; 12) Four Corners Of The World.

This particular Delmark recording was made in July, 1961, in Chicago. This time Big Joe is ac­companied throughout by his old associate Ransom Knowling on bass — and nothing else; play­ing, predictably, his old nine-string acoustic without amplification. None of the songs overlap with Piney Woods Blues — in fact, few of the songs, bar the title track, overlap with any of Big Joe's previous recordings, which is nice to know theoretically but, in the long run, does not make that much of a difference. A new Big Joe Williams song, after all, is just an old B.J.W. song with new lyrics, not much more.

There is a little bit more boogie on here than on Piney Woods Blues ('Down In The Bottoms', 'That Thing's In Town'), and it is played with a little more verve — Knowling's help on these num­bers is particularly important, reasserting the toe-tapping factor, and Joe's ability to play rhythm and lead at the same time seems to be improving with age: it is ironic to think that Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup made himself a whole living out of recording endless clones of the same song as 'That Thing's In Town', and yet he was never able to play it as well as Big Joe does here.

Out of the proper blues numbers, though, the only one worth saving is 'Four Corners Of The World'. There is a reason why it closes the album — upon hearing it, there is really no need to hear anything else. It's longer than all the other slow blues numbers; it's got the loudest bass part of them all; it has Big Joe hollering at the top of his powers; and it's got him playing all of the tricks he knows. The only thing here that even begins to approach «essential» status.

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Big Joe Williams: Piney Woods Blues

BIG JOE WILLIAMS: PINEY WOODS BLUES (1958)

1) Baby, Please Don't Go; 2) Drop Down Mama; 3) Mellow Peaches; 4) No More Whiskey; 5) Tailor Made Babe; 6) Big Joe Talking; 7) Some Day Baby; 8) Good Morning Little Schoolgirl; 9) Peach Orchard Mama; 10) Juanita; 11) Shetland Pony Blues; 12) Omaha Blues.

In 1958, Big Joe re-emerged as one of the proud bearers of pre-war Americana on the newly for­med Delmark Records: Piney Woods Blues was the label's second LP (for the record, The Dirty Dozens by Speckled Red was the first, and boy, were those dozens ever dirty). The trick worked out fine: not aiming at capturing any major markets, Delmark introduced Big Joe, along with lots of other artists, to new generations that could hardly be bothered tracking down old sizzling 78s. If they couldn't have Robert Johnson, and if they couldn't get Muddy Waters to switch back to acoustic, Big Joe was their guy.

Captured in St. Louis, mostly solo, but on some tracks, also backed by J. D. Short on harmonica and guitar, Big Joe runs through eleven numbers from his standard repertoire here (the twelfth track, 'Big Joe Talking', is true to its title; supposedly he is telling exciting tales about meeting Leadbelly in prison and stuff, but the only word group that my ears were able to distinguish was "corn whiskey"). All the playing is strictly acoustic; my guess is that, as it often happened, nice-meaning guys wanted to let Big Joe go for that «authentic» sound, when he, most likely, would not have minded adding a lit­tle amplification to the proceedings. But if there was a target audi­ence for this stuff in the first place, it'd mostly consist of college intellectuals, and in 1958, most col­lege intellectuals still thought of amplification as murdering the art spirit.

Anyway, the sound is clean, so Big Joe's playing style can be enjoyed here with more general ease than on the original recordings. On the down side, J. D. Short cannot replace Sonny Boy, and Big Joe's taking on some of Sonny Boy's own trademark material (e. g. 'Good Morning Little Schoolgirl') is interesting, but generally useless. On the up side, old acoustic bluesmen on their late period records sometimes tend to stretch out, diversifying and embellishing the old melodies with all sorts of extra flourishes (Skip James is a classic example — his uniqueness is easier ap­preciated on stuff he recorded in the 1960s than in his «heyday»). So, 'Baby Please Don't Go' is changed almost beyond recognition, from a simple threatening shuffle into a freedom-oriented performance where almost no two bars sound the same. This is probably the first time that post-war listeners were able to really appreciate the art of alternating tough, grumbly boogie lines flow­ing in and out of lyrical country-blues passages, all coming from the same guitar — in crystal clear sound quality. That's got to count for something.

As boring as acoustic blues may be some­times, Big Joe definitely commits himself to proving the opposite here; in a way, this style of playing is more interesting than the impressive, but repetitive phrasing of a Robert Johnson. So, thumbs up, of course.

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Big Joe Williams: Complete Recorded Works Vol. 2 (1945-1949)

BIG JOE WILLIAMS: COMPLETE RECORDED WORKS VOL. 2 (1945-1949; 1991)

1) Drop Down Blues; 2) Somebody's Been Worryin'; 3) Wanita; 4) Vitamin A; 5) His Spirit Lives On; 6) Baby Ple­a­se Don't Go; 7) Stack Of Dol­lars; 8) Mellow Apples; 9) Wild Cow Moan; 10) P Vine Blues; 11) Bad And Weak­hear­ted Blues; 12) King Biscuit Stomp; 13) I'm A Highway Man; 14) Banta Rooster Blues; 15) Mean Step Father Blues; 16) House Lady Blues; 17) Don't You Leave Me Here; 18) Jivin' Woman; 19) She's A Married Woman; 20) Walking Blues; 21) Atlanta Town.

The second half of the 1940s was a very unstable time for Big Joe: most of these tracks stem from but three sessions, one final piece of work for the Bluebird label in 1945, a large session for Co­lumbia in 1947, and a very small one for Bullet Records in Nashville in 1949. (The last two seg­ments on the album, defying the «complete recorded works in chronological order» ideology, are actually said to date back to 1935 — the first, and sonically very creaky, examples of Big Joe's presence on record).

Putting aside the usual criticisms (lack of diversity etc.), the first two sessions are invaluable in that they give us some of the best recorded examples of Big Joe and Sonny Boy Williamson play­ing together — in fact, Sonny Boy is always the real star on here, exploring harmonica potential as best as he can. In many ways, these tracks may be said to represent the equivalent of the Mud­dy Waters / Little Walter team a decade later — Big Joe is the big, burly, dangerous presence, and Sonny Boy is his subtler squire that does not seem to be posing as big a «threat», but in reali­ty may exercise an even higher influence on your subconscious than the Big Guy.

Quite a few of these songs follow a boogie pattern, too ('King Biscuit Stomp', etc.), with a strong, modestly thunderous rhythm session; naturally, these numbers could not hope to outdo the jump blues heroes of the time in terms of ass-kicking (what with the lack of equally strong vocalists or a big brass section), but Sonny Boy does all he can to compensate for the lack of oompah — on most of the fast-moving, rabble-rousing tracks his harp parts rock out quite strong.

In the interim, one cute historical curio is 'His Spirit Lives On', a little semi-original blues number with a bit of a gospel flair to it, dedi­cated to the memory of the freshly passed FDR; unlike the majority of mainstream «patriotic» numbers of the era, these made-on-order tributes from con­current Delta musicians are always interesting, if only because of a complete lack of pathos — Big Joe delivers lines like "he's gone, but his spirit lives on" with more or less the same attitude that he adopts for "sail on, my little honey bee, sail on", and even if that begs for the question — did he or didn't he actually give a damn about FDR? — in the end, the question is totally irrele­vant, because, regardless of the answer, it is still a much cooler way to see FDR off than any pa­thetic patriotic anthem one might have come up with instead.

The two songs from 1949 are interesting in that, for the first time, we expressly notice Big Joe's endorsement of electricity; by the mid-1950's, he would always play amplified — apparently, it suited his personality and emphasized the subtle uniqueness of his nine-string sound. He did not, however, have a lot of opportunities to record during those years: outshone by Muddy and the Chicago school, and deprived of a strong record label to back him up, from 1949 and up to 1958 his only recordings were for obscure or semi-legal labels that had no impact whatsoever, and are almost impossible to find nowadays. Even Complete Recorded Works have refrained from sea­rching — the series stops right here in 1949, ignoring the «dark years» between Big Joe's heyday as a presence on the 78 rpm market and his re-emergence as a blues veteran on the LP market ten years later.

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