Blind Lemon Jefferson: Complete Recording Sessions Vol. 4

BLIND LEMON JEFFERSON: COMPLETE RECORDED WORKS, VOL. 4 (1929)

1) Eagle Eyed Mama; 2) Dynamite Blues; 3) Disgusted Blues  ; 4) Competition Bed Blues; 5) Sad News Blues; 6) Peach Orchard Blues; 7) Oil Well Blues; 8) Tin Cup Blues; 9) Big Night Blues; 10) Empty House Blues; 11) Sa­tur­day Night Spender Blues; 12) That Black Snake Moan No. 2; 13) Bed Springs Blues; 14) Yo Yo Blues; 15) Mos­qui­to Moan; 16) Southern Woman Blues; 17) Bakershop Blues; 18) Pneumonia Blues; 19) Long Distance Moan; 20) That Crawlin' Baby Blues; 21) Fence Breakin' Yellin' Blues; 22) Cat Man Blues; 23) The Cheaters Spell; 24) Bootin' Me 'Bout.

It would be nice to be able to say that Blind Lemon managed to «rebound» in the last year of his life, but he didn't. Most of these recordings are slow, steady, relatively formulaic blues pieces that focus on the man's singing rather than playing. Only once, towards the very very end, does he all of a sudden remember the way it used to be — ʽThat Crawlin' Baby Bluesʼ is a merry-rollickin' series of guitar fireworks, almost up to the standarts of ʽRabbit Foot Bluesʼ, played with plenty of fire and abandon. Which makes the context look even more strange, proving that the man did not «forget» how to be amazing, but really, truly, consciously chose not to.

The rest of the recordings range from very simple and feeble-sounding performances (ʽEagle Eyed Mamaʼ) to slightly more inventive, but monotonous (ʽDynamite Bluesʼ, built on a series of pretty flourishes that all sound the same, gruesomely discrediting the title), to occasional slow-growers (ʽBed Spring Bluesʼ, strummed quietly and lazily, but in reality with lots of interesting chord changes that require pressing your ear close to the speaker). On the lyrical side, there is a clear tendency to emphasize «dirty» subjects and double entendres — a tendency that, oddly enough, is frequently noticeable among pre-war blues-rockers as they grow in fame and fortune... somebody should probably inform Mick Jagger.

Blind Lemon's last session was held on September 24, 1929 – exactly one month prior to «Black Thursday»; Blind Lemon's death date is usually listed as December 19, 1929. No, he didn't die of a heart attack because his stocks were lost; the most likely version is that he froze to death, being lost in a snowstorm – drunk, presumably? In any case, it is somewhat telling that he never sur­vived into the Depression era, missing the chance to become one of its great bards, like Charlie Patton. These recordings from 1928-29 clearly see him veering further and further into «urban­ized» territory, a safer and quieter harbor, moderately attractive for conservatively minded black and white audiences alike.

And there is nothing wrong with that — except that this move to «higher ground» almost cost the man his integrity. Chances are, had he survived into the 1930s or even later, his early records would be regarded as somewhat of a «crazy anomaly», created in his younger, reckless, wildest days. (Actually, something similar would happen to Big Bill Broonzy, whose earliest records are also his most interesting from a technical standpoint). As it is, we have a fifty-fifty type of pro­portion, and it is not surprising that most of the compilations prefer to focus on the first fifty: Ya­zoo's The Best Of features 17 selections from 1925-27, 4 dated 1928, and only 2 dated 1929. I totally agree with that ratio.

Blind Lemon Jefferson: Complete Recorded Works Vol. 3 (1928)

BLIND LEMON JEFFERSON: COMPLETE RECORDED WORKS, VOL. 3 (1928)

1) Blind Lemon's Pentitentiary Blues; 2) 'Lectric Chair Blues; 3) See That My Grave Is Kept Clean; 4) Lemon's Worried Blues; 5) Mean Jumper Blues; 6) Balky Mule Blues; 7) Change My Luck Blues; 8) Prison Cell Blues; 9) Lemon's Cannon Ball Moan; 10) Long Lastin' Lovin'; 11) Piney Woods Money Mama; 12) Low Down Mojo Blues; 13) Competition Bed Blues; 14) Lock Step Blues; 15) Hangman's Blues; 16) Sad News Blues; 17) How Long How Long; 18) Christmas Eve Blues; 19) Happy New Years Blues; 20) Maltese Cat Blues; 21) D B Blues.

Strange as it is, Blind Lemon's output got steadily less interesting as the years went by. None of the sides that he cut over 1928-29 even begin to match the inventiveness and freedom of ʽRabbit Foot Bluesʼ or ʽMatch Box Bluesʼ. And, considering the fact that it takes a lot to make anybody's jaw drop over a bunch of crackling, poorly recorded pre-war acoustic blues, the effect is in­evitable: dis-ap-point-ment a-plenty.

This third volume does contain an alternate version of ʽSee That My Grave Is Kept Cleanʼ that actually improves upon the original: do not miss Blind Lemon following up on the line "have you ever heard the church bell toll?" with an actual imitation of the church bell (no such thing in the first take from 1927), along with other little tricks. But then his blues style shifts to a subtler, more countrified style, with fewer unpredictable tempo or key changes — it is almost as if he were willing to downplay his guitar prowess a little bit in order to concentrate more on the sing­ing. One could almost argue in terms of a «sellout» — the average record buyer certainly paid more attention to the voice than the guitar, and somebody had to pay for the fuel for his brand new Ford, after all (and don't forget the chauffeur).

Nobody can argue that Blind Lemon did not have a cool singing voice — he reaches a particular high with his singing on ʽPrison Cell Bluesʼ, dragging out the end of each line in an alternating series of high-pitched wails or low growls quite effectively, even if his authenticity on the subject cannot be compared with Leadbelly's, for obvious reasons. But most of the time, that singing is just normal, and the songs could benefit from a little more guitar punch.

That Blind Lemon strived for commerciality is made particularly obvious by his covering ʽHow Long How Long Bluesʼ, a big 1928 hit for Leroy Carr — with Blind Lemon's piano player a weak shadow of Carr himself, and Blind Lemon's vocals shamelessly copping Carr's intonations and phrasing. Other than pure envy, there was no reason for him to play such a copycat. By late 1928, the man's playing degenerates almost completely: tracks like ʽHappy New Year Bluesʼ are built on the simplest of rhythms, and betray an amazing superstar-style laziness — «they'll buy anything I put out, anyway, as long as I wish them a happy new year and all».

And it's not as if something heavy fell on his head, making him forget how to play: some of the steam would be eventually picked up once again next year. No, it was a deliberate stylistic reori­entation, an attempt to «urbanize» himself by hitting it big as a singer, not as a player. Yet it did not help improve his career, and proved particularly disastrous in the long run: today, there is eve­ry reason to admire the man for ʽRabbit Footʼ, but if it is passionate blues singing from the pre-war era that you are after, even the aforementioned Leroy Carr will be a better bet.

Blind Lemon Jefferson: Complete Recorded Works Vol. 2 (1927)

BLIND LEMON JEFFERSON: COMPLETE RECORDED WORKS, VOL. 2 (1927)

1) Black Snake Moan; 2) Match Box Blues; 3) Easy Rider Blues; 4) Match Box Blues; 5) Match Box Blues; 6) Rising High Water Blues; 7) Weary Dog Blues; 8) Right Of Way Blues; 9) Teddy Bear Blues; 10) Black Snake Dream Blues; 11) Hot Dogs; 12) He Arose From The Dead; 13) Stuck Sorrow Blues; 14) Rambler Blues; 15) Chinch Bug Blues; 16) Deceitful Brownskin Blues; 17) Sunshine Special; 18) Gone Dead On You Blues; 19) Where Shall I Be?; 20) See That My Grave's Kept Clean; 21) One Dime Blues; 22) Lonesome House Blues.

The obvious towering highlight of Blind Lemon's output in 1927 is ʽMatch Box Bluesʼ — not be­cause it has anything to do with matchboxes, and not even because it was later covered by Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, and eventually the Beatles (the lyrics only have one verse that overlaps anyway, and the melody... 12-bar blues is only whatever your inspiration makes out of 12-bar blues, in any case). It's just that it happens to be the best sounding Blind Lemon song: during a brief stint at O'Keh records rather than Paramount, he cut one single (with ʽBlack Snake Moanʼ as the B-side) that, today, allows us to appreciate his guitar magic unhindered by crackle (well, there is still a little bit left, but it only helps the atmosphere).

I still feel that ʽRabbit Foot Bluesʼ is the man's one true classic on which he pulled all the stops, but ʽMatch Boxʼ does not linger far behind — chops, flourishes, trills, rhythmic traps and coun­terpoints, and then an out-of-nowhere boogie line for the last verse. The technique is impressive for its time, but it is not the technique that counts (for sheer speed and complexity, Lonnie John­son had Blind Lemon beat all the way), it is this amazing freedom of form: normally, you'd ex­pect the flourishes and key changes to happen after the man sings his line — Jefferson does that while singing, so that it is his voice, occasionally, that becomes the rhythm instrument, while the guitar just goes wherever it wants to.

The demand for the record was actually so big that, as soon as Blind Lemon returned to Para­mount, he was pressed into cutting two more takes — both of them in Paramount's standardly aw­ful quality, yet it is still curious to compare all three recordings, since no two out of the lot are completely identical. The boogie line may come in earlier, the intro may play an entirely different chord sequence, and, in general, it seems as if the man had no set plan when launching into the performance at all. Pure free flight.

This does not apply to all of Blind Lemon's material, of course. Some of the songs are quite tight and disciplined, such as ʽRight Of Way Bluesʼ, which is all based around one dark, menacing line winding its way upwards after each vocal turn — but it is such a creepy line, way over any gene­ric 12-bar standards of the day, that the song is still a minor masterpiece. To compensate for the eeriness, there is ʽHot Dogsʼ, a fast little dance number credited to «Blind Lemon Jefferson and His Feet» (the latter are indeed well audible), and then ʽHe Arose From The Deadʼ, sung in Blind Lemon's most sentimental croon to a very similar melody. (And why shouldn't one be merrily tapping one's foot to the story of the Resurrection? Happy end and all).

Somewhat more questionable is the inclusion of several numbers on which Jefferson switches guitar for a piano accompaniment: I am not sure if he played the instrument himself (he did know how, according to reports) or if Paramount brought in a session musician, but the playing on ʽTed­dy Bear Bluesʼ and other piano-led tunes is nothing special, and Blind Lemon is not that mi­raculous a singer to just fall for his voice and nothing else (well, Eric Clapton never learned his lesson, either). It's not bad, but, as a guitar player, Blind Lemon is worth looking into even at his laziest and tiredest — as a singer, he's just one of the many greats of his era.

Besides, his finest vocal performance on Vol. 2 is on a guitar-led track anyway: ʽSee That My Grave Is Kept Cleanʼ, which Bob Dylan would later record trying to emulate some of Lemon's actual modulations — to very good effect, for that matter, even if the fact remains that one is the original and the other one is a tribute act. Musical testaments like this were still a rarity in 1927, even among blues singers, and Jefferson's howling, while not particularly «shivery» per se, still feels a little uncomfortable. The guy was a commercially successful, near-prosperous, respectable bluesman-entertainer, yet here he is wailing about impending death and diminished returns in the afterlife. He only had two more years to live.

 

Blind Lemon Jefferson: Complete Recorded Works, Vol. 1 (1925-1926)

BLIND LEMON JEFFERSON: COMPLETE RECORDED WORKS, VOL. 1 (1925-1926)

1) I Want To Be Like Jesus In My Heart; 2) All I Want Is That Pure Religion; 3) Got The Blues; 4) Long Lonesome Blues; 5) Booster Blues; 6) Dry Southern Blues; 7) Black Horse Blues; 8) Corinna Blues; 9) Got The Blues; 10) Long Lonesome Blues; 11) Jack O' Diamond Blues (take 1); 12) Jack O' Diamond Blues (take 2); 13) Chock House Blues; 14) Beggin' Back; 15) Old Rounder Blues; 16) Stocking Feet Blues; 17) That Black Snake Moan; 18) Wartime Blues; 19) Broke And Hungry; 20) Shuckin' Sugar Blues; 21) Booger Rooger Blues; 22) Rabbit Foot Blues; 23) Bad Luck Blues.

The cool thing about Blind Lemon Jefferson is not that he was the first country blues «superstar», the person to make the «tough black guy with acoustic guitar wailing into the mike» image mar­ketable and profitable, opening the doors for dozens of followers. Many of these followers could get the job done on their own. The truly cool thing about Blind Lemon is that, at his best, he play­ed that country blues like no one else, with a level of creative freedom, inventiveness, and unpre­dictability that was never matched by any of these followers. Forget Robert Johnson and Big Bill Broonzy: they have nothing on this guy when it comes to taking the basic blues idiom and strip­ping it free of boredom. In all honesty, I think Blind Lemon's stature among his pre-war acoustic blues colleagues should be deemed equal to that of Hendrix in the 1960s.

Unfortunately, Blind Lemon made all of his recordings on the shittiest of all major labels in the 1920s: Paramount. Had he hit it big with the likes of Columbia, it would have been much easier to appreciate his works today, as they would not be covered by almost unbreachable walls of hiss and crackle, from under which the thin, subtle, suffocated guitar lines feebly call out for your at­tention. Note: if you are new to Blind Lemon, do not, at all costs, begin right off the bat with the Complete series on the Document label — the songs here have not been properly cleaned up or remastered.  Go with Yazoo's The Best Of instead: it has most of the highlights, and the people out there did a laudable job of removing much of the original tape hiss, even though it still sounds like crap. But in this business of studying in pre-war music, you have to commit yourself to distinguishing between different sorts and flavors of crap.

I am still reviewing the Document series simply because of completism, although it should be stated that, like everyone else at the time, Blind Lemon was never about «originality». He was, however, about «inspiration», and he could easily record the same song in a routine, boring, per­functory man­ner when he was not in the spirit, or as a jaw-dropping exploration of the limits of sound when he was. And in his earliest years, fortunately, he happened to be in the spirit way more often than out of it.

For some reason, the man's first two recordings, from December 1925, Chicago, are in the gospel genre (they were even credited to a pseudonym — «Deacon L. J. Bates»). But even the first track already gives a brief glimpse of the man's love for flourishes, with mandolin-style trills disrupting the steady choppy flow of the melody and adding an almost sentimental touch. It also introduces his unique voice, an odd combination of «whiny» and «earthy»: Blind Lemon was the first of the great blues «wailers», oozing loneliness and soul torment a whole decade prior to Robert John­son. Of course, ʽI Want To Be Like Jesus In My Heartʼ actually oozes humility and friendship rather than loneliness, but that's just the beginning.

Most of the songs that follow are played in the standard 12-bar blues pattern and are generally interchangeable in terms of basic structure. But that's not the gist of it: real excitement comes from watching Blind Lemon fuck that structure from each possible point of entry, if you pardon the rudeness of the metaphor. The early sessions actually let you see the evolution. For instance, on ʽDry Sou­thern Bluesʼ, one of the man's earliest hits, the choppy ragtime-influenced pattern is technically accomplished and almost «danceable», but stays more or less the same throughout. (Sidenote: it also marks the first appearance of the "when the train left the station, it had two lights on behind" line, later to become the lyrical cornerstone of Johnson's ʽLove In Vainʼ). ʽLong Lonesome Bluesʼ is also strictly disciplined, although the melodic potential is already much wi­der, with little high-pitched country flourishes played at top speed in between the choppy rhythm work, and an occasional trill or two woven into the mesh.

But then at the end of Vol. 1, you already get stuff like ʽRabbit Foot Bluesʼ, which just might be the single greatest «fight the structural limits!» statement of the entire decade. On that track, almost every single bar comes out different — slowed down, sped up, played choppy, played lyrical, syncopated, trilled, aggressive, super-calm, whatever, but never losing track of the root notes, so that nobody could accuse the man of just fooling around. The effect is utterly confusing: the song has no general mood or «aura» per se, just a whirring flash of different feelings. It cannot be qua­lified as straightahead entertainment, because it's hard for the listener to even follow it rhythmi­cally, but it isn't an intimate emotional lament, either. What is it? I have no idea, really. An avant­garde experiment, at least in the context of its usual genre.

Most of the other tracks are less outrageous, with one or two chord patterns dominating over the rest, but even so, each side chooses its own pattern, and the only thing that prevents us from en­joying this diversity to its fullest is the ugly crackle wall. The one track that stands out the most is ʽJack O' Diamond Bluesʼ, presented here in two takes: a spirited wail set to a threatening slide guitar part (a relatively rare occasion: Blind Lemon did not employ slide techniques too often). That despairing yell of "jack o' diaaaaaamond's a hard card to play!" must have raised plenty of hairs back in 1926 — time, and shellac rot, have dimmed its impact, but with a little time-travel­ling effort on the part of your mind, it is still possible to recreate that feeling.

Since these early sessions capture Blind Lemon at his youngest and freshest, unspoiled by com­mercial success, booze, or boredom, Vol. 1 is simply one of the greatest blues «albums» of the pre-war era, period. The horrendous sound quality poisons the effect, for sure, but in compensa­tion, just put on ʽRabbit Foot Bluesʼ in the highest quality you can find and ask yourself: who ever afterwards played acoustic (or electric) guitar just like that? ... That's right. Most of the time, people are trapped by the blues, and show no strength of will to spring the trap. Hilarious, then, that the very first person who made authentic country blues into a household name had already shown how to spring it way back in 1925. Unfortunately, very few people understood the lesson, and most of them just got it wrong. Thumbs up for something so way ahead of its time — or, more precisely, so out of any sort of timeline.