Two Sonny Boys and a Ton of Bricks

“The artist is extremely lucky who is presented with the worst possible ordeal which will not actually kill him. At that point, he's in business.”― John Berryman

My friend Jane Rule Burdine is a photographer who has been chronicling the ever crazy every changing world of the South for over forty years (you can see a gaggle of her photos here). She is also the ex-mayor of Taylor, Mississippi…one of the great artist communities in the region…and a music nut like myself. Back when I was more footloose and fancy free (ie: pre-parent-era), we would drive all around Mississippi and the outlying regions, her taking photographs and me djing via the car stereo, blasting Mississippi Fred McDowell, Sun Ra, Jim Ford, Dr. John as we passed by fields of Cotton and Soy, blown out ghost towns and dirt country roads…sometimes getting out of the car to dance in the middle of nowhere with the horseflies…antiquing our way towards finding records and strange discarded treasures from long forgotten ago…and of course with a mission of espying crazy shit for Jane Rule to snap.

Corinne’s Children, Tunica, Mississippi (1987), Jane Rule Burdine

One muggy (muggggggy) sticky (stiiikkkkkkky) direct-hit-noontime-sun-of-a-Southern-day we were in the outskirts of eastern Arkansas having just bought some snuff at Thompson’s Grocery in Mountain View where a teenage Levon Helm used to hang out and play guitar. On the way to Helena, we came upon one of many derelict downtowns we had passed that day, but with this one there was something strange going down: a crew of men were in the act of dismantling, brick by brick…a huge cannery of a building…one of those industrial revolution revelations that probably had been abandoned for years but still looked majestic against the flat kudzu framed skyline.

We pulled up Jane Rule’s ride across the street from the building and got out of the car for a closer look. As we approached a boyish looking man with a mock-Izod approached us, looking to see if there was some trouble about. While looking us over, he actually greeted us kindly, telling us he owned the company in charge of taking the building down…his business was deconstruction and used material sales: he had already sold the bricks of this building to a developer who was looking for old tyme baked bricks for a construction project. He asked what we were doing, walking around his worksite, and when we told him Jane Rule was taking pictures he proudly pointed to the farthest corner of the building, “There used to be a night club there,” he said, “Sonny Boy Williamson used to play there all the time.”

Which leads to the big question: was it Sonny Boy Williamson the first…birth name John Lee Curtis Williamson or Sonny Boy Williamson the second…birth name Aleck Miller? What, you say, there are two Sonny Boy Williamsons? No, there are actually three…all harmonica players…but the third, birth name Edward William Johnson came later from a different part of the south and is more of a minor blues figure. For our purposes, the question of who Mr. Mock-Izod was talking about is either Sonny Boy I, who started releasing records in 1937 and Sonny Boy II, who was, as the story goes, called Sonny Boy Williamson for the first time in 1941 when he became a regular on the King Biscuit Time program on KFFA and the show producer decided to use a known blues name to help promote the show.

Sonny Boy Williamson I

Sonny Boy I’s birthday was yesterday. He would have been 109. Born in Tennessee in 1914, dead—murdered—at 32 in 1948, Sonny Boy I managed to leave dozens of recordings in his wake, being one of the most popular blues artists in the late 30s early 40s. His Bluebird recordings are some of his most famous…introducing us to to his classic songs Early In The Morning, Good Morning, School Girl, Bottle Up And Gone, Skinny Woman and The Sugar Mama Blues. Even though these recordings are stripped down, just guitar-harmonica-voice, you can hear the influence he had on the future Chicago sound, the Chess sound, with his song structures and stylistic solos: Williamson was a blues prophet who could sure blow that harp and write a damn killer song.

Sonny Boy Williamson II

Sonny Boy II was actually born a few years before Sonny Boy I in Mississippi, although as his career progressed, he would push back his birthdate to the late 1800s as an attempt to prove beyond a doubt that he was the first Sonny Boy. While two years older than Sonny Boy I, he did not start releasing records until 1951, three years after Sonny Boy I had died, in effect allowing him to seamlessly slide into becoming thee one and only Sonny Boy Williamson. Make no mistake about it, regardless of the crazy story behind his name, Sonny Boy II was the real deal, starting his recording career off by backing Elmore James, eventually recording for Chess records and getting swept up in the 1960s blues revival, touring oversees and even recording with the Yardbirds. While Sonny Boy I was an influence on the likes of Muddy Waters and others, Sonny Boy II was a contemporary, often touring with Waters and other Chess label mates. By the time he passed away at the young age of 52 in 1965, he had become for many the quintessential Sonny Boy. Name it, own it, become it. You can see great video performances by Sonny Boy II here and here and here.

The strange tale of the two Sonny Boy Williamsons becomes more incredulous upon understanding that both artists were amazing musicians who took the harmonica and with keen artistry elevated it to a lead instrument of the blues. Both were supposedly excellent live performers, both made great records. Which one played the club that we were watching get taken down? Who knows (my gut says it was Sonny Boy II, who made more of a base for himself in the area of Helena, Arkansas).

Can we see the club? We asked Mr. Mock-Izod? “No can do,” he said, “it will be coming down within the hour…I need to get these bricks across the state by nightfall.”

His was a strange, sad vocation, and we wished him a good day, turning our backs and walking over to that side of the building where Williamson had played…whichever Williamson it was. History was being dismantled right in front of our eyes; if we had arrived at the scene an hour later there would be no story to tell. Alas, for every town that actively attempts to preserve its cultural heritage there are five more that let it turn to dust. But thanks to the modern era of the recorded sound, and even the more modern era of the forever existence offered by the Internet, the recordings of both Sonny Boy Williamsons will be always accessible, although muddled in confusion to anyone except for the blues enthusiast, especially because even now many of the recordings on-line are not tagged with enough detailed data. But upon close listen you will be able to tell the difference…both had a distinctive way of playing that harmonica, both sculpted their own sweet style.

Shabbes!

This newsletter is dedicated to the memory of my father-n-law Joe Bersche (1931-2023). RIP.

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Rudolph Isley Sues Ronald Isley Over Rights To The Isley Brothers Trademark

Brother, brother, brother, yeah (brother, brother, brother)
I know you've been laying back a long long time
Oh but keep laying, a little longer brother, yeah
Oh brother, brother, brother (brother, brother)

I've been watching everything you do (oh yes I have)
And I've been wishin' only, wishin' only good for you
All you gotta do is just want it to
And it's gonna come (It's gonna come)
It's gonna come, to you (oh yeah, It's gonna come to you)

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Dublin Literary Award 2023: It’s a surprising shortlist. How good are the six books on it?

“The Dublin Literary Award is always one of the most interesting in the prize calendar. It’s wide-ranging – novels published in English from anywhere in the world are eligible – and truly democratic: books are nominated by public libraries around the globe. It’s a varied and surprising shortlist this year. There are four books in translation, no Irish writers, and no big names unless you count Anthony Doerr, the American epic specialist, or Percival Everett, whose 20-odd novels had made little impact here until he was shortlisted for the Booker Prize last year.”

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The Story of Duke Ellington, Part 1: 1899-1929

The Syncopated Times’ Scott Yanow is doing an expansive look at the Duke Ellington story over a multi-part series. And it is solid journalism…worth a read. And if you are in a Duke Ellington mood after reading, or like me you are ALWAYS in a Duke Ellington mood, I dug up a fantastic 1958 live show on Youtube that is jaw-dropping…filmed shortly after the come-back show in Newport; it is a perfect example of the power the Ellington orchestra had.

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Old Masters Purposefully Mixed Oil and Egg Yolk to Create Their Masterpieces, New Study Finds

A whole new meaning to the idiom “With egg on one’s face¹”

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MAYHEM, DARKTHRONE, ENSLAVED, ULVER MEMBERS CONTRIBUTE TO MAJOR NORWEGIAN BLACK METAL EXHIBITION AT THE NATIONAL LIBRARY OF NORWAY

Pretty insane: a black metal exhibit is at the national library of Norway. “In its most primitive form, black metal is raw and fearless, tinged with discomfort in every note. If we dare confront this discomfort, there may be lessons to be learnt by us all.”

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​Catch a glimpse of a rare planetary alignment—before it’s too late

“Look to the cosmos around sunset this week for a glimpse of five major planets—Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Uranus and Mars—lining up with the moon.”

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Pussy Riot’s Nadya Tolokonnikova Placed on Russian “Wanted” List

“Pussy Riot co-founder, activist, and conceptual artist Nadya Tolokonnikova has been placed on Russia’s Wanted List for “criminal activity” after news of her latest Vladimir Putin-related performance work began circulating earlier this year. Tolokonnikova filmed her collaborative performance “Putin’s Ashes” (2022) last August, showing herself and 11 other women clad in balaclavas setting fire to a 10-foot effigy portrait of the Russian president in the desert.”

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Harvest Song

BY JEAN TOOMER

I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. All my oats are
       cradled.
But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them. And I
       hunger.

I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it.
I have been in the fields all day. My throat is dry. I hunger.

My eyes are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a blind man who stares across the hills, seeking stack’d
       fields of other harvesters.

It would be good to see them . . . crook’d, split, and iron-ring’d
       handles of the scythes. It would be good to see them, dust-
       caked and blind. I hunger.

(Dusk is a strange fear’d sheath their blades are dull’d in.)
My throat is dry. And should I call, a cracked grain like the oats
       . . . eoho—

I fear to call. What should they hear me, and offer me their
       grain, oats, or wheat, or corn? I have been in the field
       all day. I fear I could not taste it. I fear knowledge of my
       hunger.

My ears are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a deaf man who strains to hear the calls of other harvesters
       whose throats are also dry.

It would be good to hear their songs . . . reapers of the sweet-
       stalk’d cane, cutters of the corn . . . even though their
       throats cracked and the strangeness of their voices deafened
       me.

I hunger. My throat is dry. Now that the sun has set and I am
       chilled, I fear to call. (Eoho, my brothers!)

I am a reaper. (Eoho!) All my oats are cradled. But I am too
       fatigued to bind them. And I hunger. I crack a grain. It has
       no taste to it. My throat is dry . . .

O my brothers, I beat my palms, still soft, against the stubble of
       my harvesting. (You beat your soft palms, too.) My pain is
       sweet. Sweeter than the oats or wheat or corn. It will not
       bring me knowledge of my hunger.

Evening Landscape (1885) by Vincent Van Gough (Happy 170th Birthday+1!)

1. With egg on one’s face means means appearing ridiculous or foolish because of one’s actions. The phrase with egg on one’s face is an American idiom, though the origins are murky. One possible source goes back to popular theater during the 1800s and early 1900s. Sub-par actors would often be pelted with rotten vegetables and eggs, and therefore, end up with egg on their faces. Another possible origin stems from the farmyard. Farm dogs sometimes develop a taste for eggs, and in order to find which dog is the perpetrator, a farmer will look for the egg on the cur’s face which is a sure sign of guilt. (from https://grammarist.com/)