Yesterday I went through all of the private messages I’d shared with Frank Gutch Jr, since I’d first encountered him. It was in 2013, just after I’d begun writing this weekly column, and right from that first message, it was as though we were separated at birth.
I’m not a blues guy, really. The closest I come to the real blues is B.B. King, maybe— electric guitar a must. I listened to a little Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee during my college years and there was always John Mayall, who seemed to have the best of the up-and-comers in his band no matter what period. I accepted Cream as blues on certain songs, which probably tells you more about my non-blues background than anything. Loved The Blues Project and Paul Butterfield. Didn’t like Delta Blues. Stevie Ray Vaughn is pretty much the best blues I have heard. That should give you an idea of where I am coming from and where I am going because I am going to review some blues albums I enjoyed this year and tell you why. They will be short and a couple even have stories behind them.
You can file this one under “and I thought I knew something.” I just watched a documentary which starts “When I was a kid, music was everything,” a statement as acute to me as author Scott Turow‘s line “It suddenly hit me how much I missed music for which I once felt a yearning as keen as hunger.” It struck a note so deep in me that I watched all one-hour-and-thirty-one minutes feeling a kinship with the narrator (and, as it turns out, producer of the film), almost relieved that I was not alone.
You’re sitting there watching television and all of a sudden music starts seeping into your subconsciousness and you think what the hell, because some elephant has entered the room but you can’t see it, but it dawns on you that you can hear it. You think.
This will not be like any other column I will write for DBAWIS. I will sound different and write differently and will, in all probability, mimic the style of one of the most influential people in my life outside of my immediate family. That style may seem outdated in this world of soundbytes and visual chicanery, a world in which you have seven seconds to catch a potential reader/viewer’s attention. It is solid and straightforward enough but would be looked upon certain pundits of pop culture as dull and outdated. Seven seconds. For most music programmers for the chains of radio stations gathered under the ever-growing corporate umbrellas, that is how much time you have to make your case. It would be enough to make Edward R. Murrow‘s eyes roll back in his head, though I am pretty sure they never did. Roll back in his head, that is. Murrow was never surprised, or didn’t appear so onscreen. And he was seldom caught off guard.
History? A waste of time? I have heard that said way too many times over the years. Admittedly, most of those years were academic years. I loved the time I spent in school, elementary on, and even considered taking classes at the University of Washington during my tenure at Peaches Records back in the eighties (for fun, not for credit). There is something about the smell of a campus, be it major college or small technical school, which makes my heart beat a bit faster. Just the act of learning changes things for me and I love watching people expand their horizons— in positive ways, of course.
But first, a word from our sponsor. Well, not sponsor, exactly. In fact, just the opposite. Well, not exactly opposite. A few weeks ago, you might remember that I posted a few words about Sheldon Gomberg, the man behind Sweet Relief III: Pennies From Heaven, an album recorded for charity (all proceeds will go to Sweet Relief, an organization committed to helping musicians in need), and before that, I devoted a column to that organization through an interview with Sweet Relief‘s Rob Max.
Remember when I said 2012 was the best year ever in music? 2013 is even at this early date biting 2012 on the ass. Artists are lining up with what I am sure is going to be a run and a half of outstanding and, in some cases, mindblowing offerings. Rather than wait and write about them pretty much after the fact, let us dig in now in a sort of anticipatory way, shall we?
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 