BlitzBlog

The Blues Cruise 3 is now history; and as we have described in previous submissions, it was a lot of fun; one thing for sure we could not have asked for anything better. Okay, maybe the Temperature could have been
a few degrees’ cooler. At one point on Saturday as we climbed into our van, the temperature control indicated that it was a blistering 113 degrees. Surprisingly, we did not make use of the hotel pool; perhaps we thought of it as a potential cauldron of blues cruiser stew.

Over the years I’ve visited a lot of places with vibrant music scenes; Cities like Austin TX, and New Orleans LA. They have a lot of great music venues and attract a fair amount of tourism because of it. New
York, Philly and LA have a lot of great venues for music also, although I believe that they are more noted for other things that attract the tourists. Sadly a few places that are identified with music are somewhat disappointing to me, Memphis and Nashville in particular. Both cities have a storied musical history and they have the music venues available; but they seem a bit contrived and a whole lot sterile. It’s not that the music isn’t great rather the sense that some soulless corporate entity has taken control and replaced the authenticity with a fairy tale version of authenticity.  I’m not some misguided purist who thinks that a dilapidated Beale St. would be better than a clean one. It’s just that they could have done better with it and not made it so damn touristy.

Speaking of purists, I ran into one while getting ready for the T-Model Ford performance on Saturday near the Riverside stage. He was a middle-aged man from Memphis and a nice gentleman, but he had very strong beliefs about what he considered to be real Blues and real music for that matter. Now I respect everyone’s opinion for the most part but I will never truly understand the notion that music has to be played a
certain way for it to be legitimate. He expressed his displeasure that an artist who would incorporate Hip-hop beats to Blues music was somehow defaming it. We went back and forth on this issue as I not only
defended the artist, but also would encourage more artists to incorporate other elements and genres of music into the Blues form. My basic point to him was that even the most basic changes to the music
were not only viable, rather necessary to its survival. Muddy Waters plugging in his guitar going from acoustic to electric radically changed the music. He replied that was necessary to be heard in the larger Chicago clubs, and thus it was okay. My point was that it changed the fundamental structure of the music and under his theory should no longer be referred to as Blues.

We live in an era of unprecedented blandness in mainstream music, and I do not want to go into a mindless rant about the sorry state of affairs that music seems to be mired in today. There is in fact plenty of great
innovative music being made today; it just doesn’t get played on mainstream radio. Even worse it rarely gets any media or press coverage. Be that as it may, I find it hard to believe that when someone does something that does not follow the script or goes outside the bubble to create a new sound would be considered a blasphemer and thus demonized for being creative.

I guess Bob Dylan should not have plugged in at Newport or Jimi Hendrix should not have employed feedback or Les Paul should have left well enough alone before he bastardized the acoustic guitar. I’m glad I know better than that and I love the fact that music is forever evolving. The need for new voices and new idea’s is vital for music of any kind to survive and flourish. When the Rolling Stones and the other British
bands came hear in the early to mid sixties, they covered a lot of the old blues classics that had been forgotten here in the States.  They put a new spin on the great songs of Willie Dixon and Elmore
James. They not only revived the music, but the careers of the artists who created the music decades earlier. The artist’s who are playing with the form today do so with the utmost reverence, even if they
incorporate Hip-hop beats or whatever other influence they deem necessary to create great music.

Okay I’m going off my soapbox now, I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you to some of the folks who made our visit to Clarksdale so special. Before I do I want to make mention of my traveling companions who mean so much to me. Ricochet, Doc, Deacon and Gas-can are all incredible people who make the Blues Cruisers a special group of world-class gentlemen. I am a fortunate man to have friends
like these guys and I want to tell them that I appreciate every moment shared with them. The laughter and joy that each of you bring to my life is most precious and I want to say to you all; Thank You.

And Now without further adieu; my deepest appreciation and Thank you to –

David “Dub” Dunavent: Dude, I can’t thank you enough; you made this
last trip so special for us all. You’ve got real talent young man and
one day the world will hear you.

Tater: You are the “Man” sir, no doubt about it. You bring pure joy to your performance, nobody can ask for more.

LaLa: You are our favorite woman in Clarksdale; you play with such passion and fury that it boggles the mind. But you owned me with your solo performance at Ground Zero, and that was with your voice. I just
listened to your Demo CD You touched my heart

Ronnie Drew: Blues town Music is a must do when we visit, you’re the reason why.

Ellis: A visit to Clarksdale is not complete without seeing you dude. Besides we need you, Must have Hat sanctification.

Marylyn Fontenot: Thanks for allowing us to come on WROX and making us feels at home there. That was a whole lot of fun and you made it that way.

The Depot; Charles, you and your entire staff could not have been any nicer to us. We ate there four times; the food was fantastic, and you made us feel so welcome. We are all wearing our Depot T-shirts with
pride.

Daddy Rich: Your music is infectious, your lyrics are even more infectious and you are an incredibly talented artist. The blues cruisers are going to spread the Gospel of Daddy Rich. Thank you also Rich for being so nice to us.

Nellie & Dorothy: Wow, Wow, Wow, Wow,!!!!!!!!! Can I get another Wow!!!! God bless you both. Thank you.

Miss Sarah; You, are a legend in the Delta, now we know why. We love you Miss Sarah, Thank You.

Dan and staff at the Comfort Inn: We can’t thank you all enough for the personalized care that you gave us. You went above and beyond in making sure that we were safe and comfortable. I gave you guys the highest
marks on any Hotel survey I’ve ever done. And Dan, you’re friendship and kindness to us meant a whole lot and we truly appreciate it.

Big T Terry Williams: Big T, you should be the natural heir to B.B. King and Buddy Guy. You have the talent, the stage presence and understand the legacy. I can think of no one else more suited and talented enough to carry the tradition forward. You also have a reputation of giving your all, not just in performance but to your
community and to the other musicians you have given guidance too. I also want to thank you for your kindness to all of us since we met you four years ago at Ground Zero.

I hope in my haste to end this that I did not leave out anyone, if I did it was due to my sometimes-poor memory.

This is my final entry on Blues Cruise 3 and I hope anyone who read my stuff enjoyed it. If you are new to the Blitzblog please continue to read Matt’s great work as he manages to stumble his way through life with a silly grin on his face. I would also encourage anyone who would like to participate and join us on our next visit to Clarksdale, to get in touch with us, as we would be delighted to have you along.

I come from Clarksdale
Straight down from Memphis
Just South of Elvis
In Mississippi
All across the nation
Station to station
Like an education
Talking the way I feel

Daddy Rich

Mr. Blue Frog
August 2007

World faous lyricist The Mighty Blue Frog penned the follwing. Add harp as desired.

Drinkin’ beer and whisky
Sippin’ on sweet tea
Dear God I’m prayin’ that the blues don’t swallow me
Cause I’m headin’ back down
All the way to Clarksdale town
Gonna play that devil music
Till Ol’ Satan comes around

I’m gonna wait at the station
Gonna bide my good old time
Sippin’ on dark whisky
To ease my worried mind
I’m waitin’ at the station Lawd
Trouble so easy to find
I’m so broke and hungry
Ain’t even gotta a dime

When I gets into Clarksdale
Gonna call upon my friends
Gonna need someone to save me
Before I meet my end
Comin’ back to Clarksdale baby
Before I meet my end
Lawd I got dem lonesome blues
I need to see my friends

So how are you Ol’ Gascan
How is Riccochet
Have you seen Doc Holdamayo
I hope he still okay
So tell me Mr. Gascan
What do you have to say
I need to go to church on Sunday
Get on my knees and pray

He said “Hey there Mr. Bluefrog
One thing that is a must
You go to church on Sunday
And speak to Deacon Dust
Oh my friend Mr. Bluefrog
Go pray with Deacon Dust
Your soul is bare and naked
Like bread without the crust”

I went to church on Sunday
To confess my unholy sins
Deacon Dust he just listened
Then said with a wicked grin
Bluefrog I cannot save you
Even if I tried
It’s to late to save you
Bluefrog you’re gonna fry

He said we all are sinners
In that we are the same
I have my own temptations
Salvation is just a game
Like poker in the backroom
You win if you have luck
Like a mouse and a glue trap
You go in and you get stuck

So have a sip of whisky
And save a sip for me
Then go out to the crossroads
That is your destiny
And when you see Ol’ Satan
Treat him really nice
Ask him if he’s ready
And then roll out the dice.

So I’m standin’ at the crossroads
I’m feelin’ mighty fine
Reach in my back pocket
And pull out my jug of wine
I drink from my bottle
As I say my toast
And say so long to all my friends
My soul is gonna roast

From Miss Sarah’s we hauled back to the Comfort Inn to see if Doc was done riding the porcelain bus, or if TDust was out of his coma. Luckily, both were returning to their former human selves.

Dub had invited us to come visit with him over at the radio station where he’s doing DJ and intern work.  WROX is the Heart of The Delta’s music station, broadcasting at 1450AM on your dial.

Dub had told us the radio station was right near the Crossroads (Rt 61 and 49 for you Blues un-initiated), and so we started driving around, looking for a big ol’ broadcast antenna, prolly a low brick industrial looking building or something similar. We drove about a mile out of town, almost to Hopson and turned around to look some more, but no WROX. Saw some antennas, but no radidio station. We crossed over 61 on into town, and about 30 yards up was a little blue house, with a big ol’ sign on the front that said…

So we parked across the street, and man it was HOT. We walked into the cool of the entryway of the station and were greeted by a group of folks, some on the couch, some standing around, and one sittin’ at the drum set right there in the lobby. We saw Dub in the control room, and he came out to greet  us at the commercial break. He introduced us to Marilyn, the wonderful and friendly station manager, who offered us to partake of the buffet left out in the Green Room. we set about jawing, and Dub brought out his lovely mom, to whom we sang her son’s praises until I’m sure he was sufficiently embarrassed.

Dub was wearing a bright orange Po’ Monkey’s t-shirt, which is a juke joint in Merigold, Mississippi. His shirt matched my bright orange Depot shirt, and we commented how we must stop dressing alike or people
will begin mixing us up. (We’d originally met last year because we’d had on the same pork pie hat). Despite the 100lb difference in our appearance, and the fact that I got no hair and we look nothing alike. Aside from that though….

Anyways, Dub went back in to the control room and I asked about how far Po’ Monkey’s might be from here. The young feller sitting at the drum set, Audie, began to give me directions, with details right down to the dirt road we had to turn into from the gravel road that we would go through the woods in. I started picturing Deliverance in my head, but Marilyn came out to call us into the control room. We found places to sit, and i put on the headphones, and in a few seconds, Dub was asking us questions on-air.

It was difficult at first, what with all of us being so shy, and usually reticent to express our opinions….oh wait, that’s somebody else. Let’s try again.

We started telling our story, about how much we love Clarksdale, and basically just spitting out all the stuff you read right here on Blitzblog. Shortly thereafter, while we were on, a phone call came in from Denise Lasalle, the headliner for that night’s show at The Main Stage of the festival.  She was on her way in and mentioned she had no place to stay for herself or her band. (Rooms are tough to come by in this small town during Sunflowerfest. Most are booked 6 months ahead) Of course, Marilyn and Dub started announcing this on-air and how whatever hotel owner might have a couple of open rooms would surely get some great publicity by coming to Ms. LaSalle’s rescue. Within 5 minutes, a gentleman walked in to offer room at his house, saying, “I got plenty of room. It’s a big house, an it’s just me. They’re welcome to stay.” It was a heartfelt display of Southern Hospitality at its finest. While shortly thereafter, Isle of Capri Casino and Hotel in Tunica about a half hour away, called in and offered up a room.

We continued on-air, with breaks for music and such, for about an hour, before we headed in to town to watch our friend Lala perform her solo show. This was the first time we’d be seeing her perform solo, as
before, we’d only seen her as a Fighting Cock, backing up Super Chikan on her keyboard.

We ordered a round of brews and tamales and hot dogs and watched Lala pound her keyboard into  submission like a woman possessed. She began with a couple of rockin’ boogie blues numbers, then brought it all back down with Angel from Montgomery, which almost made me cry. We fawned all over her afterward about it, and she was genuinely touched at our adoration, saying she was glad we liked the song, as it has a special meaning for her. It definitely came through in her performance, and I was glad to witness it.

We strolled into town to go see T-Model Ford on one of the outdoor stages. It was brutally hot- did I mention that when we returned to van from the radio station- the thermometer read 113-freakin’ degrees?
Jeeeezus! I mean I know it really wasn’t that hot, but it had to be over a hunnert’n’ five.  I figured that if some 80 year old man can sit in the sun and play, the least I can do is listen.

T-Model was going to be on soon, and Ricochet loaded us all up with airplane bottles of Jack Daniels so when ol’ T-Model exclaimed between songs, as he always does, as he takes a swig, “It’s Jack time! ‘n’at’s
fo’ goddamn sho’!” we could all raise our little bottles and join him. When he saw us join his toast, he about fell over laughing on stage.

T-Model is getting on in years, and his playing is still one of the most unique styles I’ve ever seen. He plays with an open-tuning in a key that I doubt anyone can identify, yet it just sounds so…..right. It’s a hypnotic, repetitive, rhythmic style from the Hill Country- about an hour from Clarksdale- that is T-Model’s own unique version. He, Junior Kimbrough and Jesse Mae Hemphill are probably the most indicative of this sound, and T-Model is the last survivor. While the sound is not for everyone, it is a singularly important one, that I hope can live on in its pure sense of what it is. History will tell.

We watched T-Model for about 45 minutes then headed back to Ground Zero. On the way we came across Daddy Rich playing solo outside Bluestown Music again.  This time, however, he was just finishing, and as he’d promised yesterday, he was wearing, in the 100-degree-plus heat, a cocoa colored heavy corduroy suit with a heavy woolen scarf jauntily wrapped around his neck! He wasn’t even sweating! My guess is he was suffering from some sort of walking heat stroke, and would die any second. but no, he was lucid and smiling, and all I could do was tell him he was insane, and I loved him. I told him the only thing remotely like him that I’d ever seen were the idiot fans with no shirts, their bodies painted, that one sees standing and yelling drunkenly at wintertime football games.

I was getting hotter just being near Daddy Rich, looking at the itchy wool scarf, and I finally said I needed a beer and some A/C. We continued on the Ground Zero.

We grabbed some cold ones, and soon afterward, Dub walked in. We started talking about how much we’d enjoyed the radio gig, and he said, “Hell, you guys changed my life. It was the least I could do!” “Changed his life?” I thought, but he went on to tell us more.

See, last year, Dub had a nasty habit of dippin’ tobacco (chewing), and Doc, being an Ear, Nose and Throat MD in Real Life kinda read him the riot act about the dangers of the habit; about all the sores and tumors he’d removed from mouth cancers and throat cancers. And since then, Dub quit dippin’.

Last year, he’d admitted he hadn’t ever had a real girlfriend, as he’d always been into his music; practicing in his room, or with his friends. He said he’d never had much time for girls, and now he felt really shy and awkward around them. We, of course, preached to him about how musicians are babe-magnets, and with his talent and voice, he could have almost any woman he wanted. He protested, talking about his XXXL size, but Blue Frog, no lightweight hisself and I regaled him with tales of the 500lb Big Al Carson we’d seen on Bourbon Street. Big Al had all the ladies screamin’ with his rendition of Built For Comfort, Not for Speed. We went on to tell Dub that his own rendition of Give Me One Reason was enough to get any hottie in the club. Apparently, he took this advice to heart last year, as he’d gone and gotten himself a steady girl, with whom he’d recently broken up, but was now, happy and confident that someone else would be along shortly.

By now it was getting close to dinner time, so headed back to the hotel for showers, with plans for the night.

I slept deeply that night, dreaming of bacon and biscuits and Etta/Tina/Tiger. Somehow I dragged my ass out of bed to meet Blue Frog and Ricochet (TDust and Doc slept in) in the lobby at 9:30 so we could head out for some B&B- Blues and Breakfast- at Sarah’s Kitchen.

We’d made plans to meet Dub here, as he was playing, along with young Omar, and an older gent named Razor Blade. We walked in to the joint and were warmly greeted by Miss Sarah herself and her son. We gathered up chairs in front of the stage, but not too far from the buffet and coffee, and set about to listening to the band wail as we scarfed down another monstrous Southern breakfast.

Between sets we jawboned with Razor on the music situation in Clarksdale and the Sunflowerfest. He opined that Ground Zero doesn’t book some of the local musicians except for midweek nights, and that there’s only a small rotation of the more popular, successful bands- like Super Chikan- that play there during festivals and on weekends. He, by no means harbored any resentment towards the musicians, and in fact went out of his way to say that, “Now that Chikan has money, he ain’t no different than before.” Good to know. He went on to talk of how the Sunflower organizers are no longer locals, however to my eyes, all I could see that the festival was growing healthfully, and that the same acts were playing each year, with some fresh new ones being added in each year. Other than his wish for more playing time on “the big stage,” I couldn’t see much reason for Razor to complain. I suppose that Ground Zero and the free, Main Stage, could open their mikes earlier in the day for the acts that usually don’t get to play there, like T-Model Ford and Razor Blade. My take on it is “the cream always rises.” The best musicians- or at least the most popular ones (as Mr. Tater is by no means one of the better musicians in town, but his act is great and in demand) will get the best times and best stages. Such is The Business.

I bought my daughter, Sarah, a Sarah’s Kitchen t-shirt, and once again, I was treated to Clarksdale’s friendly demeanor, as Miss Sarah’s son brought out the box of t-shirts and allowed me to rummage through it for a pink one, size small.

Razor was on stage again, when during the set, Guitar Mikey’s lovely wife, (forgive me, I forget her name) who was sitting in a booth near us with the last night’s drummer (forgive me, I forget his name), decided to get up and leave. Razor yelled with a smile that she better just sit her ass down and listen to him sing, and she sheepishly returned to her booth, smiling, for the whole set.

Miss Sarah’s son asked us if we were coming back for dinner. I asked what they were serving, and when Miss Sarah said she was thinking of making some BBQ ribs, I started salivating, promised to come back for dinner, and told her I loved her.

Friday we meet up bright and early in the lobby at the crack of 10, from where we head back to The Depot for another artery-clogging meal of various smoked breakfast meats, cheeses, eggs, grits, biscuits and gravy. As TDusty Roads likes to say, “Mmmmmtasteeee.”

Turns out some of us need to do some shopping at Walmart (which is just like the Walmarts at home, except it’s in Mississippi! Amazing!). A quick stop back at the hotel to sleep off breakfast and do some blogging, and back into the heart of Clarksdale.

Since it’s been at least 2 hours since we last ate, we decide to stop in to see our friends at Bluesberry Bakery. Some eclairs, some brisket and beers, and on to our next tradition…the New York Hi-Style men’s clothing store to purchase proper hats to protect us from the hot Southern sun. I love this store. It’s owned by an Indian gent, whose daughter, probably around 10, sits with her daddy doing homework at the register. The clothes are what I can only describe as True Blues. They have suits in colors and styles that only an NBA draft pick (or yours truly) could love. Lavender pinstripes with matching shoes and shirts. Yellow pindot 5-button suits, shiny sharkskins that look like they might be plugged into an outlet, and of course, our straw hats, a black straw fedora which I must purchase, since I’d given my black straw porkpie to Dub last night after he told me he’d lost his in the year since we last saw him. Ricochet also buys one, and oddly enough, he actually looks tasteful in this year’s model. Doc forgoes a purchase for fear of more retribution and humiliation from the myriad females that inhabit his house back in New York. Let’s just say last year’s “Uncle Mario” model didn’t get him any lap dances at home. Blue Frog stands pat in last year’s model.

From Hi-Style to low-brow, we wander in to the t-shirt store. I buy a Muddy Waters number, and I wonder why, with all the various shirts they sell, don’t they make one that just say, “You went WHERE on vacation?”

Back to Ground Zero where we wind up drinking with two gentlemen from Barcelona, Spain, who to have made this trek, are True Believers. They love the raw sound of pure Delta. They shun the more polished stuff and are here the hear the Real Deal. I love it.

We see Dub walk by, and we make plans to see him and his band play at The River’s Edge- club around the corner and down a dark flight of stairs.

After a brews, we wander over to Bluestown Music, where Daddy Rich is playing solo on the street.

Daddy Rich is young man, I’d guess around 25, with a keen wit and a sly intelligence that comes through in his music, his stage persona and especially in his lyrics. He has a fresh sound that pays religious homage to the history of Crossroads music, but with a cool back beat and a clean style that tells me he’s going to be one of those performers who’ll take the Blues into the future.  I’m going to enjoy seeing his work blossom.

While we’re watching Daddy Rich perform (with a digital backup setup), he asks if anyone wants to come up and play harp with him during a pause in the middle of one of his songs. Thinking Daddy Rich was being facetious and meant for him to get up, Blue Frog jumps up next to him and asks, “What key?” Daddy Rich smiles and  dryly replies, “Any key you want, man.”  Blue Frog pulls out his harp, inhales, and is about to blow a note, and from the speaker behind him starts pouring a wailing pre-recorded harp solo! We all crack up as basically any one of us could have got up there to fake it along with the tape. Blue Frog does join in, with his usual virtuosity, but we all enjoy Daddy Rich’s sense of humor. Later, standing in the 14-degree shade, he talks about how tomorrow he’s gonna wear his corduroy suit and scarf to play. I almost pass out just thinking about it. I figure he’s kidding.

We head back to the hotel for showers and …

That evening is tamales, catfish, and hot dogs at Ground Zero, while Super Chiken and The Fighting Cocks wail a set. As usual, the show is amazing, with Super Chikan playing some of his homemade guitars that never cease to amaze me for both his ability to actually play them and for the astounding music he makes with them.

At 10, we book out to see Dub and his band. The club is pretty empty, so we watch Dub crank out some classics, while we drink beer and shoot pool. Jacqueline is hanging around, as she and Dub have obviously grown up together here in this small town we call Clarksdale. I ponder this, and am filled with wonder at how such a small place can produce so much young musical talent.

It’s getting close to midnight, so the after-hours hotspot is always Hopson Commissary. Guitar Mikey, Daddy Rich and Tiger (Nellie) are all going to be jamming there, so we drive the mile or so from the Crossroads, and wander in. We grab a table, and shortly afterward, Tiger and Dorothy join us, greeting us like good friends. We hang out, BSing and drinking, enjoying the show. Nellie heads up on stage, and gets everyone dancing with a medley of Ike’n'Tina’s Rollin’ on the River and Tutti Fruity. The band is jammin’ the floor is bouncing while the dancers gyrate to the music.

It’s about 2:30, and I’m sitting with Nellie, she with her Crown Royal flask, me with my brew, talking about Life and Music and her family reunion she’s in town for. We talk about how she’s known Guitar Mikey for a dozen years or so, but hadn’t seen him in about two years. I mention that Blue Frog had played with Mikey last year in front of Bluestown, and that since Mikey’s moved here, his musicianship had grown exponentially (and he was damn good to start with!) She slaps her hand on the table and says, “I thought the same thing! I thought he’d gotten so much better, I was just amazed!” And she adds, “And he was pretty damn good before too!”

We continue talking and at some point she smiles and admits she’s got a great buzz on, and at that point, Mikey calls her up for another set. Not knowing Nellie that well, I didn’t know if that “great buzz” was gonna help or hinder, but I sure found out in the next 10 minutes!

Nellie Tiger Travis got up and did a cover of Etta James’ I’d Rather Go Blind that made me forget Etta James. She brought the house  from jumpin’, to tears and back. She owned that song (and will forever, in my heart) and at the end, as the band played her off, the whole place was hollerin’ and standing and clapping for more. She walked off the stage into a crowd of hugs that wouldn’t stop until she’d covered the the whole joint, who then cajoled her back up for an encore. (Sweet Home Chicago). It was one of the most unforgettable performances I’ve ever witnessed.

By then it was about 3:30, and the smell of biscuits was starting to waft in from the kitchen, as the chefs prepared for the Hopson’s B&B clientele. I figured we better skedaddle before we decided on a full breakfast. We said our goodbyes and the thankfully-short drive back to the hotel was punctuated by my head hitting the pillow at about 4am. What a night!