Pride and Prejudice: Perceptions and Pre-Conceived Notions in the "Real Blues" Debate

I recently performed with a group on a short road-trip to Charlotte, North Carolina. I’m glad I got the opportunity to play with this particular band; they have a couple of CD’s out, are developing a following across the local region and the Eastern Seaboard, and are a real nice group of guys. This was not a Blues gig, but it was a lot of fun. The festival we played was scheduled on a Saturday, and we weren’t flying down; since the band is based in the Buffalo/Niagara Falls area of New York State, we had long days of driving (approximately 12 hours straight) on both Friday and Sunday— plenty of time to listen to a lot of music and discuss personal preferences and musical concepts.

On the way down to Charlotte, on or about the sixth or seventh hour of being cramped into the small amount of van space left after the equipment was packed, I popped my copy of “Driftin’ Blues: The Best of Charles Brown” into the CD-player. Voices fell silent. A furrowed look appeared on a few of the bandmembers’ brows. The deafening silence continued for a song or two, at which point we pulled off of the Interstate for some much needed fuel and a little leg-stretch. The bandleader, a relatively accomplished keyboardist who has been performing and recording for many years, mentioned something about “One of the grandfathers of scumbag music.” Hmmm. Scumbag Music. “What could that mean?” I wondered aloud. “Well, you know… Blues… scumbag music. What with the ripped jeans and dirty shirts, and the three chords and all. Scumbag music, y’know?” I replied in the negative. “No, I don’t know what you mean.” “It’s entry-level, man. Bogus, three chord stuff. Not even scumbag music, but ‘entry-level’ scumbag music.” When I listen to Charles Brown, I think of a vocalist that had supreme technical ability, fluidity, soul and emotional depth, with a tone that was smooth as silk. A jazz-influenced Blues and R&B pianist with an evocative style and a flair for unique chord changes, voicings, and substitutions that were very different from those of his contemporaries. A major influence on such pop-crossover artists as Nat Cole and Ray Charles. An impeccable dresser with a wardrobe to match his slick musical style. Elegance. Sophistication. But when I listen to Charles Brown, I never, ever, think of “scumbag music,” “entry-level” simplicity, or “ripped jeans.” Were we listening to the same CD????

Another discussion I had with an actual Blues fan elicited some of the same questions and conundrums, i.e.—“Are we on the same planet?” One particular reader of this column (well, who knows after this…) used an article I wrote as a pretext to launch into a dissertation of great length on the virtues of “Blues Purism”— as in, only the Delta Blues artists, and only those performances strictly adhering to the 12-bar form, should be considered “Blues.” There are several problems with this thesis, but when I tried to point out that there are quite a few contemporary artists trying to carry-on the acoustic tradition in a modern context (Cephas & Wiggins, Taj Mahal, Keb Mo, etc.), she dismissed them all out of hand. To her, “Real Blues” died with Charley Patton and Robert Johnson.

In a recent review of a new album by some friends of mine, one local “writer,”
who will, begrudgingly, remain nameless (read: hack who can barely string two cogent sentences together and wouldn’t know the difference between B.B. King and King George) drew a distinction between the legitimate Blues style and what he called “Da Blooze,” which he feels is primarily “entry-level” bar band music played by white performers singing inane lyrics and filling every nook and cranny with over-played electric guitar. True enough in some cases, perhaps, but who decides which groups play “Real Blues” and which ones play “Da Blooze”? Even in the worst-case scenario, this one-dimensional view is myopic at best, and smacks of misrepresentation, lack of listening skills, and musical prejudice. The “music journalist” in question has no ears, problems with grammar and spelling, and obviously is not blessed with the requisite skill set to be the final arbiter of what is legitimate and what is not in the “Blues/Blooze” debate (one should have some familiarity with music beyond 80’s Metal bands like Warrant and Ratt before attempting to deal with such weighty and philosophical questions). Yet his sense of the central issue at hand is uncanny, and quite on target.

What all of these people are saying, or asking, in effect, is “What is Blues?” (forgive the momentary lapse of appropriate grammar, if you will, and let the depth and repercussions of that question set in). As I’ve said in the past, I don’t think any of us can answer definitively, but sometimes the question itself is more important than the answer. How do we define Blues? How far can we stretch the boundaries before they break? How narrow a focus is too narrow, and threatens to choke innovation and creativity?

To some musicians, Blues is not so much a genre or style of music as it is a form—“It’s a 12-bar blues in the key of C.” This implies certain rigid rules or restrictions regarding chord changes and where they fit in the form, the length of the form before it repeats (usually 12 measures, but there are also 8-bar, 16-bar, and 13-bar blues), the type of “turnaround” to be used (the last few measures in the 12-bar form which bring the song back to the “starting” point), and sometimes the rhythm. This is a rather narrow definition for “blues” (as opposed to “Blues”), but if you are sitting-in with a Jazz trio and say something like “Play a blues in F; swing it, with a walking bassline,” the band (if they’re worth their salt) will know what to do immediately. For singers and lyricists, strict adherence to the blues form means following a particular lyrical scheme—two vocal-lines that are similar or the same followed by one that is different (think of “Stormy Monday”). Unfortunately, this definition would exclude quite a bit of music that doesn’t necessarily follow traditional blues form, but that a significant consensus of Blues fans would defend as “Blues” nonetheless— much of John Lee Hooker’s music, for example, which is often based on only one chord, or the jazzy styles of Ray Charles and Charles Brown (who often stepped-out of the blues form by degrees in both length and harmony). We would also have to exclude a lot of Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, and Jimmy Reed (who had some tunes with 13 and a half bar verses and 12-bar solos). And of course, erase Robert Cray from the list entirely; as well as many of the “Classic Era” performances sung by artists like Mammie and Bessie Smith. At the same time, we might include quite a bit of music, by virtue of its strict adherence to blues form, that most of us would agree really isn’t Blues at all (certain Classic Rock songs, for example).

This “blues form” definition works for musicians in certain situations, but should not be thought of as the be-all and end-all of what constitutes Blues or the Blues style. As fans, historians, musicians, and musicologists, we must realize that “Blues” has a much broader, more inclusive domain. The 12-bar form was basically standardized by those, such as W.C. Handy, who wrote down the music for the first time— they needed a way to transcribe and communicate on paper what to that point had been an orally transmitted music. But as anyone who has spent some time listening to old records, and has studied a little of the roots of the Blues, Jazz, Gospel, and Rock & Roll knows, not all of the early Delta and Piedmont artists stuck to the rigid 12-bar form; in fact, most of them didn’t. Yesterday’s improvised Blues were a lot like what is called in today’s Hip-Hop lingo “freestyle rap”; the chord changes were held “at will” to the desired length by the performer for as long as it took him to think-up a rhyme for his first two lines. Ever listen to Lightnin’ Hopkins? Robert Johnson? Ever wonder why they seem to almost follow the 12-bar form, but don’t quite stick to it? There were no rigid rules when these gentlemen were creating and defining the acoustic Blues style. It’s also important to note that the Delta and Piedmont cats were professional musicians often working for tips; they played lots of requests, and not all of them blues. Many songs in the early solo artist’s repertoire were “rags” adapted for guitar, and some were popular, folk, or country tunes that people wanted to hear, but weren’t necessarily “Blues” or “blues.” Think of Josh White or Leadbelly— should we exclude them, or some of their material, from under the covering of the Blues umbrella because they didn’t stick to the “blues form”? I know one person who feels that way, but I find it hard to agree with her.

Another definition people sometimes use goes like this: “Blues is just a feeling.” This is the antithesis of the strict, rigid, form-based definition, and while it seems to describe the basic idea behind the Blues (emotion, soul), it also would tend to be a little too inclusive. David Gilmour of Pink Floyd may bend a lot of notes, but he is not a Blues player, and Pink Floyd certainly is not a Blues band. I use this example because I was trying to put a band together once, and when I told one particular musician the music was going to be Blues and Blues-based (thinking he would understand my implicit expectation of performing songs by established Blues artists and cross-over Blues-Rock/R&B acts a la Stevie Ray and the Fabulous Thunderbirds), he was thinking I meant Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin. The “feeling” definition, when used all by itself, is too vague and would again give us trouble in trying to include/exclude artists and material under the Blues genre.

Some people (many non-Blues musicians, like my friends mentioned earlier) think of the Blues as basically “simple.” Even some Blues musicians fall into the trap of viewing the music this way. The Blues is simple, but only in the sense that lots of technique doesn’t necessarily equal a good performance. While the emphasis in Blues is on soul, emotion, and mood, it’s obvious that lots of things can be done to create interest, on a musical level, with the Blues style and form. This is what Bruce Katz calls “details in the music” when he’s discussing Blues arrangements, and the lack of details in some Blues music is what prompted my friends to call the Blues “entry-level.” They obviously haven’t been listening to the same music I have, and to paraphrase both Louis Armstrong and Phil Lynott of Thin Lizzy—“If you don’t know, you’re not going to… if they don’t wanna know, forget ‘em.” Some people just hear things differently, and there’s no accounting for taste (even though Blues has some of the most creative, emotion-laden music ever produced, some people can’t hear beyond their pre-conceived notions).

One famous musician said “the Blues is the simplest form of music to learn, and the hardest to master.” Musician and educator Bruce Katz has eschewed both the rigid, form-based definition and the “just a feeling” definition, shooting for something in the middle: “It's the feeling and vibe where the music is coming from. I think the line (between Blues, Jazz, and other forms of music) has to do with rhythmic groove, being that jazz kind of abandons that idea. I don't think it has to do with harmony. For instance one of the most beautiful blues tunes ever written is Charles Mingus' ‘Goodbye Porkpie Hat’- a blues melody with out-there chord changes. But the mood is blues… let's not forget that Charlie Parker described his music as ‘blues’ also.”

Whether you’re a fan of Chicago style, Delta, Jazz-Blues, Pre-War, Post-War, or Contemporary, it behooves us all to remember that the music has a long history and a broad continuum that includes a lot more than we might think with our often limited and narrow perspectives. As far as the public-at-large is concerned, we can proselytize by pointing to the wonderful virtues of Blues music and its long history and foundational position as the bedrock on which almost all other “American Music” has been built. And perhaps, every once in awhile, performing Blues musicians on the local circuit can think about putting on a suit and tie and ditching the “ripped jeans and dirty shirt” look.

Copyright 2001 Gregg Juke/Nocturnal Productions, All Rights Reserved.