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Top Ten Delta Blues Artists
The 10 players listed below, born in a period from 1891 to 1914, best epitomize the sound most people think of as Delta blues.
Blues aficionados may nominate others, but for the mainstream, Johnson (1911-1938) is the epitome of a Delta bluesman, with a wealth of familiar repertoire (thanks to plentiful covers by rock bands), less dim recorded sound than much of the competition, and romantic myths regarding the acquisition of his considerable instrumental skills and his early demise via poison. On record, he always played solo, and at its peak his masterful, complex guitar playing juggles a bass line on the low strings (incorporating boogie-woogie piano rhythms), chording, and bottleneck licks on the top strings, resulting in intricate polyrhythms. This two-CD set has all 29 of Johnson’s recorded songs along with 11 alternate takes. More than 60 years after it was recorded, Johnson’s legacy retains its strong emotional power and musical mastery.
Patton (1891-1934) was a pivotal figure in blues history. He did two extensive recording sessions in 1929, a shorter one in 1930 (all three for Paramount), and a final one in 1934 shared with his wife, Bertha Lee and issued on Vocalion. He spent the vast majority of his life in the Mississippi Delta, and was already famous in that state before he made his first recordings. Through his influence on Son House, Robert Johnson, Howlin’ Wolf, and others, and their influence on succeeding generations, it’s possible to give Patton credit for quite a big branch on the blues tree—arguably the biggest one. His intense, growling vocals and intricate, percussive guitar style are immediately distinctive, often looking back to older forms of black music. This two-CD set contains nearly all of Patton’s recordings, and all the important ones.
Much of the Delta style that doesn’t come from Patton stems from Tommy Johnson (ca.1896-1956), whose “Big Road Blues” with its rising bass line was much-copied (as was “Maggie Campbell”). Johnson was not a great guitarist—more than half his 14 recordings include a second guitarist or other musicians—but the parts are carefully structured, nicely proportioned, and distinctive (unlike peers who repeated a few flashy tricks). His striking high baritone voice is smoother than the Delta norm; occasional chilling falsetto leaps are nearly a trademark, but not overused. Though he outlived many of his peers, his self-destructive ways (“Canned Heat Blues” is about being so addicted to alcohol that he would drink Sterno) ended his life before he could become part of the folk blues boom, but the sound on his important 1928 recordings, at least, is surprisingly good.
Eddie James House, Jr., AKA Son House (1908-1988), was an influence on the following generation of Mississippi bluesmen (including Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters). This disc is the best compilation of his early work, including his history-making 1930 Paramount recordings and his 1941-42 Library of Congress sessions. His stentorian, richly textured vocals are stunning in their power and conviction; his bottleneck tone on his National Steel is utterly devastating. Trademark House tunes such as “Levee Camp Moan” and the sarcastically witty “Preachin’ Blues” stand alongside a few early Delta standards, notably “Pony Blues” (learned from Patton).
In a style full of individualists, James (1902-1969) still stands out. Few if any blues artists in the 1930s placed artistic value so far above entertainment. James lived in and around Bentonia, in the Mississippi hill country, and developed in relative isolation his styles on guitar and piano. The devastated “Devil Got My Woman” was his signature piece; the sardonic “I’m So Glad” is more familiar now because of Cream’s cover. Some of his instrumental breaks are quite imaginative, whether on guitar (as on the dazzling “Special Rider Blues”) or piano (the frenetic “22-20 Blues”). James made a comeback, after years away from music, in 1964, but his playing is far more brilliant on these scratchy 1931 records than after he’d relearned his material, his singing more haunting. These 18 tracks can be life-altering listening.
The blues’ first great harmonica player, Williamson (1914-1948) is now called Sonny Boy I to distinguish him from Rice Miller, another harmonica great who also used the name Sonny Boy Williamson. Sonny Boy I was extremely popular in both the Mississippi/Memphis area and in Chicago, and his harmonica style was much imitated. These recordings may have been made in Chicago, and in a few years these players (prominently including, in 1937, Robert McCoy, who later called himself Robert Nighthawk) would be playing in a style pre-figuring “Chicago blues,” but in ‘37-’38 they were pure country blues, with an occasional detour into “hokum” (“Got the Bottle Up and Gone”). Famous cuts range from the lecherous “Good Morning School Girl” to the mourning “Decoration Blues (AKA “Decoration Day”). Played acoustically, Williamson’s harmonica has a wailing vocal quality that complements his drawling, personable singing.
Booker T. Washington White (1909-1977) had a massive hit in 1937 on Vocalion with “Shake ‘em on Down.” Then he served two years on the notorious Parchman Farm for shooting a man who ambushed him. When White returned in 1940, he cut 12 sides reputedly written in two days, all but two with a very different flavor than his hit, which had been a party dance number. “When Can I Change My Clothes” (about his Parchman time), “Strange Place Blues” (his thoughts on standing at his mother’s grave), and “Fixin’ to Die Blues” (covered on Bob Dylan’s first LP) are stark and dark. White was one of the stars of the 1960s folk blues circuit, but the sound on these records (his complete Vocalion records, but not his complete output by a long shot) is vivid enough that stereo and such doesn’t matter. His National Steel has a penetrating tone whether he’s picking or using slide, and his strong voice can pierce you to your core.
Williams (1903-1982) is another unique artist, partly due to his unusual nine-string guitar (the album cover shows the odd peg arrangement of its headstock), on which he often slaps bass lines and strums high chords (echoing a mandolin’s jangling timbre) in a kinetic virtuoso style. In contrast, “Killing Floor Blues” and “Montreal Blues” display stinging slide work. Big Joe lived to enjoy the folk blues revival with his talents intact; this 24-song disc combines a 1960 LP (with his wife taking one rough-hewn vocal) and a 1969 LP (with Charlie Musselwhite’s harmonica decorating three tracks). Along with familiar old blues standards (“Dirt Road Blues,” “Sloppy Drunk Blues,” “Forty Four Blues”), he sings about ‘60s events on “The Death of Dr. Martin Luther King” and “Army Man in Vietnam.” His energy and rich, full vocals convey his power personality with pungent flavor.
Before Waters (1913-83) moved north in 1943, this crucial contributor to the creation of the electric Chicago blues style was recorded in his native Mississippi by folklorist Alan Lomax, and the acoustic performances are pure Delta—Waters was a big Son House fan. Listening to these sometimes spectacular tracks, it’s easy to hear the beginnings of the Chicago style: “Country Blues” (derived from House’s “Walking Blues”) became “Feel Like Goin’ Home”; the magnificent “I Be’s Troubled” turned into the classic “I Can’t Be Satisfied.” Both these solo 1941 tracks (some lesser tracks include additional musicians) feature soulful bottleneck playing and richly textured singing that epitomizes the phrase “deep blues.” This disc also includes interviews Lomax conducted with Waters for background.
Wilkins (1896-1987) is the most obscure artist on this list, but you might know his “That’s No Way to Get Along” as “Prodigal Son” by the Rolling Stones (Wilkins also had a song called “Rolling Stone”). Like Tommy Johnson and Skip James, but perhaps to an even greater extent, Wilkins displays stylistic variety and lack of repetition of licks from song to song, and doesn’t always stick to usual blues forms. Born in the Mississippi hill country south of Memphis (where he lived later), he grew up hearing the many different folk styles of pre-blues music, and both that and his personal originality are reflected in his songs. Aside from two atypical 1935 recordings, the selections here come from 1928-30 and show why hardcore blues aficionados hold Wilkins in such high regard.
