How Claud Johnson won the Royalties of Robert Johnson's Estate

How Claud Johnson won 

Royalties of Robert Johnson Estate

By Ellen Barry for the Los Angeles Times - 2004

CRYSTAL SPRINGS, Miss. —

Inside the pink brick estate he built with a blues fortune, 72- year-old Claud Johnson cannot shake the habits he formed when he was a poor man.

Three years after moving in, he still has more rooms than he has furniture. Creamy wall-to-wall stretches across the second floor, which is mostly empty. To tell the truth, he's not sure if his wife, Miss Ernestine, has ever gone up there.

He keeps his finicky 25-year-old Mack gravel truck parked nearby, where he can keep an eye on it through the living room window. He drove the truck, by his own estimate, one and a quarter million miles. Even as plants poke up around its chassis, it seems the truck — not the blues or the house — is the thing that matters to him.

After Claud won his court battle in 1998 and was recognized as the son of blues music legend Robert Johnson, his lawyer handed him a six-figure cashier's check and begged him to quit hauling gravel. Claud kept hauling gravel for five months.

"After 29 years, it just gets in your blood," said Claud, whose smile reveals glinting gold dental work. "I wake up some mornings, I want to get on that truck."

Late in life, surrounded by the wealth of a stranger, Claud has begun to consider a parent he never knew.

Robert Johnson was a blues guitarist, singer and songwriter. Disgusted with fieldwork, he left his sharecropping family around 1930 and took to the highway, re-cording, in his unearthly voice, 29 songs.

Johnson's music was so good, other men said, that his talent could not be natural: Delta leg-end has it that one day at a back-country crossroad, Johnson waited for the devil to come by. After that, Johnson could play any song he wanted, but he had surrendered his soul.

Johnson was just 27 when he died in August 1938 — poisoned, most people believe, by a jealous husband in a Greenwood, Miss., juke joint. He was so poor and unloved, it is said, that his body was dumped into the ground without a coffin, and to this day, no one is entirely sure where he's buried. But the brooding songs he wrote and recorded have been discovered and rediscovered by the generations that came after him.

People in Greenwood have become accustomed to the Japanese tourists who come looking for Johnson's grave. Just this year, Rock and Roll Hall of Famer Eric Clapton released "Me and Mr. Johnson," a CD devoted entirely to Johnson's blues.

In the midst of all this celebrity is Claud Johnson, who did not know until he was almost 40 that his father had recorded mu-sic.

Claud is that rare thing, said blues historian Gayle Dean Wardlow: an ordinary man who was drawn into a legend.

"He's just a little old country boy from Crystal Springs, Miss.," said Wardlow. "It's almost like, I guess, one of those Shakespearean things. He got pulled into it, totally."

Since 1974, Robert Johnson's songbook had been in the hands of a California record producer and blues archivist, Stephen LaVere, who sought out the musician's half-sister, Carrie Thompson, and promised to split the profits evenly.

Over the next decade, that bargain dissolved into a catfight. LaVere was pressuring bands like Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones to pay to use the music. Thompson, meanwhile, had turned against LaVere, and attempted to sever the contract.

Then, in 1990, Sony put out a boxed set of Johnson's music, expecting it to appeal to a narrow audience of blues connoisseurs. It won a Grammy and sold more than 500,000 copies.

When word got out that Robert Johnson's estate could be worth millions, putative heirs appeared by the dozen.

Willis Brumfield, the estate's executor, began getting calls at odd hours from people who claimed they were Johnson's long-lost twin brother or daughter, he said.

"They had some idea it was a fortune of money," Brumfield said, "and it was."

Out of this cacophony emerged Claud Johnson.

A few people already knew who he was. In 1970, a Texas cultural historian named Mack McCormick had traveled to Crystal Springs to search for Robert Johnson's relatives, and found himself face to face with a twinkly old woman, who, he recalls, "just burbled over. She said, 'My boy is his baby.' "Blues buffs passed the information among themselves — a son! But Claud continued with his quiet life.

The estate eventually grew to $1.3 million. But Robert Johnson's executors found that they had no clearly established heir. Thompson, the half-sister, had died in 1983, and her half-sister and son were still wrangling with LaVere over the licensing rights. LaVere recalled mentioning Claud to the executors.

Not long after that, Claud received a summons in the heir-ship case. "I didn't know what to do with the letter," Claud said. He decided to hire a lawyer.

When Claud retained the services of Jim Kitchens, a prominent Jackson trial lawyer and former district attorney, they were already friends of 30 years' standing, from the days when Claud dropped off deliveries for Kitchens' family store in Crystal Springs. Kitchens bought barbecue at Claud's pit, and Miss Ernestine treated him, Kitchens said, "like one of her own kids."

In Kitchens' office, an over-head fan revolves lazily and a picture of Elvis Presley is propped against an upright piano.

"He [Claud] walked in one day and said, 'Jim, do you know who Robert Johnson was?'

"I said, 'Sure I do,' " Kitchens recalled.

"He said, 'How do you know that?'

"I said, 'I listen to public radio.'

"He said, 'That was my daddy."

"I said, 'What?'

He said, 'That was my daddy.'

"I said, 'Who else knows this?'

"He said, 'Well, there's my momma.

—

Among the dirt farms of southern Mississippi, where Claud was raised, there were two kinds of people: those who listened to the blues and those who did not. Claud knew early in life that he was the second kind. Born out of wedlock to 17-year-old Virgie Mae Smith, he was mostly raised by Virgie Mae's father, a preacher and sharecropper, in a house where music was slapped back like the creeping fingertips of the devil.

If the blues came on the radio, a hand flew to the radio and switched it off. Once, Claud's uncle bought him a guitar, but his grandfather told him to put it down immediately. His grandparents told him his father was Robert Johnson, a blues singer. Robert Johnson had given Virgie Mae a small amount of money after learning of Claud's birth — $20 or $30 —but showed little interest in the boy after that. Around his fifth birthday, Claud watched from the doorway of his grandparents' house as they talked to a grown man in a light-colored shirt and black pants.

"They stood on the porch. They made him stand in the yard," he said. "They talked to him a few minutes and then he went away." Pulled out of school every year to work in the fields, Claud dropped out for good in the sixth grade and found satisfaction in work, long hours of it, sometimes at two or three jobs. He sold barbecue from a pit beside his house, worked at gas stations and a car dealership; his wife waited tables at a local diner.

Claud saved enough to buy his own gravel truck — a ma-chine so crotchety that he carried a tangle of cables and four extra batteries in order to start it, Kitchens remembers. Often Claud drove it for 18 hours a day. In this way, he and Ernestine put five children through college.

His grandparents' stern influence had served him as a rudder, steadying him throughout his life, he said. "It learned me something about life, growing up that way," he said.

Then, in his 60s, the heirship case opened a view into a second Mississippi: a place where, in moments of glamour, young people ducked the narrow rules of sharecropping life.

In testimony, Claud's 79-year-old mother and her friends would describe the dark clubs where the field workers gathered, laughing, in the half-light of evening.

They described his father: a man known for slipping out with-out saying goodbye, for traveling under aliases, for sleeping in boxcars and emerging with pants that looked like they had just been steam-ironed.

They described performances where Robert Johnson sat alone with a guitar and held them all still. They described what happened when he met up with 17-year-old Virgie Mae Smith on her way to school. In the end, the crucial testimony came from Virgie Mae's closest friend, Eula Mae Williams, an 80-year-old midwife with pure white hair, who recalled an evening walk she took with her fiance and Virgie Mae and Robert Johnson.

To the shock of the assembled lawyers, who had to pause during questioning because they were laughing so hard, she de-scribed how both couples made love standing up in the pine for-est, watching each other the whole time.

She was questioned by Victor McTeer, an attorney from Greenville who was representing Carrie Thompson's relatives as they contested Claud's claim to the estate.

Q: Well, let me, let me share something with you, because I'm really curious about this. Maybe I have a more limited experience. But you're saying to me that you were watching them make love?

A: M-hm.

Q: While you were making love?

A: M-hm.

Q: You don't think that's at all odd?

A: Say what?

Q: Have you ever done that before or since?

A: Yes.

Q: Watch other people make love?

A: Yes, I have done it before. Yes, I've done it after I married. Yes.

Q: You watched other people make love?

A: Yes, sir. Yes, sir.

Q: Other than…other than Mr. Johnson and Virgie Cain [her married name].

A: Right.

Q: Really?

A: You haven't?

Q: No. Really haven't.

A: I'm sorry for you.

Today, in the working-class neighborhood where he raised his children, Claud lives in a grand house on 47 acres of property, with a long, curving drive-way. His victory stands out in the annals of Mississippi probate law.

For an illegitimate child to prove the paternity of a long-dead man is a daunting legal challenge. It took 10 years, two trips to the Mississippi Supreme Court and two trips to the U.S. Supreme Court to settle the question. Claud's mother died in 1998, months before he received the money. In a way, the most remark-able thing is that anyone in Mississippi is holding Robert John-son's wealth at all.

The first two or three generations of blues musicians saw their music diffuse into American culture, but most of them died without securing rights to their composition. If their relatives received anything later, it was tiny. The strip of Mississippi that gave rise to the blues re-mains one of the poorest places in America. "If it's not unique, it's close to unique," said Thomas Freeland, a Mississippi attorney and blues historian. 

When the San Francisco-based band the Grateful Dead recorded songs by the North Carolina blues musician Elizabeth Cotten, Freeland said, "the story is, [she] bought a dish-washer with the royalties." Inside the pink brick gates to their land, the Johnsons live somewhat awkwardly with the wealth they inherited. On a re-cent afternoon, Miss Ernestine was sitting in the garage, listening to a religious program on the car radio. Claud looked critically at his vast lawn, irritated by the task of mowing it.

Inside, a small decorative Bible sat on a coffee table, resting on a lacy pillow. A large framed poster of Robert Johnson hung on the wall. Claud listens to his father's blues recordings some-times now, although he prefers gospel. He doesn't have much to say about the windfall he received —money, he said, does not mean too much to him.

"I was excited when I found out there was going to be a little bit of money in it," he said. "I was a little excited. And then that went away." What remains is a quiet resentment toward Robert John-son's other relatives, whose lawyers for years argued that he was not the musician's son. Claud has never met any of them, but the challenge, he says, has of-fended him.

"I've always known all my life who I was and whose son I was," he said. "Never got angry over it. Like I said, my grandparents they always told me Robert Johnson was my father." Already, he was a solitary, careful man. Claud, a church deacon, has had such a lifelong fear of poisoning he did not eat at his mother-in-law's house for two years after his wedding.

Even at home, if he gets up from a meal leaving a half-drunk glass of water, he will not touch it on his return. "I'm just curious that way," he said, with a slow smile. "It just sticks in the back of my mind what happened to him." With all these people talking to him about Robert Johnson's music, too, he's had occasion to wonder about a few things.

He remembers the guitar being lifted from his hands that time long ago. He says that he has a nice singing voice. One after another, people from outside Mississippi have come to Claud to tell him the effect Robert Johnson had on their lives: Magical, haunting, almost godlike. He wonders what it would have been like if his father had stuck around.

And he wonders, from time to time, if, in that alternate version of his life, he would have played the blues.

A RECORDING SESSION WITH Gary Davis

A RECORDING SESSION WITH 

Gary Davis

AND HIS "HARLEM SPIRITUALS"
By Kenneth Goldstein for The Record Changer  14:8

In the course of editing several albums for the Riverside Folklore Series I was faced with the pleasant task of finding material for an American Street Songs album to supplement the English, Irish and Scots material which had previously been recorded for use in the series. American street songs, however, are part of a tradition totally different from that of the British Isles. In England, Ireland and Scotland, street songs were almost exclusively secular. In America, street songs were as frequently religious as they were of a worldly nature. The traditions were also quite distinct and separate in their functioning. Rarely will a singer of religious material cross the line to sing secular material, and primarily secular street singers will rarely know more than the one or two religious songs with which they soften up their audiences.

The problem defined itself clearly into the necessity of finding two singers...one to represent the secular tradition and a second to represent the religious tradition. Finding the secular street singer was no problem. Riverside had in its recorded archives some 10 or 12 numbers performed by a Carolina street singer, Pink Anderson. which had been recorded by Paul Clayton in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 1950. Where would we find a religious street singer to match with him?

Here, too, the solution was quite simple. In 1954, I had the opportunity to attend a recording session of the Reverend Gary Davis, by Stinson Records. One thing stood out clearly at that session. Sonny Terry, the fabulous folk harmonicist, supported the Reverend's singing and playing on his "mouth-harp." The engineering job was a pretty bad one, and the wonderful sounds of the harmonica completely drowned out the equally wonderful guitar playing of the Reverend Davis. I thought at that time that someday Davis would have to be recorded by himself, with a very careful and proper balance set up between his voice and his exciting guitar playing. Here then was the solution to my search for a religious street singer.

With the help of John Gibbon and "Tiny" Singh (a niece of the late Huddie Ledbetter), I contacted the Reverend and a recording session was scheduled for the evening of January 29 of this year. Also present at the recording session were John Gibbon and the photographer Lawrence Shustak whose superb shots taken during that session are seen on this page as well as on the cover of this issue of the Record Changer. As soon as the recording started everyone in the room came to the immediate realization that this was going to be a great session. Gary was at his best, without a doubt. Of the nine songs recorded in a little over two hours, only two had to be re-recorded. I have often followed the principle that good artists, folk or otherwise, are their own best critics. They know what they want to say and therefore are the best ones to decide whether or not they ended up saying it the way they intended. As soon as we played back the first recording, Gary broke into a huge grin. There was no doubt about it. He was listening to himself the way he wanted it to sound.

The music Gary Davis performs is more than just religious material. It is jazz—plain and simple. Daniel G. Hoffman has termed his performance "Holy Blues"...and that it is. The guitar breaks between stanzas. the intricate runs, the blues stanzas, the slurred vocal and instrumental lines, the frequent exchanges between voice and guitar...all are integral parts of jazz. His performances are an exciting combination of the deep religious intensity of earlier Negro spirituals. the subjective identification of the blues, the drive and movement of jazz, and the directed objective of the sermon.

Davis was born in 1896 in Lawrence County, South Carolina, the son of a poor farmer. He took to instruments naturally and could play the mouth harp by the time he was five, could pick a few songs out on the banjo by six, and played the guitar with facility at the age of seven. He remembers playing for a short time in a string band in Greenville, South Carolina, when he was still a young man, and this seems to have been his only group experience as an instrumentalist.

He refuses to talk about how he became blind, or when, but it must have been in his blues singing days as a young man. In any case, the occurrence which caused his blindness probably contributed to his decision to give up his rowdy blues singing ways and to turn to religion. He was ordained a minister in Washington, North Carolina, in 1933, and has since refused to sing anything but religious music (according to his own story). Examples of his blues singing have been preserved, however, though they are available only through discriminating collectors of rare jazz recordings. In recording sessions held in New York City on July 23, 24, 25 and 26, in 1935, he recorded 14 sides for the now long-defunct Perfect label. Of these, he was somehow induced by the Per-fect company to record two sides of blues, together with 12 sides of religious material. (For a complete listing of these recordings, see the Gary Davis discography at the end of this article.)

For the past 16 years he has been living in New York City, during which time he has recorded material for two long-playing records and has appeared, not infrequently, on radio and in folk music concerts. He has more to offer, however, than the average street singer, and he can be seen not only on the streets of Harlem or catering to the religious needs of storefront congregations, but also at small folksong gatherings where his audiences are made up of aspiring young guitarists and singers who hope to pick up one or another of the many instrumental tricks which contribute to his unique style. If readers of this article who own some of the early Perfect recordings of Gary Davis will contact me I should like to arrange to obtain copies made for the purpose of analysis, and I will then, in some future issue, analyze the changes which have taken place in his performance and songs in the more than 20 years since he made his first recordings.

A GARY DAVIS DISCOGRAPHY

For a complete discography of Rev. Davis, there is a carefully sorted one by William Lee 'Bill' Ellis in his doctoral dissertation, "I Belong to the Band." He was able to match up all the borrowings and re-borrowings that the Rev's recordings went through, one compilation to another over the years.

130 Year Old Blues Man Buried Near Charley Patton at Holly Ridge Cemetery

1992

In December 1994, the residents of Holly Ridge buried Bill Jones, believed to have been the oldest Mississippian at 130 years old, in Holly Ridge Cemetery—the gravesite of Charley Patton.

Jones took with him memories of two floods, the notorious gangster Jesse James, and Indians living in tents near the Delta plantation on which he was born.

Although there was no official documentation, Jones is believed to have been born on Dec. 13, 1863 as the son of a slave at Swain Station, now Longswitch, west of Holly Ridge. Two years ago, Gov. Kirk Fordice honored him as the oldest person in Mississippi.

In an interview around that time, Jones offered this reason for having lived such a long life: "I ate a little, smoked a little, and drank a little, but I left wild women alone.''

Jones described himself as "always working.'' From an early age, he worked on farms and railroads, and he helped build up the Mississippi River levee.

"He worked the levee when it broke in 1908 up at Scott, and in 1927 when it broke in Greenville,'' said Frank McWilliams, an Indianola attorney whose family had been close to Jones for years.

1992

As a young man Jones saw Jesse James kill a man at what is now called James Crossing, 15 miles south of Greenville on Mississippi 1.

Later he lived in Greenville and worked in Dunlieth, where he was a member of Pleasant Valley Baptist Church. A farmer, he had his own horse team and played the blues on his banjo.

Jones became an "infamous'' member of the Dunleith-Longswitch community, McWilliams said. Even Columbus and Greenville Railway trains would stop at his house to visit.

"The engineers used to get off and visit with him, and bring him whiskey,'' McWilliams said. "He wasn't but 110 then.''

In 1985, friends persuaded the 121-year-old man to move to Heritage Manor.

Always independent, Jones insisted on doing things for himself.

He participated in ball games, fishing trips, and even visited the casinos in Greenville.

Jones had certain routines he loved -- a cigarette after breakfast, four ``toddies'' a day. He was proud of his collection of caps, which he hung on the branches of a tree in his room when he wasn't wearing them.

Jones was so active and involved, Grissom said, that ``we thought we had him forever.''

Blues Today: A Living Blues Symposium

Blues Today: A Living Blues Symposium

By James VanDrisse - 15 November 2006

On February 16 to 20, 2005 Living Blues magazine presented its annual program for public discussion of Blues music and a Blues tour of Mississippi historical Blues sites as well as live bands. The first day was an option well worth taking; starting at the new Alluvian Hotel in downtown Greenwood, Mississippi. The Alluvian is a luxury boutique hotel too new to be rated, but should be rated in future by AAA as a 5 Diamond, its original art by Delta artists and a lively lobby scene make the Alluvian the epicenter of contemporary Delta culture.

The Delta X'Cursion: 

The Gospel Of The Blues hosted by Amy Evans of Viking Range and guitarist Jay Kirgus whisked us away on the trail of Robert Johnson in a new, ultra clean Viking Range Corp. motorcoach bus. Other luminaries on the bus included Blues historian Charles Reagan Wilson director of the Center for the Study of Southern Culture. He is author of many books "Judgement and Grace in Dixie", "Southern Faiths From Faulkner to Elvis", "Baptized in Blood: The Religion of The Lost Cause" and co-editor, with William Ferris, of "The Encyclopedia of Southern Culture". Bill McPherson of the board of directors of the states' newly appointed Blues Commission, Prentiss Eastland from Indiana Blues Society on his 3rd year of bus tour, and Leslie Linn who announced the planning of a new B.B.King Museum being built in Indianola, Mississippi asking to contact her for details. 

The mic on the bus worked fine and musician Jay Kirgis played and sang. We traveled to Quito, Morgan City and Money Road just outside of Greenwood to visit the "supposed" final resting places of Robert Johnson, according to myths, and pray for the soul of Robert Johnson in Purgatory. At the most recently dicovered Money Road site we were welcomed inside the Little Zion M. B. Church by Sylvester Hoover, grocer from Baptist Town, and Rev. McArthur McKinley on Piano along with two women singing black Gospel songs. Great!

"The Gospel of the Blues" lecture by Charles Reagan Wilson explained the deep roots and rivalries surrounding the church and Blues music. He told of the conjecture of this being the possible Robert Johnson grave because of a written letter found in a shack near by, where Robert supposedly was moved to shortly before he died, and his asking Jesus for mercy. This letter is redone in stone on the grave marker. My personal opinion is that the most likely site is the oldest marked grave { different colored stone now, however } located at the Payne Baptist Church in Quito where Johnny Shines sang with tears in his eyes when visiting the site, remember Johnny ran with Robert at times. But nobody really knows where. 

Later that evening we enjoyed a soul food supper at Hoover's Grocery, and joined the community in an outdoor Blues concert by The Givens Brothers with Willie Gatewood on electric bass and vocals in the same neighborhood that Robert Johnson stayed during his time in Greenwood. The nights activity concluded with a bus round trip to B.B. King's hometown of Indianola, Mississippi where Leslie Linn can be contacted regarding the new B. B. King Museum project. Shaking a leg at Club Ebony in Indianola, Mississippi and more live Blues with David Durham and the Ladies Choice Band. 

Day two of the tour started in front of the Alluvian and was hosted by Dr. Luther Brown the founding director of the Delta Center for Culture and Learning and he serves on the states' Blues Commission, he was helped by Dr. Henry Outlaw of Delta State University. We visited the site of the Emmitt Till "supposed" whistling at a white women in Money, Mississippi before his famous racist brutal murder later that night. We visited Jimmy Rogers birthplace Ruleville, Mississippi and the Fanny Lou Hamer gravesite there.

We stopped at Dockery Farms, the plantation were many Bluesmen once lived and stopped at "the crossroads" one of a few left that existed near there in Robert Johnson's day, according to Jim O'Neal, the most likely spot that Robert Johnson would have been, it is the Old Dockery Road and Ruleville Road crossroads. The Peavine Railroad of the Charley Patton song fame ran nearby parallel to Old Dockery Road a few miles before the crossroads. 

We then stopped at "Po Monkeys" in Merigold, Mississippi an operating rural juke joint. Then at Mound Bayou,Mississippi the old [black only] experimental town that worked out, and the free hospital [ no longer operating] ,however, St. Gabriels Catholic Convent sisters are still helping the poor blacks in the town financially and spiritually. We cruised down Highway 61 and then past Parchman Farms prison, where Prentiss Eastland mentioned that Elvis Presley's father had done time as well as many a Bluesman.

A party was waiting at Drew, Mississippi for us [ birthplace of Howlin' Wolf ] as the mayor and other dignitaries rolled out the red carpet for the "Blues Fan" visitors with free food and refreshments by the People's Choice Diner at the Farmers Market, an invocation by Rev. Jesse Gresham, and a concert by Terry " Big T " Williams a guitarist from Clarksdale, Mississippi who has performed with Big Jack Johnson and the Jelly Roll Kings. 

Day 3, February 18, 2005 in Oxford, Mississippi for the Blues Symposium at the campus of Ole Miss.. Adam Gussow of Satan and Adam duo fame { the first white guy ever to be on the cover of Living Blues } appropiately introduced Robert Stone for a film screening and remarks about Sacred Steel to the crowd of about 200. Sacred Steel musicians, The Campbell Brothers were there to promote their concert that evening at the Second Baptist Church in Oxford. An even better film screening and remarks followed about "The Blues According to Lightnin' Hopkins" by Les Blank, which included footage of Mance Libscomb and Cleveland Chenier. Kudos to Les Blank! 

After lunch a panel discussion with audience questions on early Blues research with Robert Johnson commenced. This was weak on anything new, with panelist Elijah Wald promoting his new book along with authors of a Robert Johnson book Patricia Schroeder and Barry Lee Pearson the moderator. The panel was fortunate to have co-founder of Living Blues, Paul Garon, also, who did give some incite with the fact that only two of Robert Johnsons' songs mention the word "devil" in the title. Then later that afternoon another Sacred Steel discussion "From Hula to Hallulia" with the Campbell Brothers demonstation of how the steel guitar is played. 

Day 4 started with the keynote address by Samuel Charters who has written 12 books on Blues and insists he is not a scholar but a music journalist. He made his first Blues film in 1952 and he said he began looking for Robert Johnson stuff in 1953. He presented the high point of the whole week, " The Blues ", an old filming he made of J.D. Short, Pink Anderson, Furry Lewis, and Baby Tate. Also, while this films' sound is mostly overdubbed it is a non-commercial gem which includes Gus Cannon playing guitar with Memphis Willie B. and by "hisself" Sleepy John Estes. Kudos to Sam Charters! 

After lunch Jim O'Neal another co-founder of Living Blues interviewed Sonny Payne of KFFA radio Helena, Arkansas "King Biscuit Time". Interestingly, Sonny Payne gives most credit for his sucess to Mr. Max Moore who wrote the script for KFFA radio. This was followed by a panel discussion of Blues Radio Today with William Ferris, local DJ Chip Mitchell, Rip Daniels from WAZD the pilot of American Blues Network the ultra commercial Blues, and the very pius Tommy Couch, Jr. the current head of Malaco Records. Moderated by Steve Hoffman who tryed, but this ended being pointless, in my humble opinion there is no such thing as true Blues radio.

This was followed by the coolest panel of the event, Historical Blues Research with Samuel Charters, Dr. David Evans, David Whiteis, and moderated by Paul Garon. David Whiteis was not as sarcastic as usual although his mordant laugh underlined his advice that a researcher "become a part of the community you are researching". Dr. Evans said it was "a back breaking effort into virgin territory" he contined "nowdays it would take 20 years to be an expert in Blues". 

Sam Charters is embarrassed by his effort in writing the historically acclaimed book from 1959 "The Country Blues" as it was a dissertation that just copied the idea and echoes the 1939 book Jazzman by William Russell along with Smith and Ramsey. He believes black scholars are angry and cites the 1988 Nelson George book and Albert Murray as great black scholars. Continuing he concluded "by and large contemporary 60's Blues and "contemporary Blues today" sound the same, and the study of Blues took place at the same 1960's time.

The stylistic issue, the definition was set in the 60's" However, Sam Charters maintains that the black music of the downtrodden that was once Blues is now Rap/Hip-Hop. He says " Every Blues singer started in the church" and he maintains that "from about 1925 on Blues was not the main force in music for blacks". He said that Choctaw Indians in Mississippi were the first to influence the field hands that started singing Blues, along with the African drumming. In exasperation this man who knows more about Blues than most anyone concludes " I'm having books rejected because I'm white". 

Black radio DJ Sylvester Oliver addressed this from the audience commenting " many black scholars are into other issues". B. B. King recently donated his archives and Prof. Oliver predicts " B.B.'s collection at U-Miss. will sit on the shelf collecting dust". In answer to Sam Charters asking if anyone knew "what is a Blues aesthetic"? " What Moves You" responded Brenda Dixon from the audience. She is the author of the book by that title soon to be released with a New Orleans perspective. 

This great panel concluded with the insouciance of Paul Garon saying " Bonnie Raitt doesn't need me", David Whiteis " It is harder and harder to place serious Blues criticism", Samuel Charters " Ragtime scholarship has been better, music sales in the 1950's to black people was 5% of the market, today its 60%". As hard as that would seem to top that panel, Jim O'Neal did a wonderful interview with David"Honey Boy"Edwards next. 

Asking Honey Boy about his time with Robert Johnson and good naturedly asking him about his {Edwards} telling people he was Robert Johnson and the gambling and drinking back then. " One time on Johnson Street in Greenwood, Mississippi I was walking with Robert Johnson in front and in about 5 or 10 minutes so many people, at Bugg's Cafe, in 1937 all fall played with him" Honey Boy also talked about Little Frank Haines and a man just known then as Wolf, who was a better guitar player than Big Joe Williams his cousin. 

Then in the evening we attended the concert out in the country in a barrelhouse juke joint near Abbeville. Honey Boy was better than usual with his "Mississippi timing" for the sardine like packed crowd along with Michael Frank on harp on some songs we heard "Boy Blue", Going Down Slow", and the Jimmy Rogers song "Thats Alright" done so well he had to repeat it again the second set.

by James VanDrisse