Playing weeks and weeks of Stormy Monday

I wasn't terrribly surprised to see that Stormy Monday is probably the most-recorded blues song of 'em all, with at least 1,134 versions out there. Without a doubt it's the most played by bar bands.

It's a great song. T-Bone Walker originally played it, and the lyrics take you through a week of the blues:

"They Call it stormy Monday,
But Tuesday's just as bad ..."

It was also the first blues I've played in public, if you don't count Miles Davis' "All Blues," which is a jazz piece from his Kind Of Blue album.

But in my first sessions on stage, this harmonica player discovered something about colliding perceptions and reality:

• All harmonica players do nothing but blues.
• All bar bands know "Stormy Monday."
• Therefore, all harp players end up playing "Stormy Monday." A lot.

It's hysterical. Every bar band in the world plays "Stormy Monday." In fact, with many it's the only blues they know. They play it to "prove" they know blues, but in actuality it just proves the band doesn't know much of anything.

So after years of playing it, and even hearing it in my sleep, I ran out of ideas. Got tired of playing it. There are only so many ways you can attack a slow-blues standard, and I probably used all of them at some point. Double-time in the solos. Long pauses and held notes, going into clusters of sixteenth-notes. I quoted other songs -- my favorite version was throwing a few notes from that other blues chestnut, "After Hours," into it. I had to do something with it. In 1994, I stopped playing it.

In a famous interview, jazz innovator Charlie Parker said he had the same feeling with "Cherokee." He'd played it so many times he could do it while nodding out (and apparently he often did). Got sick of that song. But he did break through that wall, by using the upper intervals of the chords. This gave him a larger pool of notes to work with, and he said he came alive musically at that point.

I didn't go that far; even in my fantasies there's no way I can get close to Parker's musicianship. Instead, I chose to "boycott" the song. Any time it came up on stage, I sat it out. Which was all right; I was working in more of a country/rock direction then. I'd do other blues every so often, but indulged my interest in other musical forms.

It wasn't until 10 years later that I consented to play "Stormy Monday" again. I was playing with a vocalist named Jayne Valentine, who had this really powerful, expressive voice. We also shared an intuituve musical rapport, and every time we got together on stage, sparks would fly. More than a few folks swore we were an "item," that's how high the energy level was. But one night she decided to sing T-Bone's song, and because it was someone with the talent level and emotional level of Jayne, I joined her on it. And again, the song came alive.

Working with folks like that would put muscle, blood, and breath to any song.

T-Bone is still one of the great blues guitarists, and Stormy Monday is still a great song.

I'd play it again.

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Bluegrass has a high purist quotient

Here's something I recently picked up from Twitter, and I'm running it with all the Twit hashtags intact:

digg_dugg (Douglas Whitworth): Am I really listening to a #ymsb song that has drums in it? #bluegrass fail #disappointed boys you're making monroe turn in his grave.

He's referring to Yonder Mountain String Band, a Colorado group that mixes its bluegrass with several other musical forms. This group makes no claims that they're the pure stuff. 

I had to laugh at digg_dugg's tweet. I love bluegrass, and of all the genres around, it's the most fun to play. It's a high-energy music. Almost impossible to feel the weight of the world when you're playing or listening to bluegrass. And it's tougher than it looks. While there's nothing terribly complex about bluegrass, an instrumentalist really needs some good chops to play it well.

But bluegrass probably has more purists among its players than any other type of music. Certainly more so than jazz, than country, than blues, maybe even more so than classical. A great many bluegrass players prefer to stay true to its roots.

Here's how the bluegrass purist will explain it: Bill Monroe, who is considered the father of the genre, took old string-band and gospel music, stuck a rocket engine on it, and lit it with his mandolin. Most of his early bands used flat-picked guitar, a fiddle or two, an upright bass, maybe some banjo in the background, his mando, and some great vocal harmonies.

To this day, many bluegrass pickers consider themselves traditionalists, sticking with the Monroe playbook. What's funny is that, although Ralph Stanley was another bluegrass founding father, banjo wasn't really a front-and-center instrument until Earl Scruggs arrived on the scene.

There's also an accepted way to use amplification in bluegrass: One microphone. The vocalists gather around it when they sing, and when someone takes an instrumental solo he steps up to that mic. That's how it's done, and sometimes the instrumentalists will form a line behind the soloist to take a lead.

I'll admit there's a lot of that traditionalist in me. Some years ago I saw one bluegrass band use an electric bass guitar, and immediately shut my eyes. I didn't want to see it. I believe there's a commandment against using electric bass in bluegrass. Maybe it's in Leviticus.

So I can understand what the guy on Twitter means about seeing a bluegrass band using a drum kit. Yeah, that would be enough to bring Bill Monroe out of the grave to put a stop to it.

In string band music, the thump of the bass, the guitar work, and the mandolin "chop" on the two and four beats is generally all the timekeeping you need. It's plenty. Shoot, I don't even like to see someone playing spoons, probably because I've yet to hear one play them with any sense of rhythm.

I've been involved in several late-night debates about traditional bluegrass, mostly because I play harmonica -- which is not considered one of the "genuine article" instruments. But sonically, harmonica is similar to fiddle in that you can do your double stops and sustain your tones, and the two instruments are in about the same tonal range. So most of the time I'd play fiddle lines in a bluegrass setting.

Some years ago bluegrass picker/advocate "Dr. Banjo" (Pete Wernick) created a stir in the harmonica community when he said that harp was OK for bluegrass ballads, but just doesn't sound good on your fast songs. Of course it can, and it does, but the trick -- again -- is to play fiddle runs. One of the best practitioners of this is Cara Cooke, a harmonica player in Austin, Texas. I learned a great deal by listening to her ideas on her Web site, then sitting down to listen to all the bluegrass fiddle players I could find.

For a couple of years, I worked in a bluegrass band with Lane Gregory on guitar, Wil St. John on mandolin, and Jamie McDonnell on washtub bass. "It's an original bluegrass instrument," Jamie would say of his bass. Wrong. Monroe's bands used an upright bass for those low tones. But Jamie's instrument was used for a lot of string-band stuff, which predates bluegrass, so I'll give him his props there. But then, our links to the traditionalists got blown out the window because we amplified our instruments. That's just not done.

A lot of bluegrass folks were wondering what Bela Fleck was thinking when he put together his first Flecktones band: Bela on banjo, Victor Wooten on electric (!) bass, Howard Levy on (!) harmonica, and Future Man on (!!!) synth-drumitar. Yeah, a fingertip-controlled drum machine shoved into the body of an electric guitar. An unbelievable sound, but it sure wasn't pure bluegrass. Bela never claimed that it was; it was as much jazz as it was bluegrass.

Gordon Small, a banjo picker/bassist I used to play with, was probably the biggest bluegrass purist I've ever met. He was quick to tell me what was and what wasn't bluegrass, though he liked what I was doing. But Gordon told me about seeing Bela Fleck play a few traditional bluegrass songs live, on solo banjo. He said it was straight out of the church of Monroe and Stanley. 

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(Photo: Bill Monroe set the standard that still lives on.)

Junior Wells blew up a storm on harp

It was around 1990, I was learning my way around the blues, and my friend Kathe had a CD she wanted me to hear.

Bless Kathe's heart. She had a killer voice and good stage presence, and we'd hit the jam sessions together. I'm still amazed at how she was able to belt out a song like that though she was confined to a wheelchair -- you'd really have to adjust your air column to do something like that. Shoot, just blowing a wind instrument, I can't do it sitting down. I have to play standing up.

Anyway, this album was Bonnie Raitt's first, and it had the feeling of a front-porch picking party. But Kathe wanted me to hear the harmonica player. "He kind of sounds like you," she said.

That was the first time I'd really listened to Junior Wells.

Junior's been dead since 1998, but if he was still around he'd be celebrating his 75th birthday this week. He was a gang kid when he was known as Amos Wells Blakemore Jr., but developed a reputation as a harmonica player. Still in his teens, he was with a group called The Aces.

Among Chicago blues harp players, there was one job in the world to have -- playing in Muddy Waters' band. Muddy knew talent, he knew blues, and he knew harp players. During Wells' Aces days, Muddy had Little Walter Jacobs in the harp slot -- the guy that all harmonica players try to emulate. We have 50 years' worth of harp players using Fender Bassman amps and Shure Green Bullet microphones -- modeled after a taxi mic -- for gear, and they're all trying to replicate the honking, distortion-heavy Little Walter sound.

For some reason, though, Little Walter and Wells traded jobs. Walter got The Aces, and Junior, by virtue of his seat in Muddy's band, became the heavyweight champion of harps.

After his time with Waters, Wells struck out on his own, recording songs like "Messin' With The Kid" and "Hoodoo Man Blues." But it was a long association with guitarist Buddy Guy that kept Junior active and in the forefront.

I have some tracks of Junior and Buddy together, a live set at the House Of Blues in Chicago. It was just those two, playing and singing with no real heavy equipment. Their blues were about as lean as you can get, with Guy alternating between chords and single-note runs, and Wells playing in short bursts, phrasing his stuff. Really an unconventional recording, without filler. A little hard to listen to at first because it's so stripped down, but once you get accustomed to the feel of it, an enjoyable recording.

And no, Junior didn't sound like me. He'd never even heard of me. I wouldn't mind sounding like Junior, if I couldn't sound like myself. Or something. But he was right up there with the Little Walters and Sonny Boy Williamsons in the harp world.

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(Video: With Buddy Guy and a band -- "Messin' With The Kid")

Willie and Mickey still being outlaws after all these years

I've always liked Willie Nelson. There are a lot of reasons why, but what really stands out is that he's loyal to the guys in his band.

It's not often a frontline performer will use the same musicians for decades. Many will record with a fresh set of players, and maybe tap some local talent to fill the backing band while on tour. But Mickey Raphael served as Willie's harmonica player since 1973, when Nelson was still playing local gigs. Texas football coach Darrell Royal introduced them, and Mickey knew nothing from nothing about playing country music.

“When I first got with Willie I had no country background at all,” Raphael told the Las Vegas Sun. “I had one Willie Nelson record … Of course I did this amazing crash course in country music, especially Willie’s catalog. The more I heard, the more I fell in love with his music and his style.”

At the time, Nelson had formidable credentials as a songwriter, but few knew he could sing.

Raphael's best-known work is probably Nelson's "On The Road Again" (a song every bar band knows), but it was his version of "Georgia On My Mind" that really caught my attention. He got away from the usual country-style harp there, made it bluesy, and captured several different moods in that song.

This was during Willie's period when he was struggling to pay back taxes, and he recorded some old pop songs. But while on the surface these albums may sound like a cheap attempt to make money in a hurry, they turned out to be quality stuff. To this day, I'd have to say his version of "Blue Skies" was Willie Nelson at his finest.

Willie's 76 now and looking even more weathered than ever these days, but he's still at it, while Mickey is 58. The two are now on tour, and during a show in Vegas (with Asleep At The Wheel sharing the billing) Raphael talked to Sun reporter Jerry Fink:

LVS: Willie’s underrated as a guitarist, isn’t he?

RAPHAEL:People don’t know what a great guitar player he is. Since (the band’s longtime guitarist) Jody Payne retired almost two years ago Willie’s the only guitar player in the band, and he really gets to stretch out.

LVS: Do you think Willie will ever retire?

RAPHAEL: Years ago when we were playing a lot of scary redneck joints I asked Willie, “How long do we have to play these places?” He said, “If we’re lucky, a long, long time.” He’ll play till he drops. Me, I’m just lucky to be making a living playing harmonica.

Mickey's one of my favorite harp players -- right behind guys like Lee Oskar, Howard Levy, and Charlie McCoy -- and I'm glad to see he's still blowing up a storm. With Willie, where he belongs.

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