July 1999

From the Inside Out
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By Chris M. Slawecki

Eddie Cochrane and Jerry Capehart first put it down on paper. Roger Daltrey sang it, Pete Townsend played it (and perhaps Keith Moon even lived it):

"Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do / There ain’t no cure for the Summertime Blues."

Well, damn, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. So let’s pop a cold, tall frosty, hang out on the front stoop for a spell, and talk about them Blues, shall we? Blues has always been at least a first cousin to Jazz, anyhow, if not a closer relation. Basie, Monk and Coltrane, to name just three, all loved Blue.

When I think of the Blues, I think of one city first – Chicago. Simplistic or not, I’ve come to regard ChiTown as the birthplace of modern electric Blues. The crackling, brittle yet bone-crunching sound that Chester Burnett wrenched from his soul to feed the beast called Howlin’ Wolf is, to me, the sound of Chicago. Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters, Chess Records. Deep and profound, sinister yet comforting.

So many wonderful sheer blues sounds: Mississippi John Hurt’s simple, almost hymn-like gentility and reverence. Big Joe Williams and Big Joe Turner, big bad boasters and toasters with vocal boom-boxes built right in, installed at birth. Dixon’s hard-driving bass, as huge as a house. John Lee Hooker’s graveled stomp, and Little Walter Jacob’s throbbing harmonica moans and howls.

The modern Chicago sound? Bruce Iglauer’s Alligator Records label has been among its premier havens for nearly three decades. Such is the transcendent and transforming power of the Blues: Just out of college in the early 1970s, Iglauer went to work for Delmark Records. He also began to frequent shows by a blues trio led by guitarist Hound Dog Taylor (& The Houserockers) at a little South Side joint called Florence’s every Sunday afternoon. Incredulous that not one label would step up to the plate to capture Taylor’s energetic Blues, Iglauer formed Alligator Records for the express purpose of putting out Hound Dog’s music. He recorded two such dates in 1971, and Alligator was born.

The raucous Taylor & The Houserockers recorded two more albums for Iglauer before the guitarist died of cancer in 1975, but by then Alligator had found its stride (and motto, "Genuine Houserockin’ Music," in Taylor’s honor). In the booklet which accompanied the label’s 25th anniversary (in 1996), Iglauer wrote: "Our roots are firmly in the raw Chicago blues tradition, but over our 25 years we’ve branched out to include music not only from Louisiana and California, but also from Texas, Virginia, Georgia, Florida, New York and even Australia. Alligator’s musicians represent the whole spectrum of the blues, from the tough Chicago sound to zydeco, roots rock, West Coast jump and swing, Delta and Piedmont style acoustic blues, West Texas shuffle and socially conscious New York Funk."

Twenty eight years is long enough to construct quite the back catalog of released and unreleased material, and earlier this year the Alligator began releasing Deluxe Edition compilation sets of its artists. The first three releases spotlighted label inspiration Taylor, West Coast Blues ace harmonica player William Clarke, and Katie Webster, "The Swamp Boogie Queen."

William Clarke: Deluxe Edition heralds a voice that was heard too late then silenced too soon. Clarke released about half a dozen independent records before signing with Alligator in 1991. "Must Be Jelly" from his label debut that same year, Blowin’ Like Hell, merely copped the W. C. Handy "Song of the Year" Award. His fourth and final Alligator set, The Hard Way (1996) featured tracks first recorded by Roy Brown and Muddy Waters; Clarke wrote in its notes that "The Boss" was inspired Willis "Gator" Jackson (Both "Jelly" and "Boss" are included on Deluxe). Clarke played hard and lived hard, and died from living on the Blues road at age 45 on an operating table.

Clarke: Deluxe also includes Clarke’s menacing take on Muddy’s "Evil" and Sleepy John Estes’ "Broke and Hungry," along with tunes both comic ("Blowin’ The Family Jewels," "Pawnshop Bound" and the standard "Easter Bunny Boogie") and forlorn ("This Is My Last Goodbye" and "Somebody Is Calling Me Home"), and more emotive blowin’ from Clarke than a Class One hurricane.

Katie Webster’s tale of growth into "The Swamp Boogie Queen" also echoes a pattern familiar in the blues – banned from playing or even listening to "the devil’s music" at home, she grew sly on the sly, and moved from her Houston birthplace to Louisiana while very young to pursue music. She ended up a session favorite for such Bluesmen as Slim Harpo and Lonesome Sundown when recording for small indie labels in Louisiana, and also toured as part of Otis Redding and Rockin’ Sydney shows (Webster was pregnant and had to turn down a spot in Redding’s 1967 touring band, the year he and his support band – The Bar-Kays – were killed in a plane crash traveling between shows).

Webster: Deluxe seems to cut a little more deep and soulful, and it’s not just from Webster’s two-fisted renderings of such soul classics as "Sea of Love" and Reddings’ "Try A Little Tenderness." It comes just as much from the steamrollin’ thump delivered by her opposite-sex rewrite of "Hoochie Coochie Man," titled "I’m Bad" ("I don’t mean like Michael Jackson, either, baby" she groans), the fleet New Orleans "C. Q. Boogie, " or the stately yet downhome "It’s Mighty Hard," an ain’t-no-doubt-about-it Blues. Webster suffered a stroke a few years ago that deprived her of some vision and motor skills, but she still occasionally performs at festivals; on record and in person, her beat rocks on.

Taylor, whose roots reach back to formative days with Elmore James, Sonny Boy Williamson and Robert Jr. Lockwood, was merely the label’s inspiration and foundation, simultaneously Alligator’s king and jester. Robert Christgau once described The Houserockers as "The Ramones of the Blues," which is funny because it’s true: Too fast, too loud, too ragged – and no bass player, just Hound Dog and Brewer Phillips on guitar with Ted Harvey pounding the skins, and enough energy to light up a New York City Fourth of July. What Taylor: Deluxe sometimes wants in precision and technique, there’s tons of spirited abandon, with the full-tilt boogie "Walking The Ceiling" instrumental a perfect example. James’ "The Sun Is Shining" lurches and wobbles painfully to start, but as Taylor begins to find footing with the first line, there ensues a majestic Blue riot that sounds much too powerful to be generated by only three members of a trio.

Taylor’s "Roll Your Moneymaker," "Give Me Back My Wig," "See Me In The Evening" and "Take Five" have become part of the modern Blues lexicon, and Deluxe presents them in rip-roaring fashion. Taylor could slow-boil a Blues too, as in this broke-down yet scalding "Ain’t It Lonesome?," the tragic, inevitable sound of a man’s soul falling apart.

In 1998, Alligator released Hound Dog Taylor: A Tribute, a compilation of Hound Dog cover versions by such friends and fans as Gov’t Mule, Magic Slim & The Teardrops and Luther Allison, to benefit Taylor’s widow and The Blues Community Foundation, which aids needy Blues musicians and Blues education and awareness programs.