Edgar Winter - Brother Johnny

Brother Johnny is a whopper of a tribute album to his sibling from Edgar Winter.  You get 17 tracks for your spondoolicks, running to 76 minutes – a double album, in old money - and with a stellar cast of guests into the bargain.  But while much of the material is well known for having been recorded by Johnny Winter, and most of those big-name guests are guitar hotshots like Johnny, it’s worth underlining that it’s very much Edgar Winter who is the glue holding Brother Johnny together.
Edgar’s snarling vocal grabs the attention on the opening ‘Mean Town Blues’ just as much as the turbo-charged riffing, or the wicked slide solo that Joe Bonamassa whacks out over a Diddley-esque rhythmic passage.  It’s a meaty, high-energy blast of blues-rock, first recorded by Johnny in 1968, with a vibe that makes me wonder how much he may have influenced fellow Texans ZZ Top.

Edgar Winter - blowing life into the tribute to his brother Johnny

Speaking of whom, Billy Gibbons turns up to provide vocals and a solo on ‘I’m Yours And I’m Hers’, while Derek Trucks is also on hand to add a gutsy slide excursion over the driving rhythm section.  As for the aforementioned Bonamassa, he sounds completely at home on ‘Self Destructive Blues’, letting rip again both vocally and on guitar as it’s powered along by some hyperactive bass and drums from Sean Hurley and Greg Bisonette.
This is core Johnny Winter territory, and there are some other crunking examples on ‘Rock’n’Roll Hoochie Koo’, ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’, and ‘Highway 61 Revisited’.  It’s maybe a shame that Rick Derringer, who wrote it, doesn’t report for guitar duty on the first of these.  But it’s still a raunchy old thing with its distinctive descending riff, Steve Lukather giving it some welly on the solo, and Bon Jovi guitarist Phil X adding some extra zing via high-flying backing vocals.  Edgar’s roared “Yeah!” at the start of ‘ . . . Jack Flash’ is a statement of intent, heralding pounding, all-action drums, ringing rhythm guitar from Waddy Wachtel, and some helter-skelter soloing from Phil X.  All in all, it lives up to the riotous energy of that famous rendition by Johnny Winter on the Old Grey Whistle Test.  And ‘Highway 61 Revisited’ is rattling, Bob Dylan rock’n’roll, right down to the slide whistle whoops, with thumping piano and a suitably edgy vocal from Edgar, plus wailing lead guitar from Kenny Wayne Shepherd.
There’s more of this kind of thing, not least with the barely contained raw energy of ‘Guess I’ll Go Away’, which features the late lamented Taylor Hawkins supplying lead and backing vocals, and Dave Rappaport cranking out the rising-and-tumbling guitar riff and a careening solo.  But the album is leavened by some different stuff.  There’s the acoustic ‘Lone Star Blues’, an up-to-date Edgar composition on which he duets with Keb’ Mo’ for some loose and easy storytelling.  There’s ‘Stranger’, which brings together the freaky combination of Ringo Starr on drums and Joe Walsh on lead guitar, and Michael McDonald delivering a soulful vocal that’s both weary and silky. And there’s the Ray Charles ballad ‘Drown In My Own Tears’, with Edgar showing a softer vocal side against the backdrop of horns.
Does the world really need another take on ‘Johnny B. Goode’, even if it was a Johnny Winter staple?  No harm I suppose, and at least Edgar puts his own stamp on it with his rockin’ piano and muscular sax, plus a swathe of beer-drinkin’, barroom vocals.  At the other end of the spectrum is the closing ‘End Of The Line’, an elegiac Edgar Winter original backed by piano and strings.  Its sentiments may make it an understandable choice as a final salute, but its Great American Songbook stylings don’t make for the best fit.
There are tribute albums aplenty these days.  How many of them have any longevity with their audience, and how many end up as merely ephemeral celebrations of their subject?  Answers on a postcard, please.  But one thing that Brother Johnny has going for it, I reckon, is the personal commitment that Edgar Winter has invested, as curator, performer and producer.  This ain’t your ordinary, everyday tribute album - it’s a brother-to-brother thing.

Brother Johnny is released on 15 April by Quarto Valley Records, and is available digitally here.

Adventures in the South - Clarksdale, Part 1

We were about ten minutes away on Highway 61 when the iPod’s American playlist coughed up the title track of Robert Plant and Jimmy Page’s album ‘Walking Into Clarksdale’.  The song was appropriate not just because of it’s timing, but because in a sense the song was the inspiration for being here in the first place.  When the album came out I had read a feature in which Plant (I’d guess, Page being a less likely interviewee) explained the inspiration for the song.  That article gave a name to the kind of small town in the South that had real significance in the development of the blues, and also gave me the notion for the first time of travelling down the Mississippi.

A short while later we parked up to take some pictures at one of the key reasons Clarksdale has long been a key focal point in blues folklore – ‘the Crossroads’.  Later that afternoon it was to be

The Crossroads - no devil in sight

the subject of an entertaining conversation with Roger Stolle, owner of Cat’s Head Delta Blues and Folk in the town centre.  In the course of giving us some directions, Roger referred in a withering tone to “the so-called Crossroads”.  I laughed in response, and Jill asked why.  Between us Roger and I explained that people often attributed the significance of Clarksdale’s crossroads to being the location of Robert Johnson’s legendary midnight deal with the devil, but that this was nonsense.

“So why did we bother to stop there?” asked Jill.

“Oh, you’ve still got to go and get a picture!” laughed Roger.

And you do, because the real significance of the Crossroads is that is the intersection between Highway 61 and Highway 49, two key roads that carried many a bluesman out of the Deep South towards a new life in northern cities such as Chicago, during the Great Migration.  No, there’s not much to it, and precious little sense of mystique as you dodge traffic to get a picture of yourself taken with the tell-tale signage, but it’s still an iconic spot in blues history.

Leaving the crossroads, we carried on into town to the Delta Blues Museum, a neat and worthwhile attraction.  Founded back in 1979, it moved to its current location in the old railway depot in 1999, and has an interesting collection of blues memorabilia, and one key exhibit – the house in which Muddy Waters grew up at the Stovall Farm plantation, reconstructed from the original rough and ready timbers.  I say house, but it is the definitive shotgun shack, essentially one room, and with cracks between the planks of the walls that may well have been filled and covered with nothing more than paper.

There is another exhibit that can often be seen in the museum, when it’s not touring Hard Rock Cafes around the country in order to raise money – the “Muddywood Guitar” designed by Billy Gibbons and made from a cypress timber recovered from Muddy’s cabin. It’s a relatively simple but idiosyncratic design that I’d describe as a squared-off cross between a Telecaster and a Firebird, although I imagine nobody would agree with me.  Coloured white, it features a Mississippi River graphic painted on the neck and body, because as Billy Gibbons put, painting it blue would be “too corny”.

We left as a group of day tripping Stax students were scurrying around taking the place in, and as we exited I picked up a copy of Steve Cheseborough’s excellent book Blues Travelling: The Holy Sites of Delta Blues.  Have to say I’m not that interested in the gravestones of long-dead bluesmen, but the book provides a wealth of information about towns and characters instrumental in the development of the blues.

Outside Ground Zero

Strolling around the town centre, it was striking how quiet it was.  Partly this was because of the blistering midsummer heat, but it was also noticeable how many retail units lay empty.  Much of the town’s economy seems to have migrated to the strip mall outside town where our hotel was located.  But sadly the place also just seems to be up against it.

We wandered into Ground Zero, the bar and venue that gets plenty of attention because it’s co-owned by Morgan Freeman, and had a quiet drink out of the sun.  It’s a good space, with a lengthy bar down one side.  But it’s also a bit odd – a refurbished and buffed up bar that features floor to ceiling graffiti, and toilet cubicles with what seem like shower curtains for doors.  Seems to me this is taking fake authenticity a bit too far, though the place does provide another focal point for the town.

Roger Stolle’s store, meanwhile, is a treasure trove of blues and folk-art artefacts, and the man himself, a noted ambassador for the blues, is more than happy to dispense directions and advice.  When we mentioned that we were hoping to take in some music that night, he immediately produced a leaflet listing the week’s gigs, and recommended us to take in Anthony “Big A” Sherrod and the Blues All-Stars, who were playing at Red’s Blues Club.  Which, as it turned out, was a good call.

You can find Part 2 of our Clarksdale visit here.