Higher education is the bomb. The first time I heard Booker White -- better known as "Bukka," although he didn't care for the name so I won't use it here -- was in a college classroom. Senior year, I signed up for a blues history class and unexpectedly got turned on to all sorts of cool stuff. This was just before the Internet allowed any old kid to hear Jack White mention Blind Willie McTell in an interview, go home and look him up and listen to his songs. I'd heard what probably a lot of other kids my age with a thirst for music: Your icons like Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf and maybe a little Robert Johnson. To me, though, most very old music from say the 20s or early 30s was a bit inaccessible, whether due to the scratchiness or sped-up sound of the recordings or occasionally hokey content.
But until that class, I had no idea that the rock-n-roll thing really did go back so far. We started out with some jazzier stuff (Bessie Smith, Ma Rainey), but a class or two in, our professor put on Charley Patton. My mind was blown. I had never heard anything that you could so clearly trace to rock music being made today that was so old. The powerful, driving guitar with touches of flair and soulful, emotional singing can be heard in so much music that followed. There's a certain amount of polish that the lady blues singers' records have, maybe due to the multi-piece accompaniment. Patton, though, could make the hair on your neck stand up with six strings and his vocal chords.
Born in Houston, Mississippi on November 12 -- various years have been claimed, although 1906 and 1909 appear to be the most common, Booker T. Washington White was a Patton disciple. He even claimed to have met Patton, although that fact is disputed. Whether they were buddies or not, Patton passed along some of his licks to White, along with many others. In Booker's steel guitar, you can hear that chug -- on songs like "Aberdeen, Mississippi," his slide guitar sounds almost like a freight train. There's a power in both his playing and his quivering, haunting voice that, when I first heard it, gave me an impression of a strong man who had survived some rough shit.
The subject matter of White's songs were another hint. Blues lyrics are, by their nature, usually about things like loss, pain, and regret, but songs were often built on commonly appearing phrases that didn't necessarily speak to the direct experiences of the singer. Check out the David Evans book Big Road Blues for a deep exploration of the tradition of borrowed lyrics in blues music. In the case of White's "Parchman Farm Blues," however, he sings from experience:
Judge give me life this mornin' down on
Parchman Farm
Judge give me life this mornin' down on Parchman Farm
I wouldn't hate it so bad, but I left my wife in mourn
Oh, goodbye wife, all you have done gone
Oh, goodbye wife, all you have done gone
But I hope some day, you will hear my lonesome song
Oh listen you men, I don't mean no harm
Oh listen you men, I don't mean no harm
If you wanna do good, you better stay off old Parchman Farm
We got to work in the mornin', just at dawn of day
We got to work in the mornin', just at dawn of day
Just at the settin' of the sun, that's when the work is done
I'm down on Parchman Farm, but I sho' wanna go back home
I'm down on Parchman Farm, but I sho' wanna go back home
But I hope some day I will overcome
Booker White spent time at Parchman, the Mississippi State Penitentiary. On a murder conviction, no less. Somehow -- again, consensus seems to be lacking on the details -- he managed to serve only a few years. From a music fan's perspective, that was a positive development. Allmusic.com sums it up as well as I could:
Bukka White proved a model prisoner, popular with inmates and prison guards alike and earning the nickname "Barrelhouse." It was as "Washington Barrelhouse White" that White recorded two numbers for John and Alan Lomax at Parchman Farm in 1939. After earning his release in 1940, he returned to Chicago with 12 newly minted songs to record for Lester Melrose. These became the backbone of his lifelong repertoire, and the Melrose session today is regarded as the pinnacle of Bukka White's achievements on record. Among the songs he recorded on that occasion were "Parchman Farm Blues" ..., "Good Gin Blues," "Bukka's Jitterbug Swing," "Aberdeen, Mississippi Blues," and "Fixin' to Die Blues," all timeless classics of the Delta blues. -- Uncle Dave Lewis
Booker White was part of that legion of great Mississippi Delta singers that were instrumental in the migration of that brand of blues music to Chicago. Forgetting about who was there even earlier, at the birth of commercial blues recording, Charley Patton was there just ahead of other Delta greats like Tommy Johnson, Robert Johnson, Big Bill Broonzy and Son House (another one-time Parchman Farm inmate). From them it was a short step to Booker White, Skip James, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, John Lee Hooker and other artists born around 1900 who went on to record in Chicago. That sound got electrified, but the attitude stayed rough and dirty. Not too different from what B.B. King (Booker's cousin it turns out), Jimi Hendrix or The Stooges or The White Stripes would eventually bring.
To me, something like Booker White singing "Parchman Farm Blues" is a reminder of all of the elements that are missing in way too much of today's music. The raw, dirty, funky thang is one part of it. The deep, dark, sometimes raunchy vocals have loads of something that a lot of what corporate America wants you to call "soul music" lacks: soul. The singing is richly emotional. Never sterile. So if your friends are into rock but don't really know much about the history and you want to impress them, play them some of the roots. I like the way this one comment on the "Aberdeen, Mississippi" video (from gageman70) puts it:
Let me know when modern music sounds like this and I'll listen to it. But as long as they keep putting out that shit the asshats at my school listen to, I ain't listening to one fuckin' song. Except the Black Keys they're pretty good.
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