So I just got back from Hawaii, and I've decided to do a few pieces on Chuck Berry and Hawaii, so I googled some, and found this cool entry"
"The day ended with a Fourth of July celebration on the beach -- a magnificent dinner followed by a surprise performance from Academy member Chuck Berry. The student delegates cheered with delight as the Father of Rock and Roll mounted the seaside stage, placed for the occasion on a gleaming white sand dune, framed by a beautiful Hawaiian sunset. Still vigorous and mischievous in his 80s, Berry tore his way through some of his signature hits, "Roll Over Beethoven," "Round and Round," and "Rock and Roll Music." Academy members and student delegates soon crowded the illuminated dance floor, twisting and twirling to the original rock classics, played by the man who wrote them and first made them famous. Rolling Stone magazine has recently named Berry's tune "Johnny B. Goode" the "Greatest Guitar Song of All Time." When Berry and the band ripped into this number, the crowd overflowed onto the stage, and the bandstand was soon jammed with gleeful dancers. Just as the song reached a furiously rocking climax, spectacular fireworks erupted over the sea, lighting the sky with brilliant colors. When Chuck Berry finally left the stage, to a well-deserved ovation, the patriotic strains of John Philip Sousa's "Stars and Stripes Forever" filled the air, and a marching line, led by Frank McCourt and Sally Field, jubilantly circled the stage. For visitors to the United States, the occasion provided an incomparable insight into the irrepressible American spirit; for U.S. citizens, it was as glorious a Fourth of July as one could ever hope to see."
That excerpt and photo come from this site: http://www.achievement.org/autodoc/pagegen/newsletter/2008/ When Chuck Berry is followed by Frank McCourt, and when Bill Russell and Desmond Tutu are in attendance, too, life is pretty interesting. (I don't think this club would let me be a member!)
It seems, at first glance, like an amazing organization. I'll have to learn more. And I'm glad that our man is a member. Search and you'll find that he has appeared there frequently, including this time with another favorite of mine. http://www.achievement.org/newsletter/2003/news-12.pdf
Anyway-- when I've caught up with other stuff, I'll go back to Blues for Hawaiians, and Surfing Steel, and see what Mr. Berry has to say about Hawaii.
In continuing my examination of all things Hawaiian, I finally have to disagree with Fred Rothwell. In his liner notes to "You Never Can Tell: The Complete Chess Recordings 1960 - 1965" he calls "Surfin' Steel "a superior version of 'Deep Feeling' from three years earlier."
He's half right, half wrong.
First, there's nothing superior to "Deep Feeling." "Deep Feeling" is up there with anything Chuck Berry ever did. I remember a friend who heard "Deep Feeling " on a blues radio show in the early 1970s. This friend didn't really know Chuck Berry and was a bit contemptuous of my interest. Then he heard "Deep Feeling." Then he heard who played it. And he changed his mind. "Deep Feeling" really is deep. For Chuck Berry blues it's matched only by "Wee Wee Hours" and "Have Mercy Judge," and the three cuts would have made Chuck Berry a somebody in the blues world all by themselves.
But I finally really listened to these two "Hawaiian" "Surfin'" songs, playing them one after the other instead of miles apart on different disks and I can report that "Surfin' Steel" is:
A superior version of "Blues for Hawaiians." "Blues for Hawaiians" is almost like a demo-- with the piano doing simple chords throughout, and a screech of reverb in the middle. "Surfing Steel" is more refined, and structured a little differently. But they are pretty much the same tune.
But when it comes to the blues, both cuts pale compared to the shatteringly deadly version Chuck Berry plays at the end of "Hail! Hail!" ("Blues for Missourians?") as the cameral flies in over the dirty swimming pool into the empty clubhouse.
My view: while "Deep Feeling" and "Mad Lad" stand apart, the other three (including that stark live one that ends "Hail! Hail!") are versions of the same tune. (And those strawberries-- pre-genetic engineering!)
I'm on vacation-- and learning how not to blog every day. But yesterday we stopped at the Hanalei Community Center and saw/heard Doug McMaster play Hawaiian Slack Key Guitar with his wife accompanying him on ukelele. If you're in Kauai on a Friday or Sunday afternoon, you should plunk down $20 and check it out. This is a beautiful, homespun version of guitar that shares a lot with fingerpicking by people like Mississippi John Hurt and Elizabeth Cotton and the open tunings of people like Muddy Waters. Believe it or not, there's a bit of commonality with our man Chuck Berry, too, with lots of double string picking on the "lead" parts. Anyway, it's beautiful stuff-- and McMaster is well named, since he's certainly mastered it. Check out their website here.
One of the problems with Chuck Berry albums is that they tend to be a hodgepodge. In the early days, when the backup musicians were all Chess stalwarts, that didn’t make a big difference. But later it did. San Francisco Dues had a couple of older songs thrown in that didn’t quite fit. Bio had music from two different bands—a group of local St. Louis musicians, and musicians from Elephant’s Memory.
Now that I’ve heard what was actually recorded (on the wonderful "Have Mercy" package), I would love to step back in time and fix a few things—starting after The London Sessions.
Instead of mixing and matching on Bio, I would have issued an interim album between London Sessions and Bio. It would have been a bit of a mish-mash—but I think it would have been a game changer of sorts. The list?
(Side One) (Remember, this was going to be an LP)
Got it and Gone
Annie Lou*
Me and My Country*
South of the Border (live)*
Sue Answer
(Side Two)
Roll ‘em Pete (live single edit)
Blues #1*
A Deuce
(The songs with an * were never released until now.)
This would have been a good follow-up to London Sessions.
For people who first learned of Chuck Berry from that half live album, there’s one half-live song—“Roll ‘em Pete.”
For people who liked the sexy humor of “Ding-a-Ling” and “Reelin’,” there’s a funny, live version of “South of the Border.”
For people who want to hear Chuck Berry do something completely different, there’s the solo version of “Annie Lou.” As I’ve said, I think this finger-picked Chuck Berry blues would have expanded the conception of who and what Chuck Berry is.
For grown-ups generally—“Blues # 1,” a dynamite instrumental with two keyboards that both duel and complement each other. I’d love to know who’s playing. My guess is that it isn’t Johnnie Johnson on the acoustic—there are none of his frilly rills. And the electric piano is biting. Is this Baldori and Leake teaming up again? Who knows—but it’s good enough that Chuck Berry spends most of the cut happily playing sideman.
My album would have put “A Deuce” with the songs it was recorded with, instead of squeezing it onto a much later album. It would have a good rocker in “Got it and Gone.” It would have the funny “Sue Answer.” And it would have the interesting “Me and My Country.”
Only Chuck Berry knows exactly what this song is about. It almost sounds like the song he wrote to tell the world he was about to start cheating on his taxes! (He doesn’t want to buy, beg or steal, but he’ll do what he has to to give her what she wants). But it starts out absolutely nailing it with the lines:
I love my country
Its aims and intent
I believe in the system
As they have it in print
That’s a pretty profound line, since it’s easier to believe in the U.S. Constitution as written than the way we often abuse it.
Anyway—it’s close to being a really good song, and although I have a bit of trouble following its logic, it’s good enough, and interesting enough, that it should have come out. And the two blues DEFINITELY should have come out.
So there. And then, with Bio, you put on the two perfectly serviceable songs from the Elephant’s Memory sessions that were never realeased until now--"One Sixty Nine AM," and "Roll Away"-- and you have an album as cohesive as—Back Home.
Ah, but nobody asked me. Which means I got to experience the pleasure of delay time.
I've been paying attention first to all the stuff we've never heard-- but the real beauty of this collection is that it brings back the material from albums like Back Home, San Francisco Dues, The London Sessions, Bio, and Chuck Berry, and puts it all up for reconsideration. I've always loved those albums. They were part of my original "discovery" of Chuck Berry. But recently I played them more in memory than on disk because my copies were battered, worn and a bit troublesome (I hardly use a turntable anymore). But today I drove around town listening to "Flying Home," and "Fish and Chips," and "Oh Louisiana," and it made my commute that much sweeter. Even some of the songs I thought I no longer cared for ("Festival?" "I'm a Rocker") were suddenly new again. (When have I heard them in my car? Some of these-- never!) A few weeks ago I said I didn't like the album called Chuck Berry that much. But I'm reconsidering-- especially having heard some of the stuff that was recorded but wasn't put on the record-- like "Jambalaya," and "Dust My Broom." My brain is rolling all over this stuff. I ponder the way I would have packaged it. (I would have put two more songs with Elephant's Memory on Bio and slid some of the small group stuff to another record.
Wow! Double Wow! Just moments ago the Drummer from Butch Whacks and the Glass Packs-- the "fifties" band that backed Chuck Berry at my own personal favorite Chuck Berry concert back in 1974 just added to my old post on that show with vivid memories of his own. (You know he's good because he survived the Chuck Berry "no-setlist, you-guess-the-key"experience with good memories, dignity intact, and even got a handshake from our man mid-beat! And he tells me there are PICTURES from that show on the Butch Whacks website! Wow! Find his comments, and my original post by clicking right here! Thank you Mr. Moore! Please-- be in touch! (And lo! And behold! Here are the pictures!)
After 40 years and a couple weeks I finally got my copy of “Have Mercy” and I haven’t listened to the whole thing yet. I haven’t had time. But I keep jumping here and there, sampling the stuff I’ve never heard, and listening to a few old favorites. Here are some notes from memory.
First—the package is great. There are notes by Fred Rothwell, and several photographs I’ve never seen, including a couple “new” ones from the cravat and paisley jacket photographs that once graced the centerfold of the original London Sessions album. (There’s one of them here where I’d wager he’s just coming up from the "splits" photo shown on the cover. He's snapping his right fingers.) But my favorite might be a color shot of CB in headphones that hearkens (me) back to my original Chuck Berry centerfold—old black and white shots from inside The Golden Decade showing CB at work in the studio. There’s something sort of cool about seeing Chuck Berry sitting down with his guitar. It’s a vision of Johnny B. Goode, himself-- and I think he should add it to his stage show—a chair, a tree, a railroad track, and a few quiet moments of ballads and blues suitable for an elder statesman of rock and roll.
Which brings us to “Annie Lou.” Fred Rothwell game me a preview of this one, describing it as an intimate blues number—but I had no idea how much I’d like it. The song itself is run of the mill blues—not “Wee Wee Hours,” not “Have Mercy Judge,” not “Stormy Monday” or “How Blue Can You Get.” But the performance is special, if only because it’s a look at and a listn to a Chuck Berry we never get to see or hear. You can’t second guess a genius, but I wish he’d have slowed down his shows once in a while to pull something like this out of his hat, or a few ballads, or whatever moved him. In this cut he plays blues the old fashioned way—alone, just him and his guitar—and it’s beautiful. He was always just a step from the Delta anyway. The opening riff of “Wee Wee Hours,” with its bass bottoming out on a low D, is pure Muddy Waters Delta Blues done East St. Louis nightlife style. Here the nightlife is gone—and if it isn’t delta blues, it’s Wentzville livingroom blues, the sort of thing that I imagine Chuck Berry fingering when there are no fans around. It’s, to me, the reason to buy this collection.
Of course, there are a few duds. Sometimes “complete” means too much. Chuck Berry always seemed to want to set up the joke of “My Ding-a-Ling” by playing it straight as album filler. Thus the old “My Tamborine,” and thus, I guess, the studio version of “Ding-a-Ling” from the sessions that brought us “Tulane” and “Have Mercy Judge.” Have mercy, indeed. It’s one thing to hear “Ding-a-Ling” on the lengthy live cut from the Coventry concert that became London Sessions, but it’s torture to hear it in the studio. I didn’t make it through the entire cut before starting a tradition that will endure by hitting the forward button.
But there are other songs from those sessions that are worth hearing. A couple versions of the instrumental “Gun” show that they picked the right one for the album. One is too fast. The other is too slow. The album cut is just right.
And there’s a song called “untitled instrumental” that seems like an early version of the song that would become “Some People.” There’s an uncredited organ that I assume is played by Bob Baldori—a rare thing on a Chuck Berry record, and nice to hear. And although I don’t think too unkindly about the lyrics to “Some People” (he probably wrote them between sessions) the song works well as an instrumental.
Another “new” one from the Back Home sessions is “That’s None of Your Business.” It’s a good song with a vaguely weird and cluttered arrangement. I think if they had tried a few more times they might have had something—but it’s not my business to say.
That’s all for now. I’ve got to get to work. And I’ve got to listen a lot more. But there’s a lot more to listen to: a couple of decent cuts from the sessions with Elephant’s Memory. An early version of "Poem" from San Fancisco Dues-- this one called "My Pad" and done without accompaniment. A surprisingly clunky bunch of live songs from the Coventry concert that produced a couple of classics. Some interesting, previously unreleased songs from the sessions that became the 1975 album Chuck Berry, including, notably, Hank Williams’ “Jambalaya” and Robert Johnson’s “Dust My Broom.” I wish they’d been included on that album.
So it finally arrived, and I went straight for pay dirt—a blues “Annie Lou” performed (I think!) solo by Chuck Berry.
Annie Lou
You know how much I love you, Annie Lou
Annie Lou
You know how much I love you, Annie Lou
What makes you treat me, treat me
The way you do?
Maybe it was just a warm up, or a demo. But this one should have been released. It would have broadened the conception of who and what Chuck Berry is.
There’s nothing here but a quiet guitar—I think just one—and a quiet voice (you know the one).
I once wrote that it is a straight shot from Robert Johnson to Chuck Berry. Well—here’s proof. This is Chuck Berry as a traditional bluesman—or perhaps just Chuck Berry in his own living room, which might be more or less the same thing. It opens with the blues intro that Chuck Berry used often in the early 1970s-- i.e., "Mean Old World," "Have Mercy Judge." I’ve listened three or four times since ripping the package open and can’t tell if there’s overdubbing, or if Chuck Berry is actually finger picking, or if (as I suspect) he’s doing all this himself in one take with his thumbs and a pick—but however it’s done it’s beautiful-- with a quiet guitar bass line punctuated by Chuck Berry’s patented double string blues riffs and a searing riff or two right out of Lightning Hopkins.
It’s amazing to me that this one (along with “Have Mercy Judge,” and “Mean Old World”) wasn’t included on the misguided release called "Blues," because, like “Wee Wee Hours” and those others, it is one of Chuck Berry’s most authentic blues recordings ever.
And this one is special because it is Chuck alone, in a way I've never heard him-- just him and his guitar. It's like those quiet moments in the film "Hail! Hail!" but this time it's blues instead of ballads. I love it.
I haven’t listened to anything else on the four disk package yet—but this song is worth the wait, and worth the $90 I paid to get the records sent to me by snail mail.
More later. Got to ride in my automobile and listen to the rest of this set!
"The note would come a little delayed. In the course of a fraction of a second the listener subliminally misses the note, begs for it, and then is satisfied."
I got my first Chuck Berry albums in the early 1970s. I have a soft spot for that stuff. I have a hankering for the stuff he recorded then that I've never heard.
But talk about delay time. I ordered it from Hip-O Select weeks ago, hoping to be the first one on my block to hear it.
"Between about 1940 and 1960, one high school in St. Louis produced a Wimbledon champion, two Rock and Roll Hall of Famers, an Emmy-winning actor and a famous comedian and activist."
That's how the story begins. But the halls where Chuck Berry, Tina Turner, Arthur Ashe and Dick Gregory were ballin' the jack might soon close. Here's the Story.
We regret to inform you that there is a delay in receiving Chuck Berry's "Have Mercy- His Complete Chess Recordings 1969-1974". We hope to have this item in our warehouse by mid-week and will begin shipping orders as soon as the product arrives. You will receive an shipment notification within 24 hours once the orders have been processed.
When I first discovered Chuck Berry he was not exactly at the peak of his success, but he was hanging in there, as usual. I first saw him in 1969 or 1970 on The Mike Douglas Show. I think I saw him at least three or four times on that show, and I respect Douglas a lot for actually sitting down and talking to the man. (Some “talk shows” treat musicians like idiots—they let them play but not talk. I want both.)
Then, of course, I saw him live, probably the same year, at the Sacramento Memorial Auditorium. If you’re a Chuck Berry fan you’ve probably seen the poster floating round on the internet for Chuck Berry and Louis Jordan at the same auditorium in 1957. I bet that show was thrilling. It certainly wasn’t one of the 45 minute shows people sometimes stupidly complain about—the poster says it’ll go on till 1:00 am, way past Sacramento’s bedtime. And it had to be one of Sacramento’s most diverse events ever—at least during the city’s first 150 years. (These days Sacramento’s population makes you proud to be an American—every shade and nationality of person). It had to be dazzling. Which would go a long way to explaining the blueful look on Chuck Berry’s face as he sang to four or five hundred people scattered through the same hall 13 years later. We all loved him, but there weren’t very many of us.
Chuck Berry was still well known among people a little older than me. I was the youngest of seven children. My oldest brothers and sisters grew up with his hits. I was born after Maybellene and the first Chuck Berry songs I knew well were Beatle songs. (Live and learn). I was always pleased when my brother Stevo told me that “No Particular Place to Go” had been a hit when my mother packed six of us into a 1963 Chevrolet Impala station wagon and drove us 2500 miles to see the seventh (or first, depending on your perspective.) Being youngest (yes, definitely the seventh son) I spent all 5000 miles in the rear facing third row seat half mile or so from the single dashboard speaker rattling around the front of the car. If I ever heard “No Particular Place to Go,” or “Nadine” or “Promised Land” when they were hits it was subliminal.
(The real wonder is that we were driving 2500 miles from the promised land of California to Warrenton, Missouri, a town about ten miles from Wentzville and Berry Park. We passed through Wentzville on the way to see the Arch in St. Louis.)
So I am from a younger generation than the original Chuck Berry fans, and when I became obsessed myself I was alone in my age group—at least among my small circle of friends and acquaintances.
But then two things happened. First (I think) Chuck Berry was invited by John Lennon to appear on the Mike Douglas show. By then I was a “long time” fan of at least two years (15% of my life!”) I was thrilled to see a Beatle fawning over my idol.
And then The London Sessions—a mammoth hit that made everyone my age know who Chuck Berry was. Suddenly my weird obsession was mainstream.
The amazing thing about Chuck Berry’s career is that it has just kept going and going. Sometimes the records sell, sometimes not so well, but he keeps putting it out there at pretty much the same level for all comers. True, the first 30 or so songs were at a level of quality that’s pretty much unsustainable. But every song has been a good one, and just about every album has had a least a couple of songs as good as the first 30.
And he’s been out there playing the whole time—putting on a live show of real music that is becoming increasingly rare.
Keep a good thought for Etta James, who is ill. (One of my favorite things is Chuck Berry, in the outtakes of "Hail! Hail!" crawling on his knees to Etta after she does a blues number. "I didn't know you!" he cries.)
It was before videos, and of course I went to see "Let The Good Times Roll" about 10 times, even taking my mom once. In addition to the music, which was very good, it was a chance to see my hero wander through the backwoods of Berry Park, scraping paint from an old bus that he'd bought in San Jose. I loved it. And I saw shows end this way at least four times in the early 1970s (although never with Bo Diddley on stage!)-- him singing in French, then translating, then launching "Johnny," then feigning surprise as we all sang and clapped madly, then backing off stage, bowing, the guitar held in front of him like an offering. (Later the ending became "House Lights" with its refrain of "Do you want us to quit?")
No Chuck, we don't. We never do. You always leave us wanting just a bit more-- which is, I'm sure, the key to your longevity!
For seven years, from 1973 until 1980, Bob Margolin lived his dream by playing guitar with the Muddy Waters band. Muddy had him stand to his right so he could lean in and watch Muddy play. I first became interested in Margolin while reading "Can't Be Satisfied," the biography of Muddy Waters, sometime last year. One quote and one story stood out for me. I reproduced part of the quote below-- a long, slow, climactic description of Muddy Waters performing the song "Two Trains Running" that shows the effect of truly great art on our lives. The other story had to do with a guitar lesson, hollered and sung from the kitchen by the master himself. It turns out that both stories came from a single source-- Margolin's own article about knowing Muddy, called "Can't Be Satisfied." The title comes from Muddy Waters first record at Chess (the same song Margolin was playing in the living room when Waters yelled his corrections).
Like Robert Lohr, Bob Baldori and Daryl Davis, Bob Margolin surprised me be agreeing to share some of his thoughts about the music he loves and his working with his hero with a tiny blog. Each of these musicians is from a second, internet savvy generation of blues musicians, each was touched by real greatness, and each one is pretty great himself. It's amazing that they each see fit to share the experience.
On your website you say that you started out playing Chuck Berry music as a kid, and that got you to the blues. Can you describe that journey?
I listened to Rock ‘n’ Roll music on the radio since the late ‘50s when I was a kid and I sure liked it better than the classical music or Broadway musicals my parents listened to. I started playing guitar in 1964, when I was fifteen. I took lessons but quickly stopped because they taught me how to read music and play mostly standards. I could learn how to play Chuck Berry music by listening to his records and finding the notes on the guitar. His style featured lots of what guitarists call “double stops,” – two notes played at the same time, usually with one finger hitting both strings. It showed me the harmonic relationships of the notes. It was pretty easy to find them. Eventually I wanted to play Blues, which was a lot like Chuck Berry songs but on a slower groove and without the double stops.
How old were you when you started playing in serious blues bands?
I was in bands from 1965 on, and some of them played some Blues songs. In a psychedelic band from Boston that I was in called The Freeborne, I wrote a bluesy style song for the album we made in 1967. I was in some bands you could call Blues Rock, but the first serious all-Blues band I played in was Luther “Georgia Boy” “Snake” Johnson’s. Luther had been in Muddy’s band, moved to Boston to start his own band, and ran it like a minor league Muddy Waters Band. This was in late 1971 – early 1972. We played six sets a night six days a week with a 3-set matinee on Sunday and it was intenseley educational as well as an interesting experience.
Then one day you find yourself in the biggest of all blues bands. How did that happen?
Naturally I get asked this often, and I tell the story the same way each time because it doesn’t change. I had been in bands that opened up shows for Muddy Waters, who was the musician who inspired me the most. I’d met Muddy on those gigs, and he was encouraging because I was trying to play the “Old School” Chicago Blues that he played. In August, 1973 he started a week-long run at a club in Boston and I was there to see him early on the first night. It turned out he had fired a guitar player the night before and so I popped up in the right place, right time. But I also already loved his music, had some experience playing it, and was ready to make the most of the opportunity to do my job well and to learn about playing Blues directly from the musician I admired most.
Had Muddy Waters been one of your heroes before you met him? And if so, what was it like to be working with him?
Absolutely. When I first heard Muddy on a radio show I was moved by his disticnctive vocal tone and I thought his slide guitar player was great too. Came to find it was Muddy playing electric slide. Naturally I didn’t often play slide when I was in Muddy’s band, that’s what he did, but I listened and tried to learn. I tried to use the situation to give Muddy what he wanted on the bandstand and learn as much as possible for my own musical development too.
There is something a little miraculous about growing up and working with your hero.
Naturally it doesn’t happen that way for many. I appreciated it fully from the second the possibility arose to right now. Though I have lots of musical interests and influences, I try not to let Muddy down.
Did you meet or play with any of the other giants from Chess Records?
I was in Muddy’s band, not anyone else’s, but often legendary musicians like Willie Dixon or James Cotton, Junior Wells, Buddy Guy, Jimmy Rogers, and Big Walter Horton would sit in with us. Beyond Chess, there were a lot of Blues-loving rock stars that jammed too: The Allman Brothers, Eric Clapton, Johnny Winter, The Band...
There are great blues musicians all over—but I find it amazing how many wound up at Chess in the 1950s. Have you got an explanation for that?
There was a Chicago Blues Sound that most of the Chess artists represented. But then again Etta James’s Chess hits had strings and orchestras in them. And Elmore James and Jimmy Reed were not on Chess, though their music is classic Chicago Blues.
Did you see Cadillac Records? Did it ring true to you at all?
I found Cadillac Records to be enjoyable because the characters and music were familiar to me, but because I know a lot about the Chess Records story and knew some of the players personally, I found it jarring when a detail of the film didn’t ring true. In particular I don’t think the film captured Muddy well. Muddy had a dignity and charisma that didn’t come through.
In your article “Can’t Be Satisfied” you talk about what you call Muddy Waters’ “’Delay Time,’ his extremely ‘behind-the-beat’ rhythmic approach.” Can you put that in words for us, or give us an example from one of Muddy Waters’ recordings?
On really slow Blues songs, the length of the delay would really be exaggerated. Rather than singing or playing right on the one-two-three-four beat, the note would come a little delayed. In the course of a fraction of a second the listener subliminally misses the note, begs for it, and then is satisfied. It’s a very sensual and sexual way to play music.
What are some of your favorite musical moments after the Muddy Waters days?
It’s tempting to name famous people we played with, but truly, the biggest thrill was just to play Blues with Muddy Waters and use what I learned from him to support him as much as I could.
You’re a really good writer with wonderful stories to tell. Any thoughts of a book?
Yes, I’ve been working on a book that will have some of my Blues Revue columns, some old and new photographs, and some Blues Fiction that I’ve written. It’s conceived and coming along well as I choose what to include and how to organize it and write transitional stories and captions.
Anything else?
I love how Blues music brings all kinds of people together – nationalities, ages, gender, income. There are so many things that divide us, it’s a social as well as a musical thrill to see so many kinds of folks loving Blues music. For me, I still feel like I’m practicing a religious rite when I play a Chuck Berry song, for the worth of the music, its history, and it’s importance as a gateway for me.
One of the things that amazes me about doing this website is the way so many people have shared their love and respect for Chuck Berry with me (and you). Doug from Iowa keeps sending videos I'd never find by myself. Musicians Bob Lohr, Robert Baldori and Daryl Davis each shared stories and thoughts about working with Chuck Berry. Two professional photographers in England let me use great pictures they'd taken. Other Peter shared his story of being a fantatical Chuck Berry fan. Author Fred Rothwell agreed to be interviewed and told how he began writing about Chuck Berry. So I shouldn't be too surprised by the continuing acts of kindness. The other day I read about a concert to benefit North Carolina blues singer Sheila Carlisle and saw that Muddy Waters' former guitarist Bob Margolin was performing. I remembered Margolin for an amazing quote in the book "Can't Be Satisfied" about hearing (and helping) Muddy Waters perform the song "Two Trains Running." It turns out that the quote was taken from an article by Margolin in Blues Revue. Margolin wrote:
"At the end of the verse where he sang,
Well they say she’s no good, but she’s all right
Muddy suddenly broke double-time and began to chant:
She’s all right, she’s all right She’s all right, she’s all right
...over the band’s jumping, one-chord pattern. But every time Muddy sang the line, he sang it more intensely. He put progressively more power and meaning into the same phrase, over and over. For ten minutes, he built steadily until it seemed like we would all explode. When he cut his arm down and ended the song, we were all dropped back onto the ground, to pick up the shattered pieces of our little lives and go on as best we could."
It's one of the best stories I've ever read about being in the presence of truly great art. The story can't be beat. You can find it right here! along with a story about a guitar lesson from Muddy Waters.
When I saw Margolin's address at the bottom of his website I wrote him an e-mail. He sent me the picture of my hero Chuck Berry that you see above. Margolin took it in England in 1979. You get the feeling it had been a pretty good show.
This is a weird, fuzzy, somewhat unexpected and dreamlike sequence where John Denver and Chuck Berry perform for the Today Show audience in 1986. It's a pretty game performance since there seemed to be no microphones and the two stars had to use clip-on lapel mikes from Jane Pauley and Bryant Gumbel-- and then the weathercaster shows up on stage with a puppy. Kind of nice, though. Thanks again to Doug.
When I googled Chuck Berry news this evening, I found stories about someone wonderful that I'd never heard of. And they're throwing an old fashioned fund raiser for her because our people know how to take care of each other, even if our country can't manage to take care of its own. Sheila Carlisle is a blues singer from North Carolina who, evidently, has worked with B.B. King, Lightnin' Hopkins, Gatemouth Brown, Delbert McClinton, Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry. She's ill. She's uninsured. Former Muddy Waters' guitarist Bob Margolin is playing at the fundraiser. (I think it was Margolin, in the biography of Muddy Waters, who is quoted giving one of the most profound remarks about greatness that I've ever read. I've meant to quote it here someday. I will soon.) You can read about the benefit Here. You can read more about Ms. Carlisle Here. You can read about Margolin Here.
Here's Sheila Carlisle doing a little Robert Johnson, Carlisle Style. (Max Drake on slide guitar).
I asked Fred Rothwell for his memories of a memoriable Chuck Berry concert, and he sent this review.
The Empire Rocks Back Chuck Berry at the Shepherds Bush Empire 9th June 2002 by Fred Rothwell
It is hard to believe but Chuck Berry has not had a studio recorded release issued since the Atco album 'Rockit' came out in 1979. There have, of course, been numerous live recordings of his concerts in the intervening years, most of them of a dubious provenance, and one very weird duet with Jamaican 'rude boy', Shabba Ranks which needs to be heard to be believed. He has, however, kept active; a regular level of one-night stands played with pick-up bands has kept his chops on form. Berry's contractual stipulation for the band is 'they must be professional musicians who know Chuck Berry music' – no problem there then as the terms 'guitarists' 'rock and roll' and 'Chuck Berry' are synonymous. He also plays a regular monthly club date at the 'Blueberry Hill' in his hometown of St. Louis to great acclaim and this gig at the relatively small Shepherds Bush Empire is about as close as we are likely to get to a club atmosphere this side of the pond. To add to the anticipation, Chuck has a whole CD's worth of new compositions in the can and waiting to be released. Titles such as ‘Lady B. Good’, ‘Jamaica Moon’ and ‘Hell Bound Train’ don't perhaps need much second guessing as to how they will sound but one's called ‘Dutchman’, ‘The Big Boys’ and ‘Loco Joe’ are more than intriguing. So, would we be treated to some new stuff or would we get the tired old retreads from those bygone days of old?
At the contracted time of 9.30 to little fanfare but a tremendous cheer, Chuck appeared on stage followed by just three musicians, piano, bass and drums - no rhythm guitarist so he was going to have to double up on his trusty Gibson. He did, however, have the assurance of his long-time bassist and European travelling companion Jim Marsala. Without any introduction Chuck cranked out the well-worn guitar intro to 'Roll Over Beethoven' and we were up and rockin'. No matter how familiar the introduction, or how many times you might have heard it, to see those enormous hand slide effortlessly up the fret-board and hear those notes ring out is nothing short of magical. 'Beethoven' was followed in quick succession by 'School Day' - 'that song is forty years old you know' -, 'Sweet Little Sixteen' and 'Nadine' all performed almost by rote as though he wanted to get them done and out of the way. The audience didn't notice or care, they were surfing on a nostalgia wave, singing Chuck's songs for him. Chuck pretended to be surprised, but he looked genuinely pleased and it seemed to spur him on.
At his time of life Chuck needs to pace his shows so, thank you god for the blues, which he judiciously interspersed between his rockers. And what a great selection of blues to choose, Elmore James' 'It Hurts Me Too', Jimmy Reed's 'Honest I Do' and his very own 'No Money Down' all got an airing, albeit the last song was chopped short with the comment, 'I don't want to play no more blues'.
By the time the 'Carol / Little Queenie' combo hit the stage he was all limbered up and raring to rock, his guitar firing on all strings and ringing like the veritable bell. 'Let It Rock' has always been a highlight of Berry concerts and here it came again, the train hurtling down on the railroad workers who, no matter how many times you hear it, always scramble out of its way! Chuck was really up for it on this song and he was inspired sufficiently to attempt his show-stopping duckwalk. It wasn't so long or so low as of old, but it was a recognisable waddle nonetheless and was greeted by an enormous roar from the enthusiastic throng.
During the usual 'you name it we play it' request spot, after a brief discussion with Jim Marsala, he performed a short version of 'Brown Eyed Handsome Man' with the comment that he hadn't sung that in fourteen years. The treat of the treats, for me however, was his lilting version of Ray Charles' countrified waltz '3/4 Time', in which he sings of making love in 3/4 time, or 6/4 time or even 12/8 time, in fact any old time!
It was then back to the classics with 'Rock And Roll Music' but sung here with some new lyrics reflecting on a life well spent in rock and roll. "Sometimes it's loud and gets out of control/ Can't even understand the story told/ But if you love it, you ain't never too old/ To cut the mustard with rock and roll!" and again later on, "Some people say rock and roll is dead/ It's forty years since that remark was made/ I'm here to show it's live and well/ And all American like ringing a bell.”
And there he was, gone: probably away in his Mercedes limo before the cheering and foot-stamping subsided; no encore (the word is not in Chuck Berry's vocabulary), no Johnny B Goode, and no new songs. At this stage in the game, should we expect more? Despite my hopes for some new material, I think not. To attend a Chuck Berry concert is to witness a rock and roll ritual, in which both performer and audience know what is wanted and what is expected and I do believe both parties left the theatre with satisfied minds.
Chuck Berry’s reputation precedes him. How many times have you read about Chuck Berry the jailbird before Chuck Berry the rock and roll legend, or Chuck Berry, Mr Ding-a-ling instead of Chuck Berry, rock and roll poet supreme? How many people have been short-changed by his lack lustre performances in the past? Well, if you passed up on this gig because of his past misdemeanours, you missed a treat. Chuck Berry is an old man, in October he will be 77 year old, but for a man of his age he is still remarkable fit and, on the basis of this gig, can still rock the socks off young pretenders half his age. His paunch may have grown a little, his thinning hair is now hidden beneath a seafarers cap, and his long legs are not as 'crazy' as they used to be. But, believe me, he still has that ingredient, vital to all good rock and roll - the ability to instil excitement into an audience through his wonderful music, which will never, ever grow old.
Fred Rothwell – author of ‘Long Distance Information – Chuck Berry’s Recorded Legacy’
I bought "Have Mercy," didn't care how much I paid
Jet propelled to me from Hip-O's vaults to the U.S.A.
"Tulane", "Lou'sana", Oh how I yearned for you!
Stuff I never heard-- like a version of "It Hurts Me Too."
"Around and Around" done live and one called "Annie Lou!"
This is gonna be dynamite! It looks like they are finally giving us virtually the entire concert that produced the live segment of "London Sessions." And whatever I might feel about the merits of "Ding-A-Ling" being Chuck Berry's only number one hit, he was in fine form that day.
Daryl Davis told us how Chuck Berry appeared from behind the curtain at the start of his New Year's Eve show at B. B. King's. Here he is, doing it. How many times do we get to see Chuck Berry play these days? Not that often. And it's another good chance to see and hear Davis, too. He's got a bit of that Johnnie Johnson magic, filling seamlessly between Chuck Berry's licks. Thanks Peter, and Doug.
By 1979 I had drifted so far from Chuck Berry that I gave the new album “Rockit” one listen and then took it back to the store for a refund.
By then my interests had changed quite a bit. At record stores I was mostly buying serious jazz records—Ben Webster, Thelonious Monk, Charlie Parker, Sonny Rollins, Miles Davis. I still loved the blues, but didn’t necessarily buy it on records. I saw B. B. King play at a couple of big local clubs. An Elmore James disciple named J.B. Hutto was based in Seattle for a time and I saw him play at a couple of smaller taverns. The only blues record I can definitely remember buying in those years was by Clifton Chenier, the Zydeco king, who passed through town at least once or twice. As for Chuck Berry—I’m sure I saw him once or twice on late night talk shows, but that’s about it. I doubt he passed through Seattle during those parts of 1977-1980 that I was there, because I would have gone to see him, I’m sure. And maybe that was part of the difference. From 1970 through 1974 I saw him five different times. From 1975 until 1982, not at all. (That 1982-- or maybe 1980-- show was at a Lake Tahoe Casino. It’s probably worth a post of its own. It was a good performance that I didn’t write home about. At the time I equated Chuck Berry with crowds of shaggy hippies and teenagers. At the casino he came out dressed to kill in a white suit. He was backed by a good band. We sat at comfortable, horseshoe shaped tables with white linen. We were served. We were surrounded by people who were the appropriate age to be Chuck Berry fans—people who probably grew up to the original hits. The performance was somewhat rehearsed. Except for the rehearsal—probably required by the club—this show probably came closer to the roots of Chuck Berry than anything I’d seen to date. I’m sure at the Cosmopolitan Club he played to adults. I’m sure many or most of his performances over the years were in a polished club-like setting. But it was too elegant for me at the time. We walked out disappointed, and since I was the Chuck Berry fan, I was somewhat embarrassed. That’s not what his shows are “usually” like I told the people I was with—all family members. But I didn’t know what his shows were “usually” like. I knew what a few of them were like during the early 1970s. As usual, my reaction to the show says more about me than Chuck Berry.)
So I buy “Rockit” and return it. But the record is a stubborn one. It’s probably ATCO. Unlike most of those other 1970s records from Chess, it keeps finding its way into stores. They issue a CD version. And then, years later, they reissue the CD.
Moreover, the reviews are good. A hundred times I read on the internet that Chuck Berry’s last studio album, “Rockit,” is “surprisingly good.” I feel my own shame. I can’t remember if it was good or bad. Maybe I was just in a bad mood when I bought it.
So finally, having started this blog, I realize I have to buy it again. And it’s available on line in a 25th anniversary edition.
And guess what—it’s good.
Here’s a record Chuck Berry made on his own, at home at Berry Park, with Johnnie Johnson at the keys and Chuck Berry doing his own guitars. There’s no Esmond Edwards doing whatever it was that Esmond Edwards did to Chuck Berry records. (Mostly, it would seem, he provided a bad vibe in the studio.) There isn’t any song I’d consider a “great” Chuck Berry song, but there are lots of really good Chuck Berry songs; and unlike the 1975 album, they are ALL Chuck Berry songs. A couple of them rise above the others, at least for me.
But before I talk about the songs, lets talk about the sound. Chuck Berry probably produced this record; the story is that he mailed it in to ATCO. And he captured the sound of Chuck Berry much better than the muted, mushy mix of the 1975 album, where extraneous and distorted guitars were squeezed in over an airless mix.
Chuck Berry music has got to sound live. There’s got to be atmosphere. Some of the old stuff was recorded in bathrooms at Chess to get the sound of guitars bouncing off tile.
Here he adds just enough reverb to his voice and guitar to give the sound a spacious feel. (I wish the drums and bass had the same thing.) And in the background, Johnnie Johnson’s piano, with both hands miked so that you can hear his left hand rhythm work as well as his right side tinkling. The sound of this record may not stand with the best stuff, but it’s good, and miles above “Chuck Berry” and the Mercury recordings.
Two things Chuck Berry probably didn’t feel he could talk about much or very directly in the 1950s: the law, and the old Jim Crow south (I’ve always thought he got a few sly licks in on “Promised Land.” On this record he must feel a bit liberated, and talks about both subjects often—though always in a comical way.
“Wuden’t Me” is a story about a man in the south.
Old boy he ran a little stop sign in the south
And he got in deeper trouble with his mouth
They wouldn't let him phone or make a bail
Just let him sit there in that Delford County jail
He winds up escaping and chased by “grand dragon” hounds into the cab of a truck driven by a KKK member. (And all of this before Mr. Berry started working with Daryl Davis!)
The song “I Never Thought” also goes down south and includes trouble with the law.
I asked a policeman the time, he swung and crowned me with his stock
I managed to walk away so glad it weren't twelve o'clock
You know I never thought a thing like that would ever really come to be
'Cause I don't bother nobody and don't nobody bother me
More cop trouble in “Move It.” It starts with a ’53 Ford breaking down on the highway.
Couldn't see nothing wrong, line of cars long
Traffic bogged down, trying to drive around
Officer Lamar, walking towards the car:
"Move it! Come along move it!
You can't stop it here, now move it! Move it!"
In the song “California” my humble and blighted home town finally makes its way into the long list of geographic locations sung about by Chuck Berry. (He had previously described Sacramento in his Autobiography as a city of geriatrics. I think he might have remembered that first concert that I saw him perform at, with a ghostly crowd of four or five hundred people in a cavernous hall.)
“House Lights” isn’t a song as much as show closing device. It’s one of many such novelties that Chuck Berry has tried to record over the years: “Goodnight Sweethearts” used to close the shows I saw in the early 1970s. “My Tambourine” was not-very-listenable version of “My Ding-a-Ling.” “House Lights” stands proud in such company.
The album has a remake of “Havana Moon” that gets high marks for me for weirdness. I always loved Havana Moon, but it was one of the songs that never gets played much live. I like that he tried to revive it. This version, with its weird background vocals, (all Berry), reminds me of his original version of “I Just Want To Make Love To You” or even “Almost Grown.” As a kid I never wanted the background singing mucking up my Chuck Berry songs, but I’m almost grown myself, and have changed my mind. I like it. And I like that he tried to bring back a great song with new chords and a new sound. (I tell you, he’s Bob Dylan’s big brother.)
The album ends with a poem, “Pass Away,” of surpassing weirdness and wonder. I don’t want to listen to it often, but it’s a window into Chuck Berry that I love to hear once in a while. I remember someone—probably his son—remarking somewhere that “he’s got hundreds” of these. Another mark that he’s doing all this out of love, since the commercial value has got to be small. I sure wish he’d substitute some of his poems for his ding-a-ling at some of his live shows. People would like it.
And a bonus on “Pass Away” is the slide guitar in the background—a nearly note for note for one of his 1950s slide guitar songs, and very similar to what he plays at the end of “Hail! Hail!” That’s another thing I’d like to see him pull out of his bag of tricks live.
I guess I’m becoming sort of demanding! But there’s so much there, and yet so much emphasis is put on the same 15 or 20 songs.
As I drift towards the end of this blog I have to do one of the hardest things. I have to describe falling out of love with Chuck Berry's music back in the mid-to-late 1970s. At least for a while.
I first became a follower in 1970. From 1970 until 1974 I bought as much of the old stuff as I could find, and all of the new stuff. It helped that I got so see him live five times during that period, and that each show was great.
But by the end of that decade, I was pretty much done with Chuck Berry. In 1980 I moved to Africa and found a whole new world of music in West African Highlife and Soukous from the country then called Zaire. When I got back home that new interest stuck, and I let an entire decade of music slip past without even listening. When the telephone poles around me were plastered an inch thick with fading 8 ½ by 11 posters for groups like Nirvana, Mudhoney and Pearl Jam, all playing at local clubs downtown, I was reviewing Jamaican and African records and seeing concerts by Tabu Ley Rocherau, Mbilia Belle, and Sonny Okossuns. I didn’t feel cheated, I promise you.
Except for a few late nights when he would show up on shows like Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show, It was a vacation from Chuck Berry that would last until 1986, when the book appeared, and the movie “Hail! Hail! Rock and Roll!”
Things first started to fade for me when I finally got to hear the 1975 album “Chuck Berry”-- a blackish blue record with neon letters (called “Chuck Berry ‘75” in Europe).
I actually bought my copy in Europe, although it must have been a U.S. import. I was going to school in Italy in 1975, and visiting a friend in Paris when I found the record for sale at an expensive, all night store on the Champs Elysee.
We were heading out looking for a late night bottle of wine. (No 7/11s in Paris in those days.) We drank the cheapest, rottenest wine available, but the only place open that night was a fancy chrome place called “Le Drugstore” that sold everything from wine to women’s clothing. It was supposedly modeled on the American notion of a drugstore, but a different America than I had ever seen at that point. (My version of the American drugstore was considerably less chic—fluorescent lights, gum, band-aids, laxatives and asbestos ceilings. French pharmacies seemed infinitely more interesting to me as a teenager because French Pharmacies always found an excuse to put a huge poster of refined and lithesome naked girl in the window in an effort to advertise products I could never identify.)
“Le Drugstore” was a gaudy, expensive place with lots of chrome, glass and unfrosted light bulbs. (It’s still there: http://www.publicisdrugstore.com/Website/site/fra_accueil.htm). From my point of view there was no rhyme or reason to it, and the wine was so expensive that we ended up with something awful—a weird bottle of rose, or something like that, purchased at five or ten times what we’d normally pay because it was the least expensive bottle in the place. (No plastic wine bottles at “Le Drugstore.”) But while we were there I went to the record counter saw it: a new Chuck Berry record, with neon lettering up front, and a picture of Chuck Berry and his daughter on the back!
So I bought it. I paid a small fortune—two or three times what it would have cost me in the states, and probably 30 times what we usually spent for a bottle of wine.
But I had to have it. Right then and there-- even though I had no place to play it.
My only musical device at the time was a $12 black and chrome plastic cassette deck (probably purchased at a large American drugstore electronics counter) with a single 1.5 inch speaker-- and it was a 15 hour train ride away from Paris.
So I carried my new Chuck Berry album, unheard, from country to country, until I finally got back home to the U.S.A.
Then I played it, and thought: (drab, listless raspberry sound).
It just didn’t do it for me.
It still doesn’t.
But I’ve still got it, direct from Paris, 35 years old, bent and tattered, grooves worn flat despite the disappointment. I’ve played it once or twice recently and it crackles with wear and tear. I must have listened more than I remember.
Understand, I was born and raised on later day Chuck Berry records. They weren’t as jam packed with classics as the older stuff, but they always had their moments. “Back Home” had “Have Mercy Judge” and “Tulane.” “San Francisco Dues” had “Oh Louisiana.” “Bio” had “Bio.” “London Sessions” had vitality and life, his cursed “Ding-a-Ling,” great guitar playing and a world class rendition of “Mean Old World.”
This one? Didn’t have much.
I remember wondering the day I bought it where the Chuck Berry songs were. It looked like some sort of oldies album—nothing but covers. I like to hear Chuck Berry interpret other people’s work. “Time Was,” “House of Blue Lights,” “Cottage for Sale,” “I’m Through With Love,” “Love in ¾ Time”—these are some of my favorite things.
But generally speaking, my favorite Chuck Berry songs are Chuck Berry songs—and there aren’t many on the album called “Chuck Berry.” (Even some of the “Chuck Berry” songs aren’t “Chuck Berry” songs. “Don’t You Lie to Me” is credited to Berry,” but here’s a version from 1940 that sounds eerily familiar!)
(I found this version by "Los Fritos" by accident. I don't know who "Los Fritos" are, but I like the name, y la musica es muy buena.)
But back to 1975: There is something flat about the sound on “Chuck Berry.” Los Fritos sound a lot more alive to me.
It doesn’t have the “tinny” sound I hated on the Mercury LPs, but it’s a bit clinical. There’s something a little dead in the mix.
What surprises me now is to learn who some of the musicians were: Elliot Randall, Wilber Bascomb and Ernie Hayes are all well known session musicians. You’d never know it from listening. The drums are too crisp and contained. The bass is too electric. The extra guitars, mostly played by session musician Elliott Randall, (and probably added after the fact,) are too busy, or have too much distortion and wah-wah. Once I’d I googled these folks I wanted to learn more and got out Fred Rothwell’s book. I like his suggestion. When the songs are rereleased, subtract that extra guitar.
The music on “Back Home” sounds live and exciting. The music on “London Sessions” is good hard rock. “Bio” has a happy sort of shuffling feel.
This stuff sounds muted, as if the life was squeezed out of it during a remix. My advice: Turn up the reverb, turn off the wah-wah, simplify it, and maybe you'll find what's hidden there.
A couple of songs have some of Chuck Berry’s wildest singing ever. Not that wild singing really suits him. It tells me that maybe it wasn’t working in the studio, either, so he tried to rev things up with crazy vocals that sound like he was trying to channel Little Richard.
It makes it interesting, anyway.
My favorite song on the album was Jimmy Reed’s “Baby What You Want Me to Do?” Even now I’d put it on my own Chuck Berry Blues compilation. It's a little sleepy, though, and I like Jimmy Reed’s version wayyy better. Jimmy's version makes sense of hidin' and peepin'. This one makes sense of yawnin' ans sleepin'.
But I like it.
It’s also nice that Chuck sings a couple of old Chess songs like “I Just Want to Make Love to You” and “My Babe.” Willie Dixon and Walter Jacobs were friends and co-workers of Chuck Berry; cool that he sang their songs, and interesting that he recorded “Love to You” for a second time. He must have liked it.
But the first version was probably better.
Ultimately I think that the reason this record didn’t do it for me back in 1975 and doesn't really do it for me now is that there isn’t any really good reason for it to exist. Chuck Berry usually records lots of Chuck Berry songs. Here he didn’t. And he certainly didn’t record one of his great ones, or even a great cover.
The result, I think, is like a very odd live set, with Chuck Berry and some uninspired session musicians (on a few songs it’s local musicians from St. Louis; they do better, in my book) playing a mix of oldies, R & B, novelty and folk songs. If I take it that way—a very odd live set—I can enjoy it as a curiosity.
And I definitely like to hear Chuck Berry play piano—it’s a distinct style that you know is born of a simple love for music. It reminds me of stuff my brother Stevo, a drummer, used to do while standing at my mother’s baby grand. And it's got a definte bounce.
Some people say Chuck Berry only plays for the money—but that piano tinkling is proof that isn’t true. It’s obviously a skill developed in his spare time, for love, not money.
(Although, I have to say, Mr. Berry, I’d pay big bucks to hear you do it live!)
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