John Lee Hooker
John Lee Hooker, ‘Sittin’ Here Thinkin’’, 1961. Hooker, the last of the primal bluesmen. He was the real deal. He was the youngest of 11 children and Daddy was a sharecropper. Nobody knows, even him, exactly when he was born. He came from waaaay down South and electrified his country Delta blues when he moved to Detroit, like millions of other black Americans, in the 1940s. His blues is primitive, raw, talking blues. As he himself said, on being asked if white men can sing the blues; “White boy don’t know what it is to wear nylon socks”. Most tunes are one-chord down-stroke rhythms that don’t follow the straight 12-bar pattern. Some of it feels, and was, made up on the spot. Hooker ruminating and getting lost in the moment. Compared to, say, BB King, he attacks the strings, fierce stabs of sound. The band often sound like they’re trying to keep up with him as he veers off, which creates a loose feel. It’s not super-tight smooth and creamy, more of a muddier and lumpier consistency.
My copy of the album is a rerelease from 1979 with ‘authentic’ porch shot. Lazy. The title track alone tells you everything you need to know. Foot tap percussion, lurching chug, Hooker’s drawled voice, guitar notes ripped out. ‘How Many More Years?’ slooow, Hooker moaning and rhythm ragged. ‘Sad and Lonesome’ electric bursts and woe – opening line; “You’re killing me, babe”. ‘Teasin’ Me’ the same. Other titles tell of more tales (all true, possibly) of love, loss, blues, general suffering: ‘Mean Mistreatin’’; ‘I Believe I’ll Lose My Mind’; ‘When My Wife Quit Me’ etc.
This album came out before the Blues Boom in the UK, led by the Rolling Stones. It’s not cashing in or designed to be crowd pleasing. It’s Hooker just doing his thing. Countrified, rather than rockin’ Rhythm & Blues, which he could also do. Out of all the Blues Greats, Hooker is the closest to what you might have heard in Mississippi back in the 1930s and 40s. His voice is mesmerising and his guitar style a force of nature. I shook hands with him once. Swear to God, his hands were twice the size of mine.
John Lee Hooker
John Lee Hooker, ‘Sittin’ Here Thinkin’’, 1961. Hooker, the last of the primal bluesmen. He was the real deal. He was the youngest of 11 children and Daddy was a sharecropper. Nobody knows, even him, exactly when he was born. He came from waaaay down South and electrified his country Delta blues when he moved to Detroit, like millions of other black Americans, in the 1940s. His blues is primitive, raw, talking blues. As he himself said, on being asked if white men can sing the blues; “White boy don’t know what it is to wear nylon socks”. Most tunes are one-chord down-stroke rhythms that don’t follow the straight 12-bar pattern. Some of it feels, and was, made up on the spot. Hooker ruminating and getting lost in the moment. Compared to, say, BB King, he attacks the strings, fierce stabs of sound. The band often sound like they’re trying to keep up with him as he veers off, which creates a loose feel. It’s not super-tight smooth and creamy, more of a muddier and lumpier consistency.
My copy of the album is a rerelease from 1979 with ‘authentic’ porch shot. Lazy. The title track alone tells you everything you need to know. Foot tap percussion, lurching chug, Hooker’s drawled voice, guitar notes ripped out. ‘How Many More Years?’ slooow, Hooker moaning and rhythm ragged. ‘Sad and Lonesome’ electric bursts and woe – opening line; “You’re killing me, babe”. ‘Teasin’ Me’ the same. Other titles tell of more tales (all true, possibly) of love, loss, blues, general suffering: ‘Mean Mistreatin’’; ‘I Believe I’ll Lose My Mind’; ‘When My Wife Quit Me’ etc.
This album came out before the Blues Boom in the UK, led by the Rolling Stones. It’s not cashing in or designed to be crowd pleasing. It’s Hooker just doing his thing. Countrified, rather than rockin’ Rhythm & Blues, which he could also do. Out of all the Blues Greats, Hooker is the closest to what you might have heard in Mississippi back in the 1930s and 40s. His voice is mesmerising and his guitar style a force of nature. I shook hands with him once. Swear to God, his hands were twice the size of mine.