Blues Pilgrimage The Story, Part 2

Advance word of 100,000 people in attendance was daunting, but that is for the entire festival; it rarely seemed crowded. Folks do make long treks to attend; in fact, the people behind us on the plane out of San Jose were also on their way to Arkansas.

We actually joined the party late, as it was Saturday, third day of the KBBF. So, obviously, we missed some music. With up to four stages going at once, this was bound to happen anyway. Under the circumstances, one option was to stake a claim for some land for the day, the other was to go around like at the buffet, sampling as much as possible. It soon became clear that the latter was the way to go this time around.

The KBBF began in 1985, but has its roots in the past. The "King Biscuit Time" radio program began in Helena in 1941, and is still hosted by "Sunshine" Sonny Payne. I can assure you that a white man playing black music in the American South in the 40’s was not in keeping with the status quo. In case you’re wondering, King Biscuit is a trademarked brand of flour. Payne is also the MC on the main stage of the festival.

One of the overt goals of the KBBF is to welcome all to enjoy the music. Want to get by the front of the stage for a particular act? No problem. Have a camera? You will likely be given an opportunity for an unobstructed view.

The Crossroads Clarksdale, Mississippi

The setting is ideal. The main stage is in front of the Delta Cultural Center, where the "King Biscuit Time" show originates. The audience is spread about the open field on the gentle slope of a levee, with the Mississippi River on the backside. Following the levee leads to the Heritage/Acoustic stage, and farther down still is the gospel stage. Children’s activities are sponsored by the Delta Cultural Center on Cherry Street, where craft and food vendors can also be found. Being in town, there is also the option of local shops to patronize.

Michael Burks was on the main stage when we arrived, his fretboard work on a Flying-V guitar showing a distinct B.B. King influence. The blues standard "Stormy Monday" was a particular standout.

Up next was John Mooney, whose guitar tones were more of a growl than Burk’s were. With a thumb pick on one hand, and a slide on the other, he seemed to effortlessly move from strumming to sliding to picking without missing a beat. "How Long" was played slower than Eric Clapton’s version, and we could only wonder how good this was going to be if this is who came on so early in the day.

At this point, wanderlust struck, and the sound of Mooney’s guitar faded as we walked along the levee to the Houston Stackhouse Acoustic stage. A small crowd was present to hear Madcat and Kane.

A harp, a guitar and a voice are the traditional blues instruments, though the voice isn’t always as smooth as that of Shari Kane. The interplay between her and harpist Peter "Madcat" Ruth was like two lovers expressing themselves musically instead of physically. A relaxed "Sweet Home Chicago" caught the attention of those passing by, most of whom stopped passing at the sound.

With no barricade in front, it was possible to go right up to the stage, so unusual these days that it was usually a while into any given set before people could believe it was true. Soon after the first to venture forth, usually someone wanting to take pictures, the rest would soon follow.

The area around the acoustic stage would mostly clear itself at the end of a set. The next act would then begin the musical foreplay of attracting new listeners to the domain. Without fail, there would be a couple of hundred present by the final number, and the process would begin anew.

A little exploration and food hunt in downtown Helena was next after Madcat and Kane finished playing. The official food vendors would only accept the Blues Bucks obtained dollar for dollar at stands along Cherry Street. Almost every beverage purchased contained a staggering amount of ice. Perhaps that was because the temperatures had been unseasonably hot, although it was quite pleasant that particular Saturday. Still, I recommend asking for less ice, or, patronize a local shop for a bottle of cold pop.

There was a bar-b-q contest, but no sign that the general public was invited to share in the bounty. That wonderful Southern delicacy was in abundance on Cherry Street; and if you like funnel cakes, then this is the place to be.

The National Guitar Company has a small museum displaying some of the steel instruments used by everyone from Son House to Mark Knopfler. Up close, the sheer craftsmanship utilized by the guitar makers was a change from the cookie-cutter designs of our modern world. The intricate designs in the steel make these true works of art beyond their sweet sounds. One, valued at $15,000, was raffled off at the festival; can’t help but wonder if the winner will play it or hang it on the wall.

We couldn’t help but think that speakers along the street would have been a nice touch, though I guess it would be hard to choose which stage to pipe in. It would have drowned out some on the street as well, such as the woman raising money to send bibles to prisons.

The sound from the main stage was audible in some areas, and, surprisingly, down by the river as well. That’s where we were when Darrell Nulish was playing, and the crickets and birds in the bushes on the banks of the Mississippi blended beautifully with the organ being played on the other side of the levee. Ducks of all races swam about while the odd latecomer arrived by boat. Time to go up-n-over the levee and back into the action.

This will take a few minutes, so let’s take that time to discuss the types of attitudes likely to be encountered in various musical sub-cultures.

Rock and rollers, particularly when young, often don’t even want to know about anything recorded before they bought their first CD. The average punker would consider the Grateful Dead dinosaurs.

There are those in the traditional jazz world that go to the opposite extreme. Players are expected to play the "standards"; it’s practically an obligation, as if Duke Ellington was expected to play his grandfather’s music.

People in the blues just seem to have a natural respect for those that came before. Just look at the early, blues based English rockers like Eric Clapton and the Rolling Stones. They were in awe of people like Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters. Quite frankly, if it weren’t for them, some great players would have been destined to die in obscurity.

Therefore, it is not at all odd to see an old black man from Mississippi named Sam Myers on stage with a young Texas guitar player named Anson Funderburgh. In fact, Sam Myers has been singing with Anson Funderburgh and the Rockets for 12 years, with several recordings available on Black Top Records.

Funderburgh got things started, and then Myers slowly came to center stage. Slow seems an inadequate word to describe his progress. He’s too big to be called frail, but much assistance was needed. When he went to spark up a butt, I had to hope he wouldn’t set himself on fire. But, oh the voice. There was enough power there to keep the lights on in Helena for two weeks.

Meanwhile, back at the acoustic stage, Larry Johnson was "moanin’ the blues". Johnson’s music was the most reminiscent of that mournful quality that the original blues pioneers possessed.

At this point the acoustic stage became the Robert Lockwood, Jr. Heritage stage. It was nearly five, and time to plug in for some electric blues courtesy of Arthur Williams. Ironically, Lockwood himself was hitting the main stage at the same time.

Robert Lockwood, Jr. is the stepson of Robert Johnson, and, in fact, didn’t refer to himself as Robert, Jr. until Johnson joined him and his mother. Unfortunately, things got a little behind setting up the stage for Arthur Williams, and Lockwood’s set ended as I pulled up at the main stage.

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