Blues singer remembers musical roots
Legendary Chicago blues singer James Yancy Jones, better known as Tail Dragger, last performed in front of an audience in December in Florida, he said.
The coronavirus pandemic has disrupted the livelihood of Jones, 79. The energetic performer would regularly tour the country and the world, playing for appreciative audiences. He shared a bill with Billy Branch, Eddy “The Chief ” Clearwater and others in 2016 at Governors State University in University Park.
“In April, I was supposed to be in Finland, then I was supposed to be in California and Brazil,” Jones said Thursday at his home in Chicago’s Austin neighborhood. “The disease is dangerous. It’s not something that’s going to go away. You have to understand that.”
Jones is preparing to perform again with other musicians for the first time in seven months. He is set to take part in an event at 7 p.m. July 24 that will be broadcast on social media and feature Grammy Awardwinner Bobby Rush and other performers.
“I’m going to put the band in the back
yard and they’re going to put me on Facebook Live,” he said.
Jones is among the last of the “real deal” blues performers who were raised in the South and came to Chicago when electric blues emerged during the 1950s. He grew up on a farm near Pine Bluff, Arkansas. He was raised by his paternal grandparents, he said.
As a boy his grandfather taught him the value of saving money after he spent a week picking cotton, he said.
“When I was 15 years old down in Arkansas, I made $15 that week,” he said. “I really liked these boots. I bought them. My grandfather whooped me. I said, ‘Grandfather, why you whooping me?’ He said, ‘Grandson, you weren’t supposed to spend it all.’ I thought he was mean. Then, when I got older, I went to him and told him, ‘I appreciate what you taught me.’ ”
Jones said that lesson serves him well now that he’s unable to earn money performing. He’s getting by on savings and Social Security, he said. It’s tough to go without income from performing but it’s worse being unable to connect with audiences, he said.
“I miss it, but what can I do?” he said. “A lot of people get up on stage like they’re important. You need the people, they don’t need you. You’ve got to go out into the crowd. Howlin’ Wolf taught me that.”
Jones was a disciple of Howlin’ Wolf, whose real name was Chester Arthur Burnett (1910-1976). Jones met Wolf in the late 1960s in Chicago and became his protégé.
“Wolf was a strange guy,”
Jones said. “If he was at a table by himself I’d speak to him. If his wife was with him I’d move away. A lot of people didn’t understand that.”
Wolf popularized such Willie Dixon songs as “Little Red Rooster” and “Back Door Man” with his guttural, growling vocals. In addition to adopting Wolf ’s singing style, Jones followed Wolf ’s path as an energetic, theatrical live performer.
“If I can’t feel it, how can I make you feel it?” he said. “A lot of guys, they play the fast music all the time. But here’s one thing you’ve got to remember: when people are on the floor dancing, the cash register don’t ring.”
“When you put that slow blues on, they start drinking and thinking and they’re going to spend some money,” Jones said. “When they’re on the floor they can’t spend no money. You got to sit them down.”
At first, Wolf was reluctant to take on a student, Jones said.
“He said, ‘The Wolf don’t teach,’ ” Jones said, imitating Wolf ’s gravelly voice. “If he didn’t like you, he’d tell you.”
Wolf gave Jones his stage name because he showed up late for gigs.
“I always worked,” he said. Unlike other musicians, Jones had a day job as a mechanic. He would routinely play shows all night long then go to work the next day.
Jones also had trouble keeping time with the music.
“I would listen to the guitar player,” he said. “I didn’t know the drummer was the time keeper. That was hard for me to understand.”
Jones released four albums during his career, all between 1996 and 2012. Two were on Chicago’s Delmark Records, including 2009’s, “Live at Rooster’s Lounge.” He gave up playing guitar and harmonica years ago to focus on singing.
“I love what I do. I never write anything down,” he said. “What comes to mind, I … [pushes hand out]. I think about something, and [pushes hand out]. Down here in the streets, there’s always something to write a song about, because it’s life.”
A video shared on social media showed him performing with a band in his backyard in September 2016 playing a song titled “We Don’t Need No Trump.” His original material includes such titles as “My Head is Bald” and “Birthday Blues.”
Actor and filmmaker Kevin Mukherji is working on a documentary about Tail Dragger. Short video trailers for the project may be found on social media channels.
Performers and venues were abundant in the heyday of Chicago blues 50 years ago. Back then, blues clubs drew scores of patrons to Chicago’s West and South sides. Blues grew out of field hollers and the suffering of slavery, but Chicago blues of the era was often lively and fun.
“To me, blues is not suffering,” Jones said. “When I’m on the bandstand, I feel happy. There’s no pain to me. It’s something I love.”
Jones has been married six times, he said. He had 11 children, though three of his sons have died, he said. He has about 20 grandchildren, he said.
In 1993, Jones shot and killed Boston Blackie, another Chicago blues artist. He claimed self-defense, was convicted of seconddegree murder and served 17 months in prison.
The two were involved in a dispute over $70 in payment owed to musicians after playing at the 1993 Chicago Blues Festival, Jones said. Jones insisted he was square with Blackie, but avoided him nonetheless for weeks, he said.
Then one night, Blackie confronted Jones at a gig in a club. Jones said he was sitting on the bandstand after the band’s performance when Blackie stormed toward the stage from the back of the room and lunged at Jones wielding a knife. Jones pulled out a gun and fired a shot.
“The bullet went in the left eye and came out the top of the head,” Jones said. “He was on top of me.”
Nearly three decades later, the incident adds an aura of myth to Jones’ legacy. Younger performers might have heard that Jones killed someone, but they don’t know details about the story.
Jones laments the lack of appreciation for blues music by younger Blacks who perform hip hop, rap and other styles.
“A lot of people get mad when I say this, but if it wasn’t for the whites, the blues would be dead,” Jones said. “(Young Blacks), they’re not playing the blues. The young whites, they don’t understand the blues. They try to learn the blues. They’re not playing real blues no more, they’re getting away from it.”
Remarkably few venues in the Chicago area feature live blues music. Few authentic performers like Jones remain. These days, Jones may be more revered and well-known in Europe and South America than in his adopted hometown of Chicago because blues has faded in popularity.
“You go to Brazil and every young kid there got a harmonica, and they can play,” Jones said. “They study.”