BLUES IN STATE’S HEART
Deep history of themusic here includes a long roster of greats to be discovered
Two blues enthusiasts an ocean apart spent nearly two decades collaborating on a book they envisioned as the definitive history of the blues in Texas. Robert “Mack” McCormick was a Houston-based folklorist and Paul Oliver was a music historian from England. At one point in the 1970s, their correspondence turned to the title of their book as they considered some variant of “Blues Come to Texas Loping Like a Mule” from a “Blind” Lemon Jefferson song. They pondered the line. Did it refer to the blues as a state of mind? Or did it imply that the blues arrived in Texas from some other place?
Pinpointing origins of early American vocal music is a labyrinthine field of research and study. Considering blues as a state of mind with numerous modes of expression — from the earthy guitar plus vocal presentation of songsters to the big, brassy bandstand blues to electric forms that muddied up the sound of rock ’n’ roll.
This space could be claimed entirely by a list of names, dates and hometowns — such is the deep history of blues and blues adjacent music from Texas.
The blues didn’t hatch in Texas in the 1920s. Musical traditions — ragtime and barrelhouse — were already in place, but a fledgling recording industry was beginning to stretch its wings nearly a century ago. Musicians from Texas were ready for the flight. The talented Thomas family got its start playing churches and tent shows around Houston. Beulah Thomas began recording for the Okeh label in 1923 under the name Sippie Wallace, sometimes accompanied by younger brother Hersal, an innovative pianist.
The piano proved the propulsive machine required to be heard in joints where whiskey was served straight from the barrel, lending the style of music the name barrelhouse. Such singers as Wallace and Victoria Spivey, another Houston native, were well-documented through the 1920s and into the 1930s, before big band became a preferred form of nightlife entertainment.
Another musical branch reached out from the same trunk. In late 1925, “Blind” Lemon Jefferson — a Couchman native then in his early 30s — found himself in Chicago, where he was first recorded. In March 1926 he cut “Got the Blues” with that line that beguiled the historians who’d try to piece together his life and career: “Well, the blues come to Texas lopin’ like a mule.”
His songs delivered with voice and guitar, Jefferson provided an alternative path to the voice and piano combination so popular in the 1920s. Just sample a few of the other Texans making recordings after Jefferson did to hear incredible breadth of expression.
Henry Thomas was born in 1874 in Big Sandy to freed slaves and spent his life on the move — a quintessential itinerant musician. He was well into his fifties before he recorded some of the frisky rags with a rhythmic guitar and brightly melodic panpipes.
“Blind” Willie Johnson was born near Temple in 1897 and was first recorded in 1927. Lyrically his music was gospel to its core, befitting his status as a preacher. Musically he made use of skills honed as a street performer: His voice howled like storm winds, and he’d use a pocket knife as a slide to eke eerie sounds from his guitar.
Louisiana native Huddie Ledbetter, born in 1888 and better known as Leadbelly, grew up in Texas, and absorbed a panoramic songbook of American vocal music. Folklorists John and Alan Lomax recorded him in 1933, a session that differed from previously mentioned performers because the goal wasn’t commercial but rather archival.
With the exception of Leadbelly, these players either predated or recorded concurrent to Charley Patton, the great Delta blues pioneer. Their recording sessions also predated those of the great Robert Johnson. They created a sound and a language, songs and phrases that would cycle through popular music across a century: “Dark Was the Night” and “It’s Nobody’s Fault But Mine” (Willie Johnson), “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean” (Lemon Jefferson), “Black Snake Blues” (Victoria Spivey) and “Women Be Wise” (Sippie Wallace).
Along came rock ’n’ roll
The gaze of popular culture would shift from small ensembles to suit-clad jazz orchestras as big band became the rage. Texas blues would adapt accordingly. Linden native Aaron Tibeaux Walker perfected a new permutation of the blues and an approach to playing guitar. As T-Bone Walker, he created a vibrant stage show with the guitar as the star and a brass section for added accent and energy.
Walker was first and foremost an entertainer, having played on the streets as a teen in the 1920s. So he was unafraid to be playful with his music (see “I Know Your Wig Is Gone”) and he also delivered a dynamic sound (check out his “No Worry Blues”).
Walker’s recordings for the Capitol and Black & White Labels in the 1940s energized the blues and had an inestimable effect on rock ’n’ roll, though rock ’n’ roll proved to be an unappreciative beneficiary. Rock stripped the guitar licks and uptempo energy from this style of blues and ran with it. When the blues enjoyed a period of rediscovery and renewed interest in the ’60s — when white rock stars testified to the importance of blues pioneers — Walker’s sound didn’t enjoy the piqued cultural curiosity.
Which isn’t to say the ’60s folk revival had no positive effect on blues players from Texas.
Sam “Lightnin’” Hopkins — a Centerville native born in 1912 — enjoyed in the 1960s a period of celebration and, for lack of a better term, discovery. Hopkins didn’t really need to be discovered: He went through a quiet recording period in the 1950s, but he was always an active performer, particularly in his adopted home of Houston.
But the recordings he’d made in 1946 and 1947 at Houston’s Gold Star recording studio were the stuff of lore: His songs were informed by hardship and humor, and his intricate guitar playing influenced singer-songwriters for decades. His blues were not powered by horns but rather pulled listeners close as his spidery fingers spun webs on the guitar.
Renewed interest in Hopkins led to the discovery (that word again) of Mance Lipscomb, a Navasota songster who routinely performed for crowds on weekends, but who wasn’t recorded until 1960, when he was 65 years old.
‘Gatemouth’ Brown
The quantity of distinctive song stylists is astounding. Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown, born in Louisiana in 1924 and raised in Orange, made some hot singles for Houston’s Peacock label in the 1950s. He bristled at the thought of musical boundaries, and created his own singular mix of music styles that represented the swampy terrain where he grew up.
Gilmer native Freddie King (b. 1934) started recording around 1960 and immediately established himself as a guitarist others emulated. Others took longer to get their due: Albert Collins — born in Leona in 1932 — came of age in Houston and recorded as early as 1958, though he didn’t start drawing well-deserved attention until he started recording for the Alligator label in 1978. These players preceded but overlapped with a generation of such guys as Johnny Winter, ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons and brothers Stevie Ray and Jimmie Vaughan, who grew up on the blues and used it to create their own toothrattling style of rock ’n’ roll.
Each of the artists referenced above can prompt mention of dozens of other brilliant musicians who preceded or followed them. Mississippi certainly produced iconoclastic blues artists that justify the state’s lore as an American blues hub. It has also benefited from savvy marketing and a pinpointed tourist epicenter in the town of Clarksdale. The point here isn’t to engage in an academic debate, but rather to celebrate a musical history that emerged here. Texas blues is as big and broad as the state.