Thank God for Robert Johnson
by Elmore Leonard [Essay]
“Martin Scorsese Presents the Blues: A Musical Journey”, ed. by Peter Guralnick, Robert Santelli, Holly George-Warren and Christopher John Farley.
Amistad Press, September 16, 2003?

    Son House said there was only one kind of blues:  something between a man and a woman, one deceiving or walking out on the other.  Any situation different than that, Son House said, was “monkey junk.”  My experience with the blues goes back to the early 1930s, when I was a little kid in Memphis, and the voices of Mildred Bailey and Billie Holiday caught my ear.  It was only ten years ago that I learned Mildred Bailey was white, and I could not believe it.  In my memory of her voice and phrasing, she never sounded like a white woman. 

    In 1941 we paid Woody Herman seven hundred dollars to bring his herd to the University of Detroit High School for Gala Night.  He closed with his theme song, the dirgelike “Blue Flame,” and it’s been my favorite big-band blues number ever since, placing it just above Earl Hines’ “After Hours” and the Basie Orchestra behind Joe Williams doing “Every Day I Have the Blues.”  During high school I was into black bands almost exclusively, and I was Earl Hines, Jimmie Lunceford, Fletcher Henderson, Lucky Millinder, Andy Kirk and his Clouds of Joy with May Lou Williams - all of them at th Paradise Theatre in Detroit - on their way to or from New York’s Apollo.  What used to be the Paradise is now the home of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra.

    In January 1946 I got off a Navy ship at Treasure Island, had my first glass of milk in over a year - couldn’t finish it, to rich - and raced over to a ballroom in Oakland to see Stan Kenton.  The high point was standing close to the stage and staring up at June Christy doing “Buzz Me.”

    In the late forties, following the war, my favorite spots for jazz and blues in Detroit were the Flame Show Bar, Sportree’s, and one or two others.  I saw Anita O’Day, Red Allen, J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding.  It was at Sportree’s that I met T-Bone Walker and joined him for drinks later, at an after-hours club.

    In 1955 in New York, I told Wild Bill Davison I’d always wanted to play the cornet but now, at thirty, felt I was too old to learn.  Wild Bill said, “I can teach you to play the fuckin’ horn in ten minutes.”  I went home and bought a used cornet but never learned.  A friend who was with me on the trip bought a new cornet and learned to play it but was never any good.

    About 1985, I heard Dizzy Gillespie up close at an outdoor venue and was moved to go home and write, practice my craft.  Other jazz performers had the same effect on me.  I was listening to Ben Webster one time and named a character in the story I was writing after him:  a bull rider turned Hollywood stuntman.  I make these   references to jazz because, according to Count Basie, the blues is what jazz came out of, what it’s all about.

    The last time I saw Count Basie perform was in ’69 at the Whiskey in L.A., sitting in with Carmen McRae, who prompted Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis during his solos to “Go, Jaw, Go!”  Later, listening to Lorenz Alexandria at another club, we sat close to the bandstand, and I got to watch Carmen nodding to the beat, chewing her gum in rhythm with Lorez’ timing.

(continued)

    And in 1987 in a club in Detroit called All That Jazz, Kris Lynn, who sat at her piano turning show tunes into jazz, invited an older black guy to take the mike and I heard “Tishamingo (sic) Blues” for the first time.

      I’m going to Tishamingo
  to have my hambone boiled
      The Atlanta women done
  let my hambone spoil.

    The song was recorded by Peg Leg Howell in Atlanta, November 8, 1926.  In Freaky Deaky, published in ’88, I wrote the song into a jazz club scene.  Two years ago I began writing a book set in Mississippi and saw the chance to use “Tishomingo Blues” as a title; the main reason being I like the sound of it - Tisho-mingo.

    The rationale at first:  A Civil War battle in the book is based somewhat on the Battle of Brice’s Cross Roads, a Confederate victory that took place in the vicinity of Tishomingo Creek, not far from Tishomingo County, Mississippi.  But the book’s setting I needed a town that would attract criminal activity, and for that I chose Tunica, “the   Casino Capital of the South,” almost forty miles down Highway 61 from Memphis.  What I didn’t realize - until my researcher for the past twenty years, Gregg Sutter, pointed it out - was the story took place in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, where the blues styles were fashioned and fooled with until the 1930s when country blues had become a tradition, an American institution.

    Gregg said, “And you want Robert Taylor, the coolest guy in the book, to be driving around in his Jaguar, listening to jazz?”  He was right.  I told Gregg I’d better add some blues for color, and maybe some of its history.

    The next step was to become familiar with the lineage:  how Charlie Patton’s riffs influenced Son House, and Son House was man until Robert Johnson “sold his soul to the Devil” and came up with a sound that got everybody excited, influencing not only the bluesmen who followed, but also the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Eric Clapton.  Listen to Robert Johnson’s “Love in Vain” and then the Stones’ coverage of it on their hit album of thirty years ago, Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out!, and Clapton with Cream taking off on     Johnson’s “Cross Road Blues.”

    I came to the legend of Robert Johnson selling his soul at the famous crossroads in Clarksdale, where Highways 61 and 49 intersect, not far from Tunica, and for the first time in thirty-seven novels I detected a theme.  Until now I’d had to wait for Scott Frank, and A-list Hollywood screenwriter, to tell me what my novels - SOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE! - were about.  This time, during the actual writing of the book, the theme of Tishomingo Blues was stating me in the face.

    I reference to Robert Johnson’s “I Believe I’ll Dust My Broom,” along with Elmore James dusting his, I gave the character Robert Taylor a grandfather named Broom   Taylor, a bluesman who moved his family to Detroit with John Lee Hooker.

    Writing the book took me into Delta blues for the good part of a year.  On a video of a 1960s documentary called Legends of the Bottleneck Blues Guitar, I saw the distinctive styles of Son House and Mississippi Fred McDowell, of Johnny Shines, Jesse Fuller, Mance Lipscomb, Furry Lewis.  I listened to the recordings of Peg Leg Howell, Charley Patton, Robert Johnson, Elmore James, B.B. King, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Willie Dixon, Buddy Guy.  These bluesmen played with soul and you could feel it and have to nod, yeah, at spellbinding combinations of riffs.

    It’s the music that evolved to become the inspirational sounds that have played in my head.  Anita O’Day letting me off uptown, or the Diz’ cool bop, or Brubeck’s “Take Five,” his piano enticing the drums to kick out, or the way Basie’s band comes in low on “Sweet Lorraine” and rises with one sound to blast you out of your chair.

This little treat of Mr. Leonard’s love of jazz and blues mentions Ben Webster from “Tenkiller”, FREAKY DEAKY, TISHOMINGO BLUES, Sportree’s from the classic 70’s Detroit novels.

Excellent!!  Thank you Robb.

at last
the sound
running round
in my haid
connected to the
jump and jive
all them novels sing
knew it all along
yeah
beat
time

Ben Webster
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Benjamin Francis Webster (March 27, 1909–September 20, 1973) was an influential American jazz tenor saxophonist.

Webster, born in Kansas City, Missouri, was considered one of the three most important “swing tenors” along with Coleman Hawkins and Lester Young. He had a tough, raspy, and brutal tone on stomps (with his own distinctive growls), yet on ballads he would play with warmth and sentiment. Stylistically he was heavily indebted to Hawkins, particularly for his low, muscular tone and his vibrato. But Webster was also significantly different from his main influence in that his sound was sleeker, less aggressive, and much more spacious.

“About 1985, I heard Dizzy Gillespie up close at an outdoor venue and was moved to go home and write, practice my craft.  Other jazz performers had the same effect on me.  I was listening to Ben Webster one time and named a character in the story I was writing after him:  a bull rider turned Hollywood stuntman.  I make these references to jazz because, according to Count Basie, the blues is what jazz came out of, what it’s all about.”

—Elmore Leonard, “Thank God For Robert Johnson”

Gregg posted a piece on Elmore Leonard’s love of jazz.  Check out the article above.  It is really cool how jazz could influence Mr. Leonard to write.

The article was awesome! Keep sharing.

Elmore appears to have named other characters after jazz guys. Bo Catlett the original (Hurrah for Capt. Early), and the more recent Bo Catlett (Get Shorty), I’d guess were named after Sid Catlett, the jazz drummer.

<< Sid Catlett was born in Evansville, Indiana, and started at piano, but switched to drums and entered formal study when his family moved to Chicago. His career began in Chicago in 1928 with Darnell Howard. In adulthood he moved to New York City and worked with Benny Carter, Fletcher Henderson, Elmer Snowden, Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Ben Webster, and others. In 1941 he joined Benny Goodman’s band and after that joined Teddy Wilson’s Sextet. In 1944 he did an album with pianist Harry Gibson. He also had his own band and played for Louis Armstrong’s All Stars from 1947 to 1949 and became his drummer of choice. He played bop, dixieland, and other styles. >>

bernie1estes - 04 April 2011 01:54 AM

The article was awesome! Keep sharing.

Check out the Non-Fiction section of the forum.  Great stuff in there.  Check out HAIL MARY or IMPRESSIONS OF MURDER.  There are over 40 pieces by the master.

The of course we have Art Krupa from Mr. Paradise.

<< Gene Krupa (January 15, 1909 – October 16, 1973) was an influential American jazz and big band drummer and composer, known for his highly energetic and flamboyant style. >>

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gene_Krupa

And Carl Fontana too, from “Mr. Paradise”:

Carl Fontana (July 18, 1928 - October 9, 2003) was an American jazz trombonist. Because Fontana rarely recorded under his own name and toured only occasionally after 1958, he is significantly less famous among mainstream jazz fans, although well-known amongst trombonists.