Monday, September 8, 2008
What happened to the Subway?
A lot of people who enjoyed the movie Last of the Mississippi Jukes ask me, What happened to the Subway? Well, it's gone. There is a plaque at the site. And, in an even better and living tribute, owner Jimmy King is hosting Subway nights at Schimmel's restaurant in Jackson, bringing the musicians, the menu items and some of the feel of the old Subway Lounge. This nice little video by Jukes director Robert Mugge will bring you up to date and give you a few tears.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
review of Marybeth Hamilton, In Search of the Blues
Marybeth Hamilton, In Search of the Blues
review by Steve Cheseborough
Marybeth Hamilton has dug up some good stories, and makes some good insights. But then she takes it too far.
The stories are about white non-musicians obsessed with African-American music (she uses "blues" in the title and many other places in the book, but really the subjects are obsessed with plantation melodies, jazz and various other African-American musics as well as blues). Her point is that these obsessives, with their strange approaches (Dorothy Scarborough relied on elderly white ex-slave owners' recollections of black song) and personalities (James McKune ended up drunken, homeless and murdered by a man he had picked up to have sex with), have helped define black music through their writing, collecting and other nonmusical activities.
This collection of characters is interesting. They are of course not the only white nonmusicians to have made an impact on blues. Others who spring to mind, who are ignored or mentioned only in passing in this book, include Charles Peabody, the Harvard archaeologist who gave a very early documentation when he noticed his dig's workers' songs in 1902; H.C. Speir, furniture-store owner who served as the music's greatest talent scout by discovering Skip James, Charley Patton and dozens of others; the Paramount record executive (name unknown to me) who took a chance, in an era of sophisticated, orchestra-backed female blues singers, on recording the solo street performer Blind Lemon Jefferson; John Hammond Sr., who produced the Spirituals to Swing concerts in the late 1930s and reissued Robert Johnson's recordings in the 1960s; Stephen C. LaVere, who oversaw the second reissue of Johnson, on CD in the 1990s, accompanied by a photo, that led to Johnson's superstardom; Jim O'Neal, founder of Living Blues, the first magazine to focus on living musicians rather than old recordings. Hamilton tends to pick people who wrote books, and that's OK. She tells us about Howard Odum, who decided in 1907 that black song was as worth documenting as Native American song, and set out to do it; Scarborough, a Virginia-born Columbia professor who switched interest from literature to plantation song; John Lomax, who believed prisons were repositories of pure folk music; Frederick Ramsey, Charles Edward Smith and William Russell, who found heaven in early New Orleans jazz records and then in the living master Jelly Roll Morton; and McKune, high priest of the cult of collecting old 78s.
Where the book goes way out into silly and false territory, though, is when it confuses these people's activities with the creation of the music. According to Hamilton, Delta blues was born in a Brooklyn YMCA room in the 1940s, as McKune listened to a Charley Patton record. In case we think she's joking, she physically goes to the site and describes the building and the room, the holy site where the blues was born. She is not kidding.
In the book's final pages, Hamilton does a mass psychoanalysis of late-20th-Century American white men, and decides that their fascination with the outlaw bluesman is part of their general escape from commitment. There lies the origin of the blues, according to Hamilton.
Barry Lee Pearson and Elijah Wald both wrote books a few years ago that debunked the Robert Johnson myth, said he was not a big deal in his own time or in blues history. Hamilton tries to take it way further, say blues itself is not a big deal, doesn't really exist except in the twisted minds and writings of her characters. But that isn't true. There is a music known as the blues, and it would have existed whether or not Odum, Lomax, McKune and the rest of Hamilton's subjects ever noticed it. All of them did notice it, though, because they were captivated by the sound. In nearly every chapter, Hamilton describes the epiphanic moment when each of these people first heard the blues, usually on record. It was the sound, not the image of a bluesman, that captured these people. That same sound has captivated many, many people -- men and women, from all countries and eras, not just commitment-phobic late-20th-Century American men.
But it never captured Hamilton. She never listened to Robert Johnson until the 1990s, and then she "heard very little," she says in the first chapter. A punk-rock fan, she doesn't say whether she tried listening to any blues besides Johnson. Instead she set off to try to mass-psychoanalyze the people who do hear something in the blues. Maybe she should try listening again before she writes another book.
review by Steve Cheseborough
Marybeth Hamilton has dug up some good stories, and makes some good insights. But then she takes it too far.
The stories are about white non-musicians obsessed with African-American music (she uses "blues" in the title and many other places in the book, but really the subjects are obsessed with plantation melodies, jazz and various other African-American musics as well as blues). Her point is that these obsessives, with their strange approaches (Dorothy Scarborough relied on elderly white ex-slave owners' recollections of black song) and personalities (James McKune ended up drunken, homeless and murdered by a man he had picked up to have sex with), have helped define black music through their writing, collecting and other nonmusical activities.
This collection of characters is interesting. They are of course not the only white nonmusicians to have made an impact on blues. Others who spring to mind, who are ignored or mentioned only in passing in this book, include Charles Peabody, the Harvard archaeologist who gave a very early documentation when he noticed his dig's workers' songs in 1902; H.C. Speir, furniture-store owner who served as the music's greatest talent scout by discovering Skip James, Charley Patton and dozens of others; the Paramount record executive (name unknown to me) who took a chance, in an era of sophisticated, orchestra-backed female blues singers, on recording the solo street performer Blind Lemon Jefferson; John Hammond Sr., who produced the Spirituals to Swing concerts in the late 1930s and reissued Robert Johnson's recordings in the 1960s; Stephen C. LaVere, who oversaw the second reissue of Johnson, on CD in the 1990s, accompanied by a photo, that led to Johnson's superstardom; Jim O'Neal, founder of Living Blues, the first magazine to focus on living musicians rather than old recordings. Hamilton tends to pick people who wrote books, and that's OK. She tells us about Howard Odum, who decided in 1907 that black song was as worth documenting as Native American song, and set out to do it; Scarborough, a Virginia-born Columbia professor who switched interest from literature to plantation song; John Lomax, who believed prisons were repositories of pure folk music; Frederick Ramsey, Charles Edward Smith and William Russell, who found heaven in early New Orleans jazz records and then in the living master Jelly Roll Morton; and McKune, high priest of the cult of collecting old 78s.
Where the book goes way out into silly and false territory, though, is when it confuses these people's activities with the creation of the music. According to Hamilton, Delta blues was born in a Brooklyn YMCA room in the 1940s, as McKune listened to a Charley Patton record. In case we think she's joking, she physically goes to the site and describes the building and the room, the holy site where the blues was born. She is not kidding.
In the book's final pages, Hamilton does a mass psychoanalysis of late-20th-Century American white men, and decides that their fascination with the outlaw bluesman is part of their general escape from commitment. There lies the origin of the blues, according to Hamilton.
Barry Lee Pearson and Elijah Wald both wrote books a few years ago that debunked the Robert Johnson myth, said he was not a big deal in his own time or in blues history. Hamilton tries to take it way further, say blues itself is not a big deal, doesn't really exist except in the twisted minds and writings of her characters. But that isn't true. There is a music known as the blues, and it would have existed whether or not Odum, Lomax, McKune and the rest of Hamilton's subjects ever noticed it. All of them did notice it, though, because they were captivated by the sound. In nearly every chapter, Hamilton describes the epiphanic moment when each of these people first heard the blues, usually on record. It was the sound, not the image of a bluesman, that captured these people. That same sound has captivated many, many people -- men and women, from all countries and eras, not just commitment-phobic late-20th-Century American men.
But it never captured Hamilton. She never listened to Robert Johnson until the 1990s, and then she "heard very little," she says in the first chapter. A punk-rock fan, she doesn't say whether she tried listening to any blues besides Johnson. Instead she set off to try to mass-psychoanalyze the people who do hear something in the blues. Maybe she should try listening again before she writes another book.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Bo Diddley's daughter
Never mind what they call Elvis Presley -- the real Kings of Rock 'n' Roll are Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley and Little Richard. And all three of them were still alive, until today, when Bo Diddley passed away at age 79.
My Diddley story: About five years ago, I was playing at a little ice-cream/coffee shop in Newport News, Va. A a woman was singing/humming along with some of the songs, and she sounded good. I asked her if she wanted to sing a song and I'd try to accompany her. Her songs were too jazzy for me to quite follow but it was fun, she was good. I asked her if she played guitar (I was going to let her accompany herself). She said no, but her dad did, professionally, but he was rarely home so she didn't get to learn from him. I asked her dad's name and she said Bo Diddley!
My Diddley story: About five years ago, I was playing at a little ice-cream/coffee shop in Newport News, Va. A a woman was singing/humming along with some of the songs, and she sounded good. I asked her if she wanted to sing a song and I'd try to accompany her. Her songs were too jazzy for me to quite follow but it was fun, she was good. I asked her if she played guitar (I was going to let her accompany herself). She said no, but her dad did, professionally, but he was rarely home so she didn't get to learn from him. I asked her dad's name and she said Bo Diddley!
Monday, April 28, 2008
yodel lady who? 2008
yodel lady who?
Originally published 3/26/2008
Oh boy, I get to yodel! Often I slip a yodeling number or two into my regular sets but this is the first time I've been asked to do an all-yodel show. Don't worry, it's only a 15-minute set. 9 to 9:15 p.m. April 10 at the World Famous Kenton Club, 2025 N Kilpatrick (north of Lombard and just off of N. Denver). It's part of Honky Tonk Night, a new regular feature there. I'm opening for Johnny Cash tribute group called Counterfeit Cash.
Now, if you know me and my blues purism, you might wonder, Why is Cheseborough yodeling? Isn't that like, a hillbilly thing, not a blues thing?
Good question! But actually the yodel's place in American music was established by Jimmie Rodgers, the Singing Brakeman. Also known as the Blue Yodeler, Rodgers was a white man from Mississippi who became a huge national star in the 1930s with his songs, which were basically blues with yodeling added. He's considered the Father of Country Music, but he also could just as easily be called the first white blues star. And if you listen to the bluesmen he would have listened to, both on records and in person as he worked on the railroads before becoming a music star, you hear some yodel-like sounds coming from them. Especially from Tommy Johnson, who grew up not far from Rodgers and in the same years. Johnson's falsetto breaks surely must have inspired Rodgers, who made them somewhat more Alpine-sounding. And once Rodgers became a star, he in turn influenced late bluesmen -- in particular Howlin' Wolf (who also grew up in that same region of the state). Wolf was a big Rodgers fan, and said that his howls were based on Rodgers' yodels.
So when I yodel I respect all this tradition. I'll include songs by Rodgers and Johnson at the Kenton Club. Come check that out or ask me for a yodeling number at any of my other shows. Cheers, SC
Originally published 3/26/2008
Oh boy, I get to yodel! Often I slip a yodeling number or two into my regular sets but this is the first time I've been asked to do an all-yodel show. Don't worry, it's only a 15-minute set. 9 to 9:15 p.m. April 10 at the World Famous Kenton Club, 2025 N Kilpatrick (north of Lombard and just off of N. Denver). It's part of Honky Tonk Night, a new regular feature there. I'm opening for Johnny Cash tribute group called Counterfeit Cash.
Now, if you know me and my blues purism, you might wonder, Why is Cheseborough yodeling? Isn't that like, a hillbilly thing, not a blues thing?
Good question! But actually the yodel's place in American music was established by Jimmie Rodgers, the Singing Brakeman. Also known as the Blue Yodeler, Rodgers was a white man from Mississippi who became a huge national star in the 1930s with his songs, which were basically blues with yodeling added. He's considered the Father of Country Music, but he also could just as easily be called the first white blues star. And if you listen to the bluesmen he would have listened to, both on records and in person as he worked on the railroads before becoming a music star, you hear some yodel-like sounds coming from them. Especially from Tommy Johnson, who grew up not far from Rodgers and in the same years. Johnson's falsetto breaks surely must have inspired Rodgers, who made them somewhat more Alpine-sounding. And once Rodgers became a star, he in turn influenced late bluesmen -- in particular Howlin' Wolf (who also grew up in that same region of the state). Wolf was a big Rodgers fan, and said that his howls were based on Rodgers' yodels.
So when I yodel I respect all this tradition. I'll include songs by Rodgers and Johnson at the Kenton Club. Come check that out or ask me for a yodeling number at any of my other shows. Cheers, SC
keep music at McCormick & Schmick 2008
keep music at McCormick & Schmick
Originally published 2/20/2008
The Original McCormick & Schmick, 235 SW 1st Ave, Portland, is a wonderful old Portland business. Lots of wood and history. And a loft, where a pianist always played. Until the company discontinued the music. McCormick & Schmick has grown into a big national chain. Doing fine without live music, I guess. But Beverly Edwards, the current manager at the original restaurant, brought back the live music a year or so ago. Three nights a week at first. But the company told her to cut it to two, and then to one. It's only on Fridays now. And she's afraid they might tell her to cut it again, down to 0 nights.
You can help keep the music going. First, you can email Bev (she asked me to ask you to email her, so that she can pass on to her bosses the messages of support for live music). Her email address is ms03@msmg.com . Just tell her, in your own words, that you like the music there and would like it to continue.
And second, you can help by coming to hear me there! And you can go hear other musicians there, too, if you want. There is music, for now, every Friday from 6-9 p.m. I play Feb. 29 and March 14, so come on one or both of those dates if you can! Another reason to come: They have great happy-hour food, including the best deal on the best burger in town. Cheers and hope to see you there, SC
Originally published 2/20/2008
The Original McCormick & Schmick, 235 SW 1st Ave, Portland, is a wonderful old Portland business. Lots of wood and history. And a loft, where a pianist always played. Until the company discontinued the music. McCormick & Schmick has grown into a big national chain. Doing fine without live music, I guess. But Beverly Edwards, the current manager at the original restaurant, brought back the live music a year or so ago. Three nights a week at first. But the company told her to cut it to two, and then to one. It's only on Fridays now. And she's afraid they might tell her to cut it again, down to 0 nights.
You can help keep the music going. First, you can email Bev (she asked me to ask you to email her, so that she can pass on to her bosses the messages of support for live music). Her email address is ms03@msmg.com . Just tell her, in your own words, that you like the music there and would like it to continue.
And second, you can help by coming to hear me there! And you can go hear other musicians there, too, if you want. There is music, for now, every Friday from 6-9 p.m. I play Feb. 29 and March 14, so come on one or both of those dates if you can! Another reason to come: They have great happy-hour food, including the best deal on the best burger in town. Cheers and hope to see you there, SC
keep music at McCormick & Schmick 2008
keep music at McCormick & Schmick
Originally published 2/20/2008
The Original McCormick & Schmick, 235 SW 1st Ave, Portland, is a wonderful old Portland business. Lots of wood and history. And a loft, where a pianist always played. Until the company discontinued the music. McCormick & Schmick has grown into a big national chain. Doing fine without live music, I guess. But Beverly Edwards, the current manager at the original restaurant, brought back the live music a year or so ago. Three nights a week at first. But the company told her to cut it to two, and then to one. It's only on Fridays now. And she's afraid they might tell her to cut it again, down to 0 nights.
You can help keep the music going. First, you can email Bev (she asked me to ask you to email her, so that she can pass on to her bosses the messages of support for live music). Her email address is ms03@msmg.com . Just tell her, in your own words, that you like the music there and would like it to continue.
And second, you can help by coming to hear me there! And you can go hear other musicians there, too, if you want. There is music, for now, every Friday from 6-9 p.m. I play Feb. 29 and March 14, so come on one or both of those dates if you can! Another reason to come: They have great happy-hour food, including the best deal on the best burger in town. Cheers and hope to see you there, SC
Originally published 2/20/2008
The Original McCormick & Schmick, 235 SW 1st Ave, Portland, is a wonderful old Portland business. Lots of wood and history. And a loft, where a pianist always played. Until the company discontinued the music. McCormick & Schmick has grown into a big national chain. Doing fine without live music, I guess. But Beverly Edwards, the current manager at the original restaurant, brought back the live music a year or so ago. Three nights a week at first. But the company told her to cut it to two, and then to one. It's only on Fridays now. And she's afraid they might tell her to cut it again, down to 0 nights.
You can help keep the music going. First, you can email Bev (she asked me to ask you to email her, so that she can pass on to her bosses the messages of support for live music). Her email address is ms03@msmg.com . Just tell her, in your own words, that you like the music there and would like it to continue.
And second, you can help by coming to hear me there! And you can go hear other musicians there, too, if you want. There is music, for now, every Friday from 6-9 p.m. I play Feb. 29 and March 14, so come on one or both of those dates if you can! Another reason to come: They have great happy-hour food, including the best deal on the best burger in town. Cheers and hope to see you there, SC
Me on Oregon Art Beat 2008
Me on Oregon Art Beat
Originally published 1/24/2008
Well, it's exciting to be featured on a TV program anytime but it's totally thrilling when the program turns out so well: http://www.opb.org/programs/artbeat/videos/view/67-Steve-Cheseborough
Check it out! My thanks and praise to Shawn Hutchinson and his crew for boiling down my life and work to a fine eight-minute piece.
Originally published 1/24/2008
Well, it's exciting to be featured on a TV program anytime but it's totally thrilling when the program turns out so well: http://www.opb.org/programs/artbeat/videos/view/67-Steve-Cheseborough
Check it out! My thanks and praise to Shawn Hutchinson and his crew for boiling down my life and work to a fine eight-minute piece.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)