This entry is an attempt to share my earliest musical experiences, and recollections of my choice of landmark guitar music.
Some of this music has somehow not only become embedded in my life and language, but has stayed with me for over forty years, without shedding any of the fire or beauty that flew out of the mono grooves of my old vinyl record collection. But this is an ongoing affair, seemingly without end, and with tendrils galore, taking me beyond my blues roots. I write as a fan, not as a musician, and I delight in the fact that there is great music to be discovered every day. New music and music from long ago.
I can clearly remember a day in 1968 when my friend Al came round to our house, with a copy of the just released Jethro Tull LP This Was, tucked under his arm. It included a version of the 1961 Dr Ross blues; Cat’s Squirrel. The same number was also featured on the first album by Cream released in 1966. This was indeed for me.
However, the standout track, of course, was Song for Jeffrey. I had never heard anything that sounded like it. On this album, the riffs and the tone of Mick Abraham’s guitar were what really grabbed me by the lapels. I have to admit that, as a schoolboy, surrounded by government-issue grey people, the look of the band on the sleeve ( looking nicely weird) also had an impact on me. That album signalled for me, that something more important than pop music was rearing its unwashed head.
Earlier that year, before I owned a record player, the same friend had bought Boogie With Canned Heat, which launched the unlikely hit single On the Road Again . I went to his house, and heard the rest of the album for the first time. At this point, I was listening to John Lee Hooker, John Mayall, Fleetwood Mac, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters and Elmore James whenever I could. Nothing prepared me for the sound of World in a Jug. I think I made Al play it around ten times before I walked home in a slight daze, feeling that something new had entered my life. This was the blues and rock alright, but with toxic ingredients added to the brew. Noise. Distortion. Attitude. Volume. I was hooked.
At a weekly disco, there was a blues segue, to allow the dancing people - who moved and grooved to Motown, Stax and R & B classics, to take a break. I took in Savoy Brown’s Walkin’ by Myself and the odd track from the Mayall “Beano” album along with Elmore, Fleetwood Mac and Mr Hooker and Mr Harpo.The first time I heard anything through headphones was in that hallowed – and now demolished - hall. The guy at the decks let me hear Hendrix through his headphones, with panning, and in glorious stereo. This was a big leap towards what was to become the norm.
Around this time, I discovered what a riff was. I liked guitar riffs. I still like guitar riffs. The first album I bought was Crusade by John Mayall, with the young Mick Taylor on guitar. Checking on my Woman blew me away. We saw the band live in 1968 at Birmingham Town Hall, and that Albert King riff still hits the spot today. John Mayall was my main blues man for many years, and is rightly credited with academy status.
Other injections were the first two Fleetwood Mac LPs. I heard tracks from the first album all the time, and became familiar with the Elmore James school of bottleneck playing because of it. Money being tight, I actually paid one third of the cost of Mr Wondeerful – the second Fleetwood Mac album, with Al and his sister as my partners. I took that album everywhere. It was even mounted on the wall of the school youth club disco every week.
My first serious wooing was conducted to that record. It spun round every Saturday night on my girlfriend’s parents’ radiogram. For me, the warm Peter Green sound of Love That Burns, sat comfortably with the Jeremy Spencer/Elmore James material. I could not wait for Love That Burns to end actually, but enjoyed her enjoyment of it. My investment was possibly the best I have ever made.
At a local church hall (in Quinton) I saw a guy actually playing guitar with a slide for the first time. The band were called Slamhammer. I was mesmerised. My mystified girlfriend was not. Sometimes at gigs, all these years later, I am still as much in awe as on that schoolboy night in The Black Country. I met that guitarist on a train one day much later, when we were both in our day-job suits, and he seemed to be very happy that I had remembered his playing on that night.
At this time, the Blue Horizon label was pretty effective at promoting blues music to the masses. Not only were Fleetwood Mac popular, but they were educating us about the roots of their music. It was noted that BB King was the influence for the sublime Peter Green tone and solos, and that Elmore James’ Dust My Broom was the bedrock for the Jeremy Spencer repertoire. Stan Webb and Chicken Shack did their bit too, and with humour as well as blues panache. Mayall educated us about the Chicago guys. Twelve bar blues with guitar solos were cool for a few years, and were solid grounding for the musical experiences to come. Like seeing Bukka White. Like seeing Jeff Beck. Like seeing Buddy Guy and Eric Clapton. Shit ~ I never saw Hendrix. I saw Roy Buchanan, John Fahey and John Martyn though!
Born under a bad sign maybe, but at a good time for real music, with longevity. Longevity.
