There aren’t really that many horribly famous one man band(s). The approach, while still trucked in by the lo-fi, independent set (Ty Segall), never moved past the novelty stage of its popularity during the ‘50s. It could be thought that the approach to music died in that era. Mostly this set up – any variation of simple percussion being held down by a foot or two, while the upper half of the performer is given over to guitar or banjo and eventually the harmonica – seemed to be plied by black folks subsequent to the original blues explosion in the ‘30s. Of course, prior to this time, minstrel shows certainly counted performers of this type in their ranks.

And out of this travelling Vaudeville-like show came Abner Jay. During his life, he only received a bit of attention despite playing for the better part of sixty years. But the stories behind what led this performer on his sojourn are that of American legend. Apparently receiving not just his six string banjo from his grandfather – a former slave – Abner was also privy to the huge catalog of songs that this man knew. By the end of his career, Abner claimed that he knew around six hundred songs. How that would ever be tested is beyond me, but it’s a startling thing to contemplate.

A good deal of those songs, whether he knew them or not, were surely field songs or songs passed down in the folk tradition. And while Abner released a number of full lengths through his own Brandie label, named after his wife, the folks at a Portland based imprint, Mississippi Records, released True Story of Abner Jay within the last few years. Collected here are a number of well contrived standards and a few songs that invoke Abner’s own social criticism – or even at times, both at once.

While the music is as based in a blues boogie as any other genre, the lead off “I’m So Depressed” makes the malady seem desired if this is the result. Along the way, though, the track ends up bearing at least a passing similarity to some work from an island singer named Exuma. Lyrically, though, the song is a litany of trying times as Abner says he needs some rest. This initial track might be one of the more guttural and true offerings here, but musically it’s the most sedate and considering the topic, it’s void of a humor that’s so prevalent elsewhere.

While that lead off is personal, much the rest of the disc is given over to a bit of commentary, with the singer commenting on “Cocaine” that he can’t find any – the hippies got it all. And as if some sort of perfect segue, the following “Vietnam” is a good luck letter to those being dispatched there. Of course, all of these tracks weren’t issued in this order, the folks at Mississippi Records have just made a point to internalize all of it and the spit it back out in an historically relevant fashion.