Probably having is first name used as half of Pink Floyd’s moniker would be the best reason for blooze people to have heard of Pink Anderson. To slight his playing or performances would be nonsensical, though, he just never worked enough during the ‘20s and ‘30s to have made a name for himself – or one big enough to tower over Rev. Gary Davis, Blind Blake or the rest of the Piedmont players. And while Anderson’s relation to that Brit psych band will continue to define him, a re-examination of his catalog finds a master interpreter of work that should be familiar to most listeners enamored with the blues or folk music.

At best Anderson was a playful story teller, reworking traditional songs and standards of the genre with variations only noticeable to those steeped in the mystique of the genre. Every melody that one hears from Anderson – who utilizes a jaunty finger picking style augmented by an occasional strummed chord or two – is going to be recognizable from some other song out of another performer’s catalog. Most likely, this can be attributed to the fact that the majority of the time that Anderson toured, he was in the company of medicine show performers. Anderson functioned as the entertainment around which pitches for whatever new, topical ointment, cream or pill was to be hocked. And considering that he began these tours while still a teen, Anderson was necessitated to learn works that all types of crowds would not only be familiar with, but enjoy – his reassessment of “In the Pines” is pretty boss.

Because of Anderson’s working background, he didn’t too frequently record. A date in the late ‘20s yielded four sides, but apart from that, he wouldn’t record anything until the ‘60s. During that late in the game resurgence, Anderson would put down three volumes of Carolina Blues Man. These would basically encompass the American Songbook, but to good affect. And over the course of these discs, the guitarist proves that even past his prime playing and touring days, he’s still a formidable performer.

On the series’ first installment, Anderson sounds relaxed as each of the album’s eleven tracks languidly rolls from his tongue and off of his fingers. Nothing seems rushed and everything seems personal and genuine. A few of the songs, while still scented with his medicine show runs like “Baby, Please Don’t Go” and “Weeping Willow Blues” sit nicely next to some of the more ribald offerings from this set.

“Try Some of That,” while coming off as more than happy, gives listeners the story of woman trucking in the world’s oldest profession. She’s apparently going to “meet you out on the street at night then try to sell you some.” And while Anderson isn’t fond of using terms like “jelly roll” and the like, the songs point is made pretty clearly. While this offering might not be a pure blues, in any sense of the genre, Anderson clearly displays his story telling acumen atop of his guitar skill. He might not be the best remembered player of the era, but he might be one of the better entertainers.