The world’s lousy with dirty old men – in literature, they represent some of the most well respected folks, American or otherwise. That’s not all bad, though, considering the fact that a lot of ‘em have gone on to make some good music if not penning novels detailing sexual exploits.

There’re countless blues standards about ‘sugar bowls,’ ‘pussy cat’s’ and the like. Of course, each of those tracks was devised in such a manner as to have some of the listening audience – and whoever was function as a censor at the time - fooled as to what was actually being discussed. It didn’t always work out. But regardless of who got fooled and how, the music wound up being pretty interesting as well as pretty surprising considering the time frame from whence it came.

Tapping keys from before World War II, Roosevelt Sykes and his original take on the blues genre allowed the singer to persist well beyond the majority of his cohort. Gigging around the Midwest afforded the man a record deal prior to the bottom falling out of the American financial system. Oddly enough, though, Sykes was able to maintain a recording contract through the ensuing decades and would eventually create a sublimely nasty oeuvre that might be rivaled somewhere, but never overtaken. It’s the truth.

The entirety of Sykes’ work is something for adults. But on a latter day date – 1977 should be considered pretty deep into his career seeing as he began working in the late ‘20s – Blue and Ribald finds the elder statesmen of raunchy piano theatrics in excitable form. His voice hadn’t seemed to have suffered over time, nor did his keyboard playing.

For a gentleman of his ilk and the time that he was raised, it’s surprising, even at this vantage point to consider the revelatory feel that must have resulted from hearing a seventy year old man sing about blow jobs on “It Hurts So Good.” No matter, though, the pianist soon picks up a guitar to explain a more traditional blues sentiment – he doesn’t want his woman’s cold feet on him. It makes sense, even if the idea is a bit detached from his other work.

Whatever he discussed, Sykes remained a bawdy figure head.

There has to be, somewhere, a lineage that details the erotic or exotic song back to its roots in the old country. If that in fact exists – as well it should – Sykes has an integral perch to take up there. Everything from “Wild Thing” to some of the Velvet Underground’s more obscene work has its roots here.

Sykes never attained the status of some of his brethren, or even later Chicago players that would go electric and spawn rock and roll. And while that’s a damned shame, the music that this pianist left behind has retained its vibrancy over time while some of this wang dang doodles seem dated today.

It’s not too much more than a jaunty, blues stride, but Sykes has what you need in spades.