THE END.

The only thing better than "East West" is "East West" rendered live.

Another love song from the innimatable Louis Jordan.

I like the fact that, for the most part, the background of early 20^th century blues players are greatly undefined. It’s frustrating, certainly, but the fact that no one knows or can guess when or where folks were born, played, died or lay at rest is eerily appropriate. Ghostly might be a stretch, but the legacy of all of these folks is tied to the lack of documentation.

Blind Lemon Jefferson may have been born in 1893. Then again, it may also have been 1894. We’ll never know. Contradictory census information as well as military registration conflicts with various eye witness reports and stories. But a year’s a year, so it’s not a big deal. Oddly, though, no one can be certain as to where exactly Jefferson is buried.

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Different and electric, but still good...

"When I Lay my Burden Down" is more guts than anything else, but that's why it's good.

Honestly, I don’t care about Eric Clapton or Jimmy Page – or their bands apart from the Yardbirds. They can both surely shred, but when electric blues is discussed and their names are mentioned ahead of other players, it kinda bothers me. And it should bother you. I mean, you’re smart enough to be reading this, so aren’t you smart enough to not be a sheep? The answer to that is yes. So what follows is a short and by no means comprehensive (or fair) list of some players that worked in electric blues bands and make those aforementioned Brits sound like school girls.

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Electric blues gets stingy with its differences after a time. And it takes a truly unique performer to add any sort or personal mark on the genre. It might be a single song, a new way in which to play an instrument, some weird band set up, or something. Frank Frost doesn’t traffic in any single one of those, instead, a bit of each, but not too much.

Frost didn’t write “Big Boss Man,” but his rendition, included on the Sun Records produced Hey Boss Man!, should be seen as the proper antecedent to the Grateful Dead’s version that came later on in the ‘60s.

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Easily one of the most recognizable blooze doowds ever...

The Bluebird imprint, founded in 1934, had a roster of artists the read something like an early round up city blues players, old tyme guitarists and some hillbilly stalwarts like Jimmie Rodgers tossed in. For the label to have such a seemingly eclectic stable of players would say that the men who ran the show over at Bluebird – Lester Melrose perhaps, he snagged talent if nothing else – had a vision. It should also serve to explain that all of those musics weren’t really all that different, having only in subsequent years been divided up and prostituted. Yeah Garth Brooks is country, but Jimmie Rodgers? I mean come on. There’s not a comparison there. Just like Joe Bonamassa, although a talented dude, really isn’t in the same league as Bukka White even if you can find both at your local record store (they still have those, right?) in the same section.

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