The Folk Blues and Gospel Caravan WE HAD the "Caravan" here in ...

The Folk Blues and Gospel CaravanWE HAD the "Caravan" here in England from April 29th to May 11th by courtesy ofGeorge Wein and the Harold Davison Agency. I am now asked to write about itretrospectively—or as my dictionary says "looking back on past events". For those whodidn't see it, or didn't even hear about it (the publicity given this package was pretty bad)the line-up in order of appearance was as follows: Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee;Otis Spann, Sister Rosetta Tharpe for the first half; Cousin Joe; Blind Gary Davis andMuddy Waters for the second session. Lightnin' Hopkins was booked but fell "sick"—byall accounts the ailment was a great aversion to aeroplanes, not surprising in one so unfaitas Lightnin', who has now been booked per mare for later this year. Mississippi JohnHurt was also due but had a chest cold on the day of departure and as he is seventy-twoyears young, it was wisely decided to postpone his visit. This was a great pity but even soone couldn't help thinking that there were maybe too many artists as it was, for good asthey were, one seldom saw them for quite a long enough spell. (Memo: someone mustsurely now bring Muddy Waters back for some club dates!) This roster of blues brilliancewas further supplemented by Little Willie Smith who played drums for one number eachwith Sonny and Brownie, Cousin Joe and Rosetta, and Ransom Knowling, a surprise andterribly welcome bassist from the history books of blues recording, who played in thesame groups. Both played full-time with Otis Spann and Muddy. Brownie played anumber with Cousin Joe and Sonny duetted often for two or three numbers with BlindGary, so everyone as you'll see, had quite a lot to do. The compere was Joe Boyd, and avery fine job he did, while doubling as tour manager along with John Hurt's managerTom Hoskins, who'd come along for the trip, and who promises to bring back John withhis newest "find" Robert Wilkins, now practising as a preacher down in Memphis. Theprogramme was a masterpiece of its kind with fine photographs and excellent notes byPaul Oliver who'd now doubtless be writing his report if he weren't working away inWest Africa. Paul's absence is regretful, as no blues writer ever brought to life a concertso vividly as he did with the "Folk Blues Festival" of last year in this magazine.I saw, heard or was present at four concerts in all, in fact the last four in a row, and thevariety of things done by each artist makes writing up the events a trifle difficult. BlindGary, for example, could be pretty erratic, as at the New Victoria second house when heplayed two instrumentals under great strain, then had to be led off stage by Sonny Terryin a state of near collapse, apparently quite overcome by his reception. Anyone who sawthat show probably thought they had a bad deal, but to expect a genuine street singer toturn out any sort of professional performance is to destroy all the things that are good inthe blues and gospel idioms. If you were lucky, and apparently you had an 80% or betterchance, and saw Gary at his very fine best, as I did for 35 minutes at Brighton, then I'msure you'd agree that Gary Davis on stage can produce the most wonderful country gospelmusic any concert stage is ever likely to see. His moving and beautiful rendering of PureReligion was one of the most wonderful things I have ever witnessed; and MuddyWaters, following on, broke his usual silence to pay sincere tribute to "the greatReverend". In fact Muddy announced every number at Brighton and produced one of hisbest performances, including My home is in the Delta for Belgian bluesophile GeorgeAdins, a hard version of Got my Mojo working with which a pretty cold audiencepositively refused to associate itself, and a mean rendering of Nineteen years old which

one could well imagine was sung at some silent gathering. With some of theencouragement he got last year at Croydon, Muddy I'm sure would have produced greatthings— as it was he seemed resolved to give 'em the straight text-book stuff they seemedto want, especially at the first New Vic show where his bottleneck rang out reminiscentof early records, and Ransom Knowling played the sort of bass that showed just whyBluebird employed him for something over two thousand titles. Perhaps Muddy's bestdisplay was the Croydon concert, where as last year the audience knew how to react, andhaving got past Mojo were really settling in for some great blues when the Queen rangout leaving Muddy and Co. standing around looking pretty embarrassed and not a littleannoyed. Such mismanagement spoiled one of the highlights of the tour.Sonny and Brownie were probably picked to open the proceedings on the strength oftheir long experience, and uncanny ability to get the confidence of the spectators. Theiract had the slickness that has lost a lot of their appeal on record but which never fails toenthrall live; through the four shows only Sonny's show-piece and the "walk-off" songWalk On were repeated. As expected, they had no bad times, and the splendid Key to thehighway given out at Croydon only emphasised what we already knew—that these twohave overcome and triumphed, but can still sing their blues with feeling and a load oftalent. Certainly there will never be another pair like this, and if ever I hear another playharmonica so completely, it'll be a great day for the blues.Otis Spann and the rhythm joined Sonny and Brownie for their last number and stayedon for Otis's spot, which usually consisted of a very jazz-flavoured instrumental and therather unsuitable T'aint nobody's business if I do, both played with great aplomb and awonderful left hand. Otis with better material would certainly be as big a draw as hisgreat leader, and no doubt one day he will get to be a very popular artist indeed. Thegroup sometimes stayed on for Sister Rosetta's act which I must confess shattered myeardrums to the extent that I could only manage one whole act. Complete with pink wig,beautiful gowns and shining new solid Gibson, reputedly setting her back 750 dollars, shewas even louder than previously and no less wonderful to see. The audiences satstupefied by this woman until she decided they should join in and clap, shout or stamp toher music. Songs like Up above my head and This train did things to these staidaudiences that makes one suddenly see why such amazing things happen during similarshows at "red-hot meeting places" in Harlem and all over the States.The second half began with Cousin Joe. Now I've never thought too much of Cousin Joeon the many records I've heard, except to admire his sly, devious or downright bawdysongs. Which just shows how wrong one can be. This we know of course from Sonny andBrownie or Muddy even, whose records in recent years have given little indication ofwhat they can do. The mediums are worlds apart in every other sense too. But Cousin Joewas something one could not possibly have expected. Off-stage he is a very charming,quick-witted, disarming figure, with a good line in stories and a great hand at coon-can.He is pretty adept with a whiskey bottle also, but however one meets him, he has alwaysa merry eye and a certain quiet dignity. The funniest thing I heard from him was anattempt to describe the great Pete Brown, whose proportions rather overawed Joe: "Manhe was somp'n, well . . . he made that thing round his neck look like a kazoo ! Yeah hewas a big guy." With suitable arm movements and a rubber face, almost anything Joe saidcame over in three-dimensions. But onstage he was somethin' else. Every song he chosewas one of his old famous numbers, but he never made any visual impact on record.

Singing verses such as "Wouldn't give a blind sow an acorn, wouldn't give a crippled craba crutch" and emphasising his claim by changing the second four to "No . . . blind sow anacorn, Weeell, whoo, paralysed crab a crutch", he would further state thoughtfully "Yeah,I'm a hard man", and such antics as a stuck-out tongue, rolling eyes, and a terriblechuckle brought the house down almost literally on every occasion. Showmen such asCousin Joe are not made—he is a "natural", and though his hoarse voice and thunderousbut unmusical piano-playing seem on reflection very little, he was undoubtedly, withBlind Gary, the surprise, delight and undisputed success of the show. And this was someshow, even in retrospect. That more packages are even now being booked is a sign thatthese affairs pay both artists and promoters. With a bit more publicity the door is open forany amount of great artists— and there are plenty left yet. Even now Hooker the Great isin England, Jimmy Reed, Howlin' Wolf and Buddy Guy are coming, and the 1964 "FolkBlues Festival" is booked for the Autumn. With such activity, and such undoubted talent,the future of the blues in Europe seems secure. SIMON A. NAPIER(From Jazz Monthly July 1964 , pp 6-7)