“The blues are like smallpox,” Savannah Music Festival Director Rob Gibson is fond of saying — and he repeated that adage in his introduction to the 5:00pm Delta Guitar Slingers show on March 27th at the Charles H. Morris Center. “Listening to the blues inoculates you, so you won’t get ‘em,” joked the almost preternaturally perky musicologist and concert promoter to a knowing chuckle from the packed house of close to 300.
As someone who’s long reveled in the oft-overlooked celebratory aspect of blues music and its uncanny ability to ward off depression and ennui, I was stoked to finally see and hear three of the most critically adored electric bluesmen of the modern era — none of which I’d ever had the great fortune to catch in concert until now. Lucky enough to grab a front-row seat just a few feet in front of the low riser along the back wall of this squarish brick building that has quickly become (for many) the epicenter of the SMF, I settled into my unobstructed view of the backline and let my mind wander as I gazed at the small arsenal of instrument amplifiers that lined stage right. Who’d use what rig, I wondered? And what would the differences in their guitar tone be as a result?
Each of the three featured gunslingers —Michael Burks, Sherman Robertson and Lucky Peterson— is known for their own unique approach to this deceptively simplistic art form that many new or casual listeners mistake for repetitious and boring, when it would be more accurately described as formulaic and somewhat predictable (with countless variations and permutations possible within that basic framework). It soon became apparent that for the sake of consistency and efficiency, each singing guitarist would be backed by Burks’ road band. That trio of electric bass, drums and Hammond organ proved to be a potent unit more than capable of shifting musical gears slightly to suit each frontman’s own soulful take on R&B.
The show opened with the imposing, stocky Milwaukee native Burks (his nick-name is “Iron Man”) taking the stage —he used a flame-top Gibson Les Paul through a vintage Fender combo amp, for those of you playing at home— to deliver a stirring, swirling organ-heavy arrangement of the late, great Albert King’s blue-collar lament “Cadillac Assembly Line.” This was a heavy, funk-tinged blast of hard-rocking city blues which found famed drummer Chuck “Popcorn” Louden setting the tone and pace (as he would throughout the show). A physically impressive man, Louden towered over his black Gretsch trap kit, which he struck with such crisp determination and ferocity that at times one felt a little sorry for the pummeling received by the snare, toms and heavy, oversized cymbals. The band segued next into a little-known cut that’s a favorite of blues artists “in-the-know” (such as Savannah’s own Eric Culberson, for instance): “Packin’ Up,” by the late Freddy King — a song whose lowdown, recurring stuttered riff has been interpreted numerous ways by numerous artists. This version was pure, syncopated baddassery, and an example of the kind of World Class chops regularly on display at SMF events.
Likely lost on many in the crowd were the subtle (yet furtive) glances directed by Burks and Louden toward their bassist, who seemed to be either a brand-new addition to the group, or a last-minute fill-in who was doing his best to keep up with the tricky grooves and unexpected tempo and meter shifts this type of relentless and nuanced material demands. Keeping his back turned to the phenomenally tasteful keyboardist and in profile to the crowd, this bassist (easily the youngest person on stage by a country mile) basically kept his head down and stared either at his fretboard or directly into the drummer’s eyes at all times.
As he searched for tiny winks, nods or the occasional stage whisper from his rhythm section partner, it was obvious that while the new guy had done his homework on the chord changes and song structures (no cheat sheet was in evidence), there were still plenty of fine points about Burks’ idiosyncratic delivery that only a longtime sideman like Louden could anticipate or guesstimate. Those fine points were constantly communicated from man to man, and for the most part, all went well — save for a few awkward moments of dismissive frustration on the Iron Man’s part that resulted in terse mid-song shouts or disapproving looks given from Burks to Louden and then summarily delivered in-kind to the nervous bassist.
It was semi-hidden snapshots like those, seen from my unique vantage point, which only reinforced the timeless quality I associate with truly memorable musical performances. Watching top-notch players —who could easily hold their own on any stage in any land— fly somewhat by the seat of their pants, not merely content to survive on their talents, but rather to revel in the act of overcoming adversity through kinetic empathy, is one of the most exuberant and joyful sights I have ever had the pleasure to behold.
Feeling the thump in one’s chest from a well-mic’d kick drum, or getting a quiver down your backbone from the tuneful, gurgling swell of an electric organ pumped through a rotating Leslie speaker cabinet, or feeling the bite and sting of a piercing electric guitar solo striving to approximate the anguished cries of a human voice are “definite doors to another dimension.” This is where emotion, art, carnality and bliss meet headlong in a glorious, spiritual brawl. Michael Burks and band know this, and one can see from their faces that they live it year in and year out. It’s a calling, but it’s also their job: turning sorrow into joy for friends and strangers, an hour at a time, wherever the road leads them.
The fact that I am fortunate enough to find myself at such showcases year after year is a blessing I treasure and do not take for granted — because for many, many years, Savannah simply did not enjoy such performances. And while the cost associated with putting on events of this nature necessitates relatively high ticket prices which —sadly and ironicaly— are often too dear for those who might appreciate it the most ($32 in this case), for me at least, this show was clearly worth every penny.
Next up: the remaining two Delta Guitar Slingers on this monster bill, Sherman Robertson and Lucky Peterson…
