That’s a correction AND a good book recommendation.

Sorry Tim, I got carried away in my Hank frenzy and love of beer. You gotta admit the lyrics sure sound like Hank’s!

August 1969 may bring to mind the grandeur of the Woodstock Arts and Music Festival in upstate New York whenever you ask somebody with basic music knowledge to name an event of that year. It’s pretty hard to ignore an event of such magnitude which featured so many prolific artists of the day. But, in the Blues world, August 1969 also marked an extraordinary festival of its own, two weeks earlier in Ann Arbor, Michigan. The 1969 Ann Arbor Blues Festival was a conglomeration of the greatest Blues musicians, past, present and future. The line-up was phenomenal: Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Mississippi Fred McDowell, Big Boy Crudup, Otis Rush, B.B. King, T-Bone Walker, Freddy King, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Charlie Musselwhite, James Cotton, Jimmy Dawkins, Clifton Chenier, Big Joe Williams, Roosevelt Sykes, Luther Allison and Big Mama Thornton. But, the one musician who stood tallest over the weekend may have been the least known, at least outside of Chicago.

Magic Sam was scheduled to take the stage at 3:00 p.m., Sunday afternoon. But, when his time came, he was nowhere to be found. Charlie Musselwhite, who was originally set to follow, took to the stage in his place. By the time Musselwhite finished, Sam had arrived, but with only his bassist Buffalo Bruce Barlow. Missing a drummer, he was fortunate to recruit Sam Lay to fill the void. As the three stepped to the stage, the crowd of 10,000 fans were leery of what to expect from this individual who should have been on an hour earlier. But, by the time he had finished the opening number, Freddy King’s classic instrumental, “San-Ho-Zay“, the word was out and the festival grounds were abuzz with the name of Magic Sam.

Buffalo Bruce from Commander Cody’s Band on bass? Yep.

Which got me thinking about The Ann Arbor Blues & Jazz festival. I remember going by myself to one of the later shows in Gallup Park and seeing Al Green! But I vaguely remember “The Festival in Exile” taking place in Windsor and seeing the trippy Sun Ra Arkestra. Who was with me?? Here’s what Wiki remembers:

Free John, Free John now!

In 1974, Sinclair and Andrews ran into problems getting a permit. The festival promoters were denied permission to hold the event in Ann Arbor, and the fate of the festival became a bitterly-debated issue in the press and about town. There was nothing to be done about it, so it was decided to hold a 1974 festival, but some place else. A small college in Windsor, Ontario volunteered a good spot and it was decided to hold the 1974 festival in another country—Canada.

All the standard festival preparations took place, including an extensive carpool system for busing blues enthusiast from Michigan to the site in Canada. There was only one problem, but it was a big one. They failed to anticipate that the FBI and other law enforcement officials would prevent the thousands of would-be attendees from crossing the border. They just refused to let concert goers from the states cross the border, ordering them to turn back.

Even worse, they refused to allow John Sinclair, who was co-producing the festival, to cross into Canada, forcing him to retreat to a temporary headquarters in the Shelby Hotel in Detroit. No reasons were given at the border for turning the cars back. Cars were searched and any with drugs were detained and their occupants arrested. That same was true at the gates in Windsor: anyone found smoking marijuana or carrying it was immediately arrested and taken to jail. The net effect was to ruin the festival, causing over $100,000 in losses.

Well we got over the border! I don’t remember anything about the Bureau.

With all the music I’ve seen this trip..these yahoos are Grammy darlings. And don’t get me started on Taylor Swift!

Heading home.

Been getting a lot of nice emails, including the lovely Kathy Sullivan, Jim Teeg and Bellefontaine Ohio’s” It.”

Thanks for reading. Teeg has id’d James Govan’s opening number and has it in his collection: Magic Sam’s “I Just Want A Little Bit.” That got me reading about Magic Sam…

That got me thinking about those moments in time, where the right people came together in the right place to create magic. It always took a strong leader, Berry Gordy, and a whole lot of talented people. Motown clearly was such place…never to be quite duplicated. (It’s not too much of a stretch to throw JFK and MLK into this model, not to mention the man currently in the White House.)

Which leads me to Sun Studios. A 15 x 30 foot recording studio in Memphis where American music was defined. A visionary, Sam Phillips, quit his day job and started a recording studio.

Here’s Tim Teeg from an email he sent me about Sun:

Off the top of my head, here are some of the people Sam Phillips discovered or put on wax for the first time:

Howlin’ Wolf

B.B. King

Carl Perkins

Charlie Feathers

Elvis Presley

Charlie Rich

Jackie Brenston & His Delta Cats (“Rocket ’88” the 1^st R&R tune)

Ike Turner

James Cotton

Jerry Lee Lewis

Johnny Cash

Little Junior’s Blue Flames ( “Mystery Train”)

Rufus Thomas, Jr.

Roy Orbison

Whoa, hoss! Can you imagine the cross-fertilization of all these guys under one roof.

As part of the tour, you get to stand exactly where E stood when he recorded his first song.

What a day in America. Wish you were here!

Million Dollar Quartet: Jerry Lee, Carl Perkins, Big E, Johnny Cash

The next morning, Day 3 in Memphis and Graceland is officially re-opened! It’s worth noting that the ice remains. I will learn that their answer to an ice storm is to wait for warm weather to melt it (no salt, no shoveling!). It took 4 days.

But one man’s ice storm is another man’s private tour…or something like that. Whatever the case, I found myself standing on E’s front porch, one of three people in our tour group, as the front door swung open.

Welcome to Graceland. I can’t tell you what a normal GL experience is like, I can only tell you that I wandered through E’s house on my own. It didn’t feel like a tour, it felt more like a break-in. With my headset on and E’s voice in my ear, it was eerie. I walked into the kitchen and half expected E to offer me a PB and banana samwich.

The house, “the bones” as your decorator would say, is fabulous. The scale is smaller than today’s suburban McMansions, I could see myself living there. Maybe then I could go upstairs, which “in respect to Elvis’s memory” is off limits to visitors. Respect to all the women E had laid? Can you imagine if the tour included the TRUE tale of Graceland. All the pill-poppin’, humpin’ and general hillbilly behavior that took place. That would be worth $34!!

Something about the basement rooms had the cave-like feel of another American sex landmark I had the pleasure of visiting…the Grotto at Hef’s mansion. Like E’s basement, you could imagine you were catching some STD just breathing.

And the “decorating” is as advertised. Shag carpet wall-to-…ceiling. Strange carved-wood furniture with dragon’s heads. You’re not surprised to learn “many rooms were decorated by Elvis himself.” No shit. This from a guy who grew up in shotgun shack in Tupelo. Not to mention this was the 60s, not really an interior design decade.

There are a lot of gold records and photos, but what makes it a special place is you’re walking where E walked. And I have to say, I loved it. I was dying to go to just one party. I vowed I’m going to find the most insider, True E tell-all and devour it when I get home.

It’s only when you leave Graceland and stop across the street at E’s Car Museum that you realize what’s missing. Among all the fancy cars (a Stutz Bearcat??!) there’s an exhibit of all the fun vehicles E had around. Mini-bikes, mini-trikes, snowmobiles(!), early ATVs…and there on a TV that had a “No Audio” sticker was the Holy Grail. Home movies of Elvis and the family. Driving their vee-hicles. A rare glimpse of the real man hanging out. He looks so young. So handsome. So relaxed.

They know what they’re doing at Graceland, because when you leave you want only one thing…more Elvis. (First thing they did, they put his record on…)

Let’s go see where it all started.

My...OK... E's living room. Note the peacock stained glass.

The museum is built on the location of the Lorraine Motel and the exterior of the motel is intact. It’s a place, an image that’s just burned into your mind. The spot on the balcony where MLK was shot is marked with a wreath. Just standing there looking up at it is overwhelming.

Inside, the tour opens with a 30-minute film “The Witness.”  It is an interview with Reverend Billy Kyles, who was on that balcony with MLK on the day he died. He sets the stage, remembers that Dr. King was called in to lead a black sanitation workers strike. He says King was receiving death threats all the time. In fact, the night before his death, Dr. King gave his famous “Mountaintop” famous speech in a Memphis church, which the film shows:

“And then I got to Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers? Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

“I may not get there with you.”

It’s an incredibly moving story and the perfect way to start the tour. Because the history of the black struggle in America is in many ways the story of incredible men and women who forced the world to change. Some of the names you know…Harriet Tubman, George Washington Carver, Rosa Parks, James Meredith…many you don’t.

It’s tough stuff to take in. To see those photographs of lynchings and beatings, and footage from the 60s of dogs attacking women and children, right here in our country. Then to go upstairs and look into the actual, humble hotel room where MLK stayed the days before his death. The only hotel in town in Memphis in1968 that would rent a room to a black man.

But what really got to me was video I’d never seen before, showing the lunch counter sit-ins. Just the day before, USA Today ran a cover story saying it had been 50 years since blacks in the South used sit-ins to integrate lunch counters. They told the story of how young black college men, and some of their white friends, took seats and tried to get served at lunch counters. Before fast food took over our nation, lunch counters at stores were the primary place people took their meals (think Kresge’s counter.) Black people could shop in the stores, but they were barred from eating at the counter.

The museum has news footage of black men sitting at lunch counters being subjected to the most cruel verbal, then escalating to physical, abuse. I really don’t think I’ve seen human hatred quite like this in my life. I try to understand that this represented a tremendous upheaval of  “life as they knew it” to white Southerners… but the simple act of eating lunch, even more than integrating schools, just really brought the struggle home to me.

If you didn’t see it, take a minute to read the USA Today story: http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2010-02-01-sit-ins-civil-rights_N.htm

Living in Detroit, visiting the South, you can’t help but think about race. This museum is thought-provoking in many ways. It should be a must-visit for all races.

We’ve come a long way…but both black and white need to do a lot more before we reach anywhere near Dr. King’s mountaintop.

That infamous day at the Lorraine Motel

Kobe's mugshot..err..photo, right photo.

It brought to mind the night of Lloyd’s bachelor party, the infamous “Lloyd’s Llast Ride.” We rented a party van and hit every bar and strip club in Detroit. It was ugly and it was a miracle we didn’t lose someone somewhere along the way. We finally got back to my old house on Beverly. Prince and Dan-O were going to spend what was left of the night. I said, “Be careful guys, my garage door opens out.” They said, “Fine.” Randy stopped, O-Man kept walking and the garage door came up and gave him a 5-stitch cut above his eye. He’d ALMOST made it.

I don’t know if it was the oysters or the 40s, but I had a fitful sleep. I kept hearing the voices of black men calling out loudly.

When I got up the next morning, I was determined to get moving. I got showered and headed out. I closely inspected the flooring outside my door, hoping to blame a small rise in elevation. Nope. I got on the elevator and heard someone shout, “Hold  it.” I did and three 6 foot 8 black guys got in. Hmmmm.

A few minutes later, waiting for my car, a bus pulled up…and a whole bunch of tall black guys filed out, including Kobe-a-shi himself. The Lakers were staying at the hotel.

Every time you’d start to relax, you’d see another car a few feet off the road in the deep snow, with a guy at the wheel! It had clearly just happened. All the driver could do is wait for the tow trucks that were methodically coming down the pike, towing out one at a time. You had to figure a moment’s daydreamin’ would put you in a drift, waiting a couple of hours for a tow.

Memphis, it turns out, didn’t get snow, they got a midnight ice storm. The town looked like a crystal palace, shimmering in the early night. It wasn’t pretty when you got out of your car though. I nearly bought it trying to get to the hotel door. The sidewalks were sheer ice.

I threw down my bags and got a cab. This was my one weekend night and it was time to get to it. Had a great meal at a place called Pearl’s Oyster (6 raw, 6 fried in a super-light batter, then, at the chef’s suggestion, 6 char-grilled. This was new to me and the menu descrip sounded plain weird, oysters char-grilled, garlic butter mop and parmesan cheese?! They were outstanding.)

Walked (very carefully) 2 blocks over to the famous Beale Street. BS is a little bit like Bourbon Street, Key West…any “strip” lined with bars. It’s the kind of place I usually avoid, me being a more “authentic” dude. But when in Memphis…so I skated on.

I’d read somewhere that the best band on Beale was at Rum Boogie. And James Govan and the Bogie Blues Band just flipped me into Memphis time.

Not a banjo, fiddle or pedal steel in sight. Horns…this must be Memphis!  Toto, we’re not in Nashville anymore.

James is a true soul singer, cut from the Stax cloth, with a beautiful voice that’s weathered and wise. His first tune said it all, “Don’t want a lot,” he begged his woman, “Just want a little bit.”

I seized upon these lines as summing up the two towns connected by the Music Highway. Nashville suddenly seemed flashier, cowboy boots and haircuts, while  Memphis was the working man, raw, soulful, bluesy. Nashville wants it all, Memphis just a little bit.

They pounded through a great set, although America being a democracy, other band members were actually allowed to sing lead, limiting James to one of every three songs. I’m sure some Memphis song sez: “It just weren’t right.”

They only did one set, so I slid on down to BB King’s. You gotta figure this native son’s place would be celebrating the blues. Imagine my dismay when the first song the band hit was Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” Now this is one irresistible stupid song (best seen on the football field on “Glee!”) And these guys played a killer version…but this is BB’s in Memphis! It was everything I could do to wash down two Stella’s and get out of there.

Time to play my hole card. I hailed a cab and made the (Middle Eastern!) cabbie an offer. Take me out to Wild’s Bills in Midtown, let me run in and check it out. If I stay, nice tip for him, if I don’t stay run me back to the hotel, nice tip for him.

No problem, he would take me to the bar. Ten minutes later we pull up. It’s a rundown little strip mall in the middle of nowhere. It’s one in the morning. Eveything in sight is covered in ice. Before I get out, cabbie says: “The bar is OK, do not walk around this area, not safe. Promise me.” Promise.

I walk up, open the door and peer into a small, dark rectangular room. I can barely make out customers sitting in the gloom. But I see two things that lift my heart. Number one, the walls are red flocked wallpaper, and it’s peeling. A sure sign of authenticity. Number two, a guy is wailing away, in the middle of a killing blues guitar solo.

I ask the guy at the door, if I come in can I get a cab home. (Mind you, half the city is closed due to ice, in fact Pearl’s served me and then closed. Cabs were already in short supply.) He says if you can’t get a cab, I’ll drive you home. Damn.

I make my way to the back of the room where a small bar is set up. I pass a few tables of black couples and a few more of white college kids, all intent on the music. I ask the bartender what kind of beer he’s got, he says Bud, Bud Light. I say Bud and he hands me a 40. That’s right, a 40-ounce bottle. I ask him if he has any kind of glass and he shakes his head like “what a pussy” and digs around and finds me a paper cup.

I take a seat and for the next 90 minutes I’m treated to a blues seminar. Pete “The Author” has a good line he likes to quote from somewhere, “The blues… it’s just a good man feeling bad.”

I get to feeling so bad myself, I grab another 40. I’m lost in the music and when I come up for air after a particularly beautiful solo, I realize I’m the only guy left in the place.

The security guy from the front door walks up and says. “Ten minutes, I’ll ride you.” So I immediately shout ,” More!” The guitarist calls out from the stage, “We’ll do you one more, but it’ll cost you twenty dollars.” I get up on unsteady legs, make my way to the front, and hand him a twenty. He takes it smiling and points to a chair right in front. “Sit down there, brother, and let me school ya.”

Sheer heaven as blue notes rain down from the sky.

Now I’ve been driven home from great blues bars before: Rosa’s  Lounge in Chicago (Melvin Taylor!) and Maple Lanes in New Orleans (Walter Wolfman Washington!). These places have a way of being off the beaten path. So I made my way out to the guy’s car, slipping and sliding (Did I mention it was icy? [that’s called foreshadowing]) and opened the door to find his wife(!) sitting in the front seat. She must have picked him up from work at 3 in the morning only to find he’d promised some fool a ride home. It took everything I had to keep my mouth shut, but we rode home in respectful silence. I had the idea both of us were in trouble.

We got to the hotel, I thanked them profusely (believe it) and tipped him handsomely. I stepped ever so carefully from the car to the hotel door, only to find it locked. Gripping tightly to the door handle I rapped on the glass. A moment later the security guard appeared and let me in. I might have imagined it, be he seemed to be amused just looking at me.  I carefully crossed the terrazzo tile lobby, got to the elevator, hit the 10^th floor, exited the elevator, started the 10 steps to my hotel room door, happy to be alive when I suddenly and for no good reason tripped, lurched forward and crashed to the floor…my nose ending up 10 inches from my hotel room door. Dazed, I got to one knee and took a deep breath…then I stood up and stepped on my glasses breaking them in half.

Memphis 1,The Mayman 0.

Wow, found a photo of WIld Bill's online!

Mark Ulriksen: Los Lobos. Visit his site!

His work for the exhibit is typically great.I attached it earlier.I can’t figure out how to get it larger. I’ll try to post another of Mark’s great music drawings of Los Lobos. He’s also got great Nat Cole and Ellington. It’s a cool site to visit. Glad to see my tigers image is NOT for sale!

http://www.markulriksen.com/index.cfm