At our house, I was quite spoiled with music. Mijn vader had een hele rits aan platen, waar ik als kleine knul maar al te graag mijn kleffe grijpvingertjes in wilde zetten, al was het alleen maar vanwege de afbeeldingen en de aantrekkingskracht van al die mensen die er op afgebeeld stonden: muzikanten, wat een raar volkje. The house was also full of reels for a Revox tape recorder. Daar werd nog wel eens wat mee opgenomen en afgespeeld. Fantastic and incredibly complicated, all those needles, discs, spools, magnets and miles of tape just to fill our living room with the hip sounds of the 60s and 70s. I cherish fond memories of whole Sundays playing with my train under a blanket of Pink Floyd, the Stones, Jimi Hendrix and Cuby & The Blizzards. My father’s love for the latter band was a holdover from the 1960s, when he himself played in many a youth band (and who didn’t in those days). Later we also got a cassette deck on the cabinet and the collection expanded to include music which was skillfully and illegally exchanged between my father and his friends/colleagues. So suddenly there was a bin of tapes with the word “CHESS” written large on them. Deze collectie opende mijn ogen als het gaat om de oorsprong van de Blues. Terwijl ik eerder dacht dat de Blues een fenomeen was uit de wilde jaren van mijn ouders, doorspekt met de geluiden van elektrische instrumenten in een twelve-bar korsetje gesnoerd, bleek al gauw dat het hier ging om een sterk staaltje jatwerk. Guys like Muddy Waters and John Lee Hooker were already bringing me a little closer to the truth. I had to learn more about that. Seeing the movie “Crossroads,” in which Ralph Macchio takes on the devilish Steve Vai in a symbolic duel between (Blues) rock and authentic Blues, I realized it could be a great scavenger hunt. Robert Johnson, Blind Willie McTell, Skip James, Son House and so on…. that was the “real shit!” However, the real itch to pick up a guitar myself and put my fingers in a double ship knot came with an LP by Mississippi John Hurt, The Original 1928 Recordings. Maybe this isn’t an obvious choice for everyone but his inimitable picking and alternate bass work blew me away completely. All this is also framed by, perhaps, the most genial voice in the history of the Blues. Anyone who hears this man sing is instantly transported back to times long gone, brought with honesty by one man with one voice and, I secretly suspect, 26 or so fingers. The subjects John Hurt sings about contrast greatly with his conversational sound. Sex (Candy Man Blues), Adultery/Murder (Frankie) and psychopaths (Stack o’Lee Blues) all pass in review in the oeuvre of this blues legend. A record that, with your eyes closed, is great for daydreaming away on a Sunday afternoon with a good glass of “whatever” and possibly a guitar on your lap. Definitely worth a try!
