AVIDIGI

Review: An exceptional harp player who learned from Little Walter and a powerful, soulful singer, Junior Wells recorded his first album in the early Sixties for Delmark. Hoodoo Man Blues is a classic, some of the best blues Chicago has to offer and the debut for the amazing team of Wells and Buddy Guy. Dismal, mediocre efforts on Vanguard and Mercury's Blue Rock followed.
At last, Wells has come up with another outstanding album, and it's probably no coincidence that the record is on Delmark. With such outstanding players as drummer Fred Below, Otis Spann and Buddy Guy, Junior went into the studio for an honest jam, unhampered by natty staff producers and unimaginative idea men. Most of the material seems to have been created on the spot. Wells is in great voice, although too little is heard from his harp. Spann and Below are their classic selves. Buddy appears on half of the album. Aside from his excellent guitar playing, he is an obvious inspiration for Wells.
"Trouble Don't Always Last" spotlights both Buddy and Junior on their axes and in an improvised vocal exchange. It is a beautiful dialogue with several funny moments. At one point, Buddy starts singing lyrics with "I was born in Alabama ... raised in Tennessee." With genuine surprise, Junior lets out a confused "Huh," as did I, knowing that Buddy comes from an area near Baton Rouge.
But two tracks elevate this recording from excellent to an essential masterpiece. They're completely improvised; they could not have happened any other way. "Blues For Mayor Daley" begins as an autobiography. Junior sings about his birth, his first exposure to the blues, his influences and what the blues means to him. When he begins to think of the brotherhood, the passion, the guts, the humanity and the love that are essential to the music and the atmosphere in which it is played, he sings about Mayor Daley. He wants to take Daley by the hand and bring him to a Monday night jam to show him real life and love. He couldn't explain it; he'd just have to make the mayor experience it. After this six minute monologue, you not only have a very accurate idea of the power of the blues, but you have a very good notion about the particulars of Mayor Daley's human deficiencies.
"I Could Have Had Religion" begins with Junior singing about a woman and how he could have been a preacher. He seems disinterested until he lingers on the word "down" for several seconds. And down he goes. With a tortured, agonizing moan, he sings of the tragedies that have befallen bluesmen recently: Howlin' Wolf's heart attack, Magic Sam's premature death and Muddy's terrible accident. Wells has brought up a very painful topic and screams in frustration and bewilderment that he has to fight to make sleep come sometimes: he doesn't want to have to fight for love or because he's black and you're white. He trails off singing "A little bit of love. That's all I want. That's all I need." The band soon comes to clumsy halt.
This is music of incredible honesty and emotion; rarely are such moments captured on tape. These tracks alone make this album very powerful and important. It is somewhat ironic, that after this record date, Otis Spann would never again enter a studio to make music. He died several months later.