Rollie Tussing - Worried Man's Blues

Written by Greg Johnson Tuesday, 30 June 2009 20:59

Article and photos by Greg Johnson, CBA BluesNotes September 2006

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           Our meeting for the interview had been set in advance, but who knew that temperatures in this part of July would be hovering around the low 100s. A rarity for Portland to have a string of days this hot consecutively. As I pulled into the parking lot at the Cascade Blues Association office, Rollie Tussing was already waiting for me sitting on the stairs. Quickly I suggested we move the meeting to someplace a bit cooler. Someplace that had air conditioning. So we made the short trek down the street to Duff’s Garage.

            Knowing that Rollie was a whiz with stringed instruments, I had brought along the three-stringed Strumstick I have owned for a number of years. Personally I am so inept with instruments that all I can do with the thing is make little plinking noises. But Rollie picked it up, quickly gave it a tuning and set off making wonderful music that I never thought possible from this item that had been gathering dust in my home office all these years.

            July was an exciting month for Rollie Tussing. Not only did he perform in the Cascade Blues Association’s Journey to Memphis finals on the 4^th of July at the Waterfront Blues Festival. He also won the competition and will be traveling to Memphis to represent the organization and region at the International Blues Challenge next February. His performance was flawless save for a malfunctioning kazoo. Being a one-man band he adjusted to this unexpected situation and did not allow it to alter his delivery. And the judges took note of his ability to adapt, handing out consistently some of the highest scores ever seen in the history of the Journey to Memphis.

            The ease that Rollie was able to flow with during this mishap makes it all the more amazing when remembering that he had approached me prior to the beginning of the event and told me that he was extremely nervous and did not know how he would come across. I had simply told him, “Just be yourself. Treat it as just another gig. You will do fine.” It was easy for me to tell him this as I was not the one performing. But Rollie had approached me with the same information before his set at the semi-finals at Beale Street NW back in May. I saw him overcome that worry then and knew he would do so once he started again.

            This sense of loose nerves is a new thing for Rollie Tussing. He claims that the older he gets the more the feeling takes hold of him. It started up about two summers back while he was riding his bicycle down a rather steep hill and all of a sudden imagined an old man panicking and falling down. So now whenever he feels faced with a challenge, he develops a sense that he is that old man. He stresses and has a little indigestion, but Rollie seems to fall into the flow and carries himself quite comfortably onstage.

            It wasn’t always that way, though. As a younger musician he could perform at an event like the Baltimore Blues Festival and whether the crowd was a thousand people or whatever, he’d just get up and play. Rollie came up in the musical communities of Michigan cities Ann Arbor and Detroit. A little cocky as a youngster, he did not hold older musicians in awe at the time. People like The Butler Twins, Uncle Jesse White, Johnnie Bassett or Eddie Burns he considered as his peers. Even to the point of brazenly telling them that they should hire him to play guitar in their bands. He now knows that he should have paid more attention to these older artists who had migrated from the South to Detroit, had worked the music scene for numerous years and deserved his respect. He liked what they were playing, but feels he missed a great opportunity to learn from some of the best.

            Growing up in Ann Arbor, music was not readily available within the Tussing household. His parents had a strong dislike for music in general. Even to the point that it was possible for his father to have a physical reaction. Watching a movie where he felt the music was too much, it was not uncommon for him to walk out of the theater.

            At the age of thirteen, Rollie purchased a Walkman. Stopping by the local Radio Shack on the way home he made another purchase, a cassette with the greatest hits of Chuck Berry on side one and Little Richard on side two. It took him hard, especially Chuck Berry’s guitar work. It was 1984, but he felt like a teenager in the 1950s hearing these same songs for the first time. So he grabbed onto it. Being at an age where he was looking for his own way to rebel against his parents, and with their dislike for music, Chuck Berry was his ticket. He just didn’t know how unhip it would be with other kids his age.

            Chuck Berry eventually led to the classical Rock bands of the 1970s like Led Zeppelin. The story is quite common, Rollie began reading liner notes and looking at song credits, finding names like McKinley Morganfield and Chester Burnette. It made him begin exploring other artists associated with these newfound heroes. So the trek from Led Zeppelin led to Muddy Waters, who in turn turned him onto Buddy Guy, and from there to Jimmy Dawkins. He had found and fallen in love with the Chicago Blues sound.

            Around his first year of college, Rollie began to tire of classical Rock. What he had  liked about the sound was it’s bluesy feeling within the guitarist’s part. He really wanted to be somebody like Jimmy Page at the time and it was the type of music, along with a bit of Jazz thrown in, that he performed with the bands he played with at the time.

It was then that his vision of guitar changed forever. While scouring the music video bins at a local retail store, Rollie came across a copy of “The Blues According To Lightnin’ Hopkins.” Taking the video home, he couldn’t stop watching it. For nearly eighteen hours non-stop he absorbed how Lightnin’ played with his thumb and fingers attaining both lead and rhythm sounds all by himself. “It was some of the hippest rhythms,” remarks Rollie. “The punch you in the gut type of stuff.”

A short time after discovering the Lightnin’ Hopkins film, Rollie was approached by a woman he knew from high school. She told him that she was a great singer and had a really cool record collection that included Victoria Spivey and other like material that they could draw from. Deciding to become a duo, Rollie booked their first gig at an art house in Detroit. Seconds before leaving for the gig, she called Rollie and told him she was too afraid to go to Detroit. He went anyway and performed solo. “It was really, really bad,” he says. “But I have grown better.”

This led to his encounters with the Blues legends of Detroit and his attitude of being on the same level of musicianship. “I look back and think, ‘Aw I was an idiot.’ I could’ve been absorbing all this wealth.” And somewhere in the mix, Rollie put together a demo cassette of himself playing guitar and singing.

Working at a party store in Ann Arbor, one of his co-workers heard the demo tape and told him that his father was a music manager and big-time producer down in Tennessee. They sent him the demo and he called back to say that he had some gigs booked for him. “You might as cut your ties and get on down here,” he told Rollie. They picked him up at the airport in Nashville, taking him to a club called Turf’s. A cover band was playing; one of the most incredible acts he had ever seen, cover band or not, with a great slide player. During their break his friend’s father, the manager, told him to take the stage. Armed with a dobro guitar and a harmonica in a rack he began to play. Badly. A drunk at the bar yelled at him, “Hey you’re not that bad!” But two women in the room actually booed and hissed at him. When he finished the manager would not even speak to him, but his girlfriend was trying to be nice to Rollie. “Don’t worry about him,” she told him. “He just spent a lot of money and he’s nervous  about how everything is going to go. We’ll pick you up at the hotel tomorrow and go to the next gig.” The next day came and they never showed up or called. The day after that was the same. So Rollie decided he’d had enough and since he’d saved up some money he would leave Nashville and travel until he ran out of cash.

His travels landed him in Clarksdale, Mississippi. He visited the Delta Blues Museum, then headed over to the offices of Rooster Blues. While talking with the staff, he took note of the music playing in the background. It was what he described as a cross of Charley Patton and Mance Lipscomb, without all of the scratchy 78 sounds. He asked who it was and he was told, Eugene Powell. Though it seemed very cliché to him, they informed Rollie that Powell lived nearby and if you took a pint out to his house for him, he would play for you. Having nothing to do the next day, Rollie bought a pint of Kessler’s and knocked on Powell’s door. The elder Bluesman was a bit leery of Rollie and didn’t really seem too interested in the whiskey. But after Rollie spoke to him about guitar for a little bit, he warmed up and showed Rollie a couple of things and they sat down and played some songs together. It was another one of those situations where Rollie really didn’t know how fortunate he was to be in until it was too late. Later finding out more about Eugene Powell’s reputation he wishes he had spent more time with the guitarist.

Rollie returned to Ann Arbor following his travels. With his tail between his legs. He decided that he would continue playing guitar, but not in any more bands. He felt that he was only an intermediate guitarist, had no stage presence and that as a Blues performer he was just horrible. Coincidentally, though, at this same time a Folk scene was beginning to develop in Michigan. A friend tried coaxing him to play at an open mic in Ypsilanti and after pleading him to come out three or four times, Rollie finally consented. Once he did, though, he started going every week. It was here that Rollie truly cut his teeth learning to become a performer. A whole group of Folk artists made this show every week and began creating quite a scene. Rollie remembers it as, “The worst sound and the worst audience. The perfect place to hone your skills.”

Gigs began to develop from these shows. And some of his friends decided to start their own record label, which eventually merged with a larger label out of Chicago. Through this label, Rollie cut his first CD, “Blow Whistle Blow,” and started to tour a lot. Released in 1997, the album was available internationally for about four months, but he was under a lot of pressure from the label to tour without any support. It became too much to handle, so Rollie parted ways with them.

During this same time, Rollie hooked up with a librarian named Ira Lax, who had seen a need to bring music back to the schools in Michigan. Not specifically a Blues in the Schools program, as there was not enough Blues artists to fill this need, Rollie and Ira would approach teachers in the school systems who were interested. Whatever was being taught in the class at the time, be it the World War One era, or the Industrial Revolution, or anything else, Rollie would go into the class and play songs associated with the era. It was a means of learning about the commonality of the people not covered by history books.

For one such eighth grade class who was studying the book “Roll Of Thunder Hear Me Cry,” it would be a three-day course. Rollie would teach them about the characters and their times the first day. The next he would introduce the kids to a few songs, showing them the basic formula for writing a Blues song. He described it as American Haiku. Writing on the board a stanza, he instructed them to fill in the blanks. They would learn rhyming sequences and about call and response. The third day would be spent reviewing what had been learned, having the students write songs and performing them.

It was also through these music in the schools performances that Rollie first began to make his own instruments. On the eve of his first school presentation he had no idea of what he was going to talk about. He was really into Jug Band music at the time, so he thought there’s always the washtub bass. He went out to his yard and began to collect items. Picking up a stake and a cookie tin, he applied a tuner and strings to these pieces and viola, his first cigar-box guitar had been created. The makeshift guitar, washtub bass and a banjo were huge successes with the schoolkids and the students would use these instruments as part of their songwriting exercises.

Cigar-box guitars also became a passion for Rollie. He communicates regularly with many other musicians who play such homemade devices around the country and every now and then they gather for a very unique day of playing with one another. The cigar-box guitar also plays a big part in his current performances as a one-man band. Alternating between slide and cigar-box guitars, Rollie completes his act with a kick drum, kazoos and harmonica.

Another passion of Rollie’s that makes up a good part of the sound behind his current repertoire is collecting older 78 records. He is especially fond of recordings of classical Chicago Blues, Jazz and post-war Country music. There is also some weird stuff in there he notes. He describes the sound from these discs as Teutonic and it is something he just loves to listen to.

In 1999, Rollie was scanning the Internet when he came across a piece about the National Slide Guitar Competition. Reading the article he told himself that this was something he had to get into. Unfortunately he had already missed that year’s event. Then the next year came and went before he realized he planned to attend. But in 2001, Rollie entered the competition and traveled to Brevan, North Carolina, driving straight through from Michigan for twelve hours. Brevan seems like it is in the middle of nowhere, possibly a hundred miles from anything else. The event was held in a cornfield and there were seventeen contestants that year. And next to no audience at all. In the end it came down to Rollie and a fourteen-year-old player from Southern Cailfornia named Kyle Hanes, who had studied guitar with Bob Brozman. “The kid was phenomenal,” remembers Rollie. “If I am going to lose to anybody, it might as well be to a fourteen-year-old.” But in the end, Rollie was declared the winner.

Soon after the competition, Rollie began to think that he needed to move away from Michigan and set his sights on Portland. One reason was that he had just had enough of the inclement winter weather in the Midwest. Another aspect was the sensational music climate he noticed in Portland. It was open to all forms of music, including a solo Blues performer like himself. In Michigan there just did not seem to be a lot of work available for a solo artist, other than playing Folk music, which he was not really intoned to. Most work for Blues acts in Ann Arbor and Detroit are more aimed for full-sized electrical bands.

He also had a good friend from his childhood that now lived in Portland, who told him about the opportunities in the city. His friend, Ezra Holbrook, has a band called Doctor Theopolis, is a talented singer/songwriter and has produced numerous albums for a variety of acts in Portland. Rollie considers him to be the closest individual to a genius he has ever met. When Rollie first came to town, Ezra helped show him around and introduced him to people in the local music scene. He was enamored with the quality of musicians and the venues in Portland. Within his first week in town, Rollie obtained steady gigs at both Imbibe and the Mock Crest Tavern. He considers both of these venues as his home and intends to keep the gigs as long as they wish him to continue playing at their establishments.

About a year back, Rollie began to have the urge to record new material. His album “Blow Whistle Blow” had been available at his shows and on CDBaby.com since moving to Portland, but had suddenly sold out. He booked studio time and brought in a band. Everything seemed to be going right, but the feel just wasn’t there for Rollie and he became depressed with how it was sounding. So he decided to take it back to the old ways, with the band recording into a single microphone. He plugged that mic directly into his computer in his basement and over a period of two nights, Rollie and a handful of friends created the tracks that made up the album, “Secret Society Of The Diminished Seven.”

Lately, Rollie has returned to the studio cutting new tracks with Ezra Holbrook producing. Originally he intended the CD to be another quick and dirty production, but with Ezra behind the helm you just have to listen to his ideas. Not just a recording of the one-man act, nor is it a traditional Blues record, Rollie says it is “really, super cool. The type of sound that you might expect if Tom Waits was producing Mance Lipscomb.”

Rollie’s Journey to Memphis win in July has him quite excited about traveling to Memphis. When originally applying for the competition he was concerned after reading the rules about the term “Blues content.” His panic thoughts had returned and he thought “What does Blues content mean? Were the judges looking for standard 12-bar Blues, shuffles or swing?” He stressed about how his performance would come across, and told his wife before leaving for the first night, “Honey, I’m going to lose.”

But now that he has preservered through the Journey to Memphis and is actually going to the International Blues Challenge, his thoughts are a little more relaxed. “I want to see the type of competition that is out there. Who has a record deal or a website and who doesn’t. When I was with the record label I was worried about pimping myself and felt stressed. But I’m going to go back there and I’m going to have fun. I will play a couple gigs and we’ll see what happens.”

Worries or not, Rollie Tussing’s career in Portland seems to be successfully rising. Perhaps it’d be nice if Rollie did experience a little stress while back in Memphis. It seems to move him forward quite favorably.

 

Hillstomp: Rising From The Basement Blues

Written by Greg Johnson Tuesday, 30 June 2009 20:59

Article and Photos by Greg Johnson CBA BluesNotes July 2006

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         I’m not used to starting my night by heading out to hear Blues at 11:30 pm, but that is exactly what I am doing on this balmy Saturday night in May. It will take me a good half-hour-plus to drive across town, but the band I’m planning on seeing is the headliner of a triple bill and will not even begin until 12:30.

            What is even more obscure is the fact that the venue the show is being held doesn’t normally cater to a music crowd. They’re more used to showcasing a little more risqué entertainment involving women with little or no clothing whatsoever. But every now and then they turn the mirrored stage with the small sign reading “Booty Hill” over to bands. Tonight is one of those occasions.

            Entering The Devil’s Point, the small room with the red and black walls is filled with a much younger crowd than you may be used to seeing at a typical Blues show. But this is not a typical Blues show or crowd. Tattoos on bared skin are abundant about the room and the beverage of choice appears to be Pabst Blue Ribbon. Hair is dyed various colors and there is a lot of leather. One young lady who must be one of the regular entertainers wanders throughout the room, but perhaps nobody told her that music was being featured tonight as she is clad in only her bra and a g-string.

            The night’s second band is still on stage in full fervor. Seattle’s Sugar Farm pounds out an onslaught of heavy-chorded alternative riffs tinted with Blues. The crowd is jumping, but most are clearly anticipating the headliner. As Sugar Farm finishes their set, removing their equipment from the stage, an odd ensemble is brought up to replace it. A handful of guitars and amps do not seem out of place, but other than a kick drum and cymbals the percussion kit is made up of household items like plastic buckets and a barbecue lid. And there appears to be duct-tape stretched over everything. Including the microphones.

            Henry Kammerer picks up a guitar and takes a seat, while John Johnson sits behind the make-shift drum kit directly next to him. Looking like innocent cherubs as they start to play there is no mistake that they mean business. It’s a sound that you would have thought had been birthed in the Hill Country of Northern Mississippi. It fits easily alongside patterns laid down by musicians like Junior Kimbrough, Robert Belfour and R.L. Burnside. They even call themselves Hillstomp. But with with these guys, that is as close to Mississippi you’re going to get. Because this band came to life in a basement in Portland. And judging from their gear, they didn’t leave the basement far behind.

            Hillstomp has only been a working band for just a few short years. But they are starting to attract the type of attention that many musicians never see in a lifetime. Their latest release, “The Woman That Ended The World,” received high critical notice from XM satellite radio’s Bluesville station, garnering a “Pick-To-Click” with their song “Jackson Parole Board Blues.” They have seen constant touring as of late, including a recent trip to England and another European trip scheduled for later this fall. But what is highly unusual about the recognition that this CD has received is the fact that other than selling it from the stage and having it available on a local level, it was never officially released nationally until mid-May.

            Henry and John first met one another while working for a local seafood restaurant. They had a common bond in music, but until he met Henry, John had never really paid attention to the Blues. And even Henry’s introduction to the genre was a bit out of the ordinary. Both had left their hometowns to move to Portland about eight-to-nine years ago. Looking to escape cold weather, they also had a vision to move someplace that they could break into the music scene. Seattle had a demanding scene earlier, but by the time they chose to relocate Seattle had already began to pale. Portland was a town they had heard good things about from many of their friends, and each with no knowledge of the other made their trek to The Rose City.

            Henry Kammerer grew up in Salt Lake City. A town he describes as having no culture whatsoever. Feeling that his life was sheltered, he considers himself the classic example of a high school geek, who spent his time alone playing guitar rather than hanging out, dancing and drinking with friends. He had taken a guitar class taught at school, though it was pretty much basic training. Even after ten years of playing what he’d learned, he still had no idea that a guitar had more than one tuning. Upon discovering paths beyond Open Tuning, new doors opened for him as songs he’d been trying to replicate from records suddenly made sense.

            It was during a trip to New York City that he first found exposure to Blues. He took in a concert in Central Park. But the concert was not a Blues show. It was actually a performance by Rock star Phil Collins, who was featuring a special guest on stage with him that day that caught Henry’s ear. Somebody that Henry claims he’d never heard of before that show: Eric Clapton. So enamored with the guitarist, he went out and bought a box-set of Clapton’s work. He enjoyed all of the phases of his career in the collection, but it was the music of Clapton’s early years he favored most. Especially the music of The Yardbirds.

            The music also brought an interest in slide guitar and he decided to teach himself how to play. It is something that many Hillstomp fans have taken notice of due to the odd manner he uses the slide on his index finger. Henry tells most interviewers that it made more sense to him, as it left his fingers below the slide to easier maneuver chords and to dampen the strings. But John Johnson urges him to tell the true story; that when he went out and bought his slide, his forefinger was the only one it’d fit on.

            John Johnson himself had spent twenty-three winters in frigid Minneapolis when he decided that he’d had enough and wanted a change of scenary. Playing music since he was in the second grade, he had worked as a Jazz saxophonist through his college years. Originally he thought that this was something that he’d do for a living, but after a while he just couldn’t stand it anymore and quit cold turkey. Taking up the bass guitar, John started working in a number of Hard Rock bands first in Minnesota and then in Portland. And though it was something that he had always wanted to do, he had never played drums.

            In Minneapolis, Blues was not a music John really thought about. He relates this more to the period in time than anything else. Most of the Blues he heard was from second-or-third generation Chicago artists or guitarists who emulated Stevie Ray Vaughan. It just didn’t appeal to him. Even to this day he prefers more basic forms with a simpler, dirtier and raw flavor. In fact, John cites that his two favorite artists of any genre are Miles Davis and Neil Young. “Both could take a single note and milk it for all that it’s worth,” he states. “They could say more within that single note than many can say in a whole set running up and down a guitar neck as fast as they can.”

            It wasn’t until he became friends with Henry that John first started listening to the Blues in a different perspective. Henry took him to a Jon Spencer Blues Explosion concert; not really a Blues show, but the opening set was an artist named Bob Log III. Truly an enigma, Log performs his shows wearing a motorcycle helmet with a microphone inside of it, while playing a kick-drum and slide guitar as a solo act. He keeps his real identity secret, but he enchanted the two young men and brought their focus to the Fat Possum label where he has released a trio of recordings. Delving into the Fat Possum catalog, the pair soon discovered Junior Kimbrough and R.L. Burnside and something about this basic Hill Country music possessed the young men.

            The music inspired them to start gathering in their basement, where Henry would work at capturing these sounds on guitar. John, who had never tried his hand at playing drums before, began to pull out objects from around the basement to accompany Henry percussively. A cardboard box, some old plastic buckets and the lid from the barbecue he found under the stairs. It had a odd sound, but it seemed to work in their mind and for the next three weeks they continued creating this musical mixture.  

           .It is uncertain what impelled them to head down to The Green Room for an open mike night. In retrospect they now feel as if it might’ve been too soon. Up until they took the stage that night, the show had been the typical songwriter with an acoustic guitar; eliciting the usual courteous applause from the audience, mostly made up of family and friends. For their first number, Hillstomp chose the Delta classic “Rollin’ And Tumblin’,” knowing full well that their rendition was not the best out there, so they played it as fast as they could. Within seconds, the crowd took notice and half stepped up toward the stage with an expression of “What the hell is this?” They had definitely illicited a reaction.

            The Green Room led to other open mike nights around town, which continued to have the same effect with those in attendance. Feeling there may be something happening with their efforts, Hillstomp decided to make a demo in their basement and shopped it around Portland in search of potential work. To their surprise, the demo garnered a steady Tuesday night gig at The Twilight Room. And then The Laurelthirst took them on regularly, too. It was quite exciting for Henry who was playing in his first band and John who had only been playing drums for a few months.

            Opportunities for other venues continued to become available and the next step up for the band was a booking as an opening act at Duff’s Garage. The bill was headlined by a combination of renowned local guitarists Mark Lemhouse, Dylan Thomas Vance and Joe McMurrian, a trio that Hillstomp has great admiration for and Henry jokingly refers to as “Dylan-Joe-Mc-Lemhouse.”

            “I was pretty much scared to death playing on the same stage as those guys,” admits Henry. But the band held up strongly alongside the veteran musicians and each were very complimentary of the young band. “It gave us a feeling that we were a legitimate act,” Henry continues. “We just didn’t get blown off the stage by those guys. I don’t know of many musicians who wouldn’t.”

            Hillstomp began making more friends throughout the Portland music scene; especially amongst other younger bands favoring Roots and Alternative sounds such as Moonshine Hangover, Spigot and I Can Lick Any Son Of A Bitch In The House. And it was through such associations they found their first chance to create a full-length CD. Recorded at It’s Cold, It Stinks And I Don’t Like The Way It Sounds Studios in Portland, the debut album was titled “One Word.” A collection of a handful of original material and longtime favorites from the North Mississippi Hill Country such as “Long Haired Doney” and “Shake ‘Em On Down.”

            To promote the new CD, a release party was scheduled at The White Eagle. Nobody was prepared for what occurred that night. The band had posted flyers for the show and received a little bit of press as well. Expectations were that if a hundred people would show up they would be pleased. At 8:00 pm the pair were hoping that somebody would show up. But by 10:00 the venue was packed with many more waiting outside the door to get in as the room had reached its capacity. John remembers thinking, “Oh my God, who are all of these people? And what are we going to do?”

            The patrons were eating up Hillstomp’s ferocious performance completely. Dancing in room barely enough to stand in. People stood on chairs and tables trying to see the band and avoid being crushed in the crowd. There was even clothes being removed in front of the stage. I mentioned later in my review of the album, a comment from KBOO Blues DJ Tom Wendt, “Don’t tell these kids that they’re listening to Blues, otherwise they may not like it.” It was a frightening and stressful night for Hillstomp, but it helped pave the way for other larger venues around town such as Dante’s and the Doug Fir Lounge, both who tend to cater to the younger, alternative audience. It was a sign that Hillstomp was in store for much larger things to come.

            That summer Hillstomp saw an opportunity to expose themselves to a huge, already-made audience by busking on the streets near the Waterfront Blues Festival. They had worked several locations along Naito Drive and Tom McCall Waterfront Park, being moved away from each. Then they decided to set up outside the main gate at Second and Columbia while Steve Miller performed in the park. People walking in and out of the park were taken by the sounds they heard and a crowd began to form. And it grew and grew, causing a good portion of SW Second to be consumed by blocked traffic and the gates to the park were backed up. They were lucky not to be arrested, but it gained the attention of festival booking agent Peter Dammann who enlisted the pair to perform at the following year’s event. It was one of those moments that live fondly in their memory; what they refer to as “the day they cut Steve Miller’s head.”

            Thanks again to their friends from I Can Lick Any Son Of A Bitch In The House, Hillstomp began to receive bookings from locations outside of the Portland area. Some of the venues were set up directly by the other band and until they arrived it was unknown exactly what type of crowd they would be playing before. Often it was quite scary and they could only hope for the best.

            One such venue was The Double Down in Las Vegas. Upon arrival they both thought that they’d made a terrible mistake taking the gig. The room, described by John as “gnarly, seedy and dark,” catered to a very hard-core Punk crowd. “It wasn’t the type of place you’d want to wear open toed shoes,” John continues. They were to play third on a five-band bill. Used to setting up on stage sitting side-by-side, they found there wasn’t enough room to do so. So instead, they just set up their gear on the floor in front of the stage. Scared to death of what may come, they closed their eyes and started to play. Halfway through the second song, John opened his eyes and discovered forty dollars had been placed on his kick drum. Looking out into the crowd, the place was jumping about having a great time, many doing the Chicken Dance. It was totally unexpected and another of their favorite memories of performances. The Double Down has since become a regular stop on all Hillstomp tours.

            And the tours keep coming. The success behind their second CD, “The Woman That Ended The World” has made the demand for Hillstomp even greater. Venues throughout the West, Southwest, Midwest and Midsouth  regularly call to book the band. One tour of England has already occurred, but they will be returning to the United Kingdom this fall as the new CD’s popularity raised the interest of a festival in Belfast, where they have been booked for several days of performances. Something they hope they can extend to a short blitz of the main continent with shows in Holland, Belgium and Germany.

            The CD has seen local acclaim also. It was selected by Willamette Week newspaper as the best release in Portland in 2005; something that took the pair completely by surprise.

            In appearance Hillstomp may not seem like your everyday Blues band. Driving to gigs in an SUV, it almost looks like parents showing up for their kids’ soccer practice. They also receive odd expressions from parties they’re invited to on the road with barbecues. It isn’t every Blues band that might ask if the meat they’re being served is free range. Hillstomp is definitely a band of a new generation. And though they may still be booked in clubs that attract the alternative audience more than Blues venues, they always make a point to let everybody know who they are and what they are. Every show opens with, “Hey everybody, we’re the Hillstomp Blues Band. We’re from Portland, Oregon!” It is a name that more people will become familiar with for certain.

 

Frank Goldwasser - How a Boy From Paris Found the Blues

Written by Greg Johnson Tuesday, 30 June 2009 20:58

Article and Photos By Greg Johnson CBA BluesNotes February 2006

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“Frank is an amazing guy,” states Byrd Hale, renowned Blues radio host from Stanford University. “There’s not a lot of white guys that I would call Bluesmen. White guys don’t have that right, because they were never in fear of being hanged, profiled by the police, or picked cotton. They didn’t even come from the bloodline. But there’s a few that I would call Bluesmen. Paul Oscher is one, Paul Butterfield was one and Charlie Musselwhite, too. But I’d say of any of the younger cats, Frank Goldwasser has the pedigree. Because he really did pay his dues.”

            It may not have been the same path that many of the traditional African-American artists paved on the road to the Blues. But Frank Goldwasser overcame a different set of odds. Though self-imposed, he traveled the crossroads laid before him, and has proved over the past twenty-plus years that he is one of the elite Blues guitarists to be found anywhere.

            As long as he can remember, Frank Goldwasser knew that he would someday live in America. It had been implanted into his mind by his father, whose family had migrated to New York City for two short years following the Second World War. Being Polish Jewish survivors of the Holocaust, immigrating to America was not an uncommon practice during the period. But Frank’s grandfather did not care for life in New York and took his family back to Europe, settling in France. Those two years were enough to enchant Frank’s father, however. A young teenager at the time, he was fascinated by American culture, which he would later pass on to his son in the form of comic books, movies and of course, music.

            Frank was only six years old when his father gave him his first albums. They were collections of “Songs of the American Civil War,” sung by artists such as Pete Seeger. Certainly not the type of music you’d expect a child growing up in Paris to latch on to. Yet for Frank, it did. It must have been quite a spectacle to witness this young French boy walking to school singing “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

            As he grew older, he heard the popular music of the day. But it wasn’t anything that held his attention. Music just wasn’t something that occupied his mind much at all. That is, until he met the Blues.

            Frank made his first album purchase in the mid-1970s. It was Hound Dog Taylor’s “Natural Boogie.” At first, the record didn’t grab him, but about six months later he gave it another listen. The sound transfixed him. He’d never really heard anything like it before. And he wanted to learn how he could create this music on his own.

            When his father was a child, his parents had bought him a guitar. A classical acoustic model, he never found the time to learn how to play. That guitar, Frank recalls, was always around the house. And now that the Blues had taken possession of his mind, Frank began to work with the instrument seeking how this magical music was played. All his life, Frank’s father had told him it was a dream of his that his son would one day learn to play the guitar. Now his dream was coming true.

            Being infatuated with the Blues in the mid-1970s was not something that could be easily remedied in Paris. Frank describes it as a solitary experience. Only a couple of record outlets in the city even offered American Blues music, and they were run by guys ten-to-fifteen years his senior. But they were Blues aficionados, and became the first people Frank was able to connect with regarding this style of music.

            One of these individuals was also the editor of Europe’s oldest Blues and Soul publication, “Soul Bag.” He would promote traveling Blues shows that came to Europe, usually packages combining acts from American festivals. Frank’s father would take his son to these events and he recalls the first package he attended was a Chicago Blues Festival grouping that occurred in 1975. The headliner was none other than Muddy Waters. It became an annual event and Frank began hanging out, trying to meet the musicians. After awhile he even was able to sit in and play with people like Sammy Lawhorn, Mighty Joe Young, Luther Allison and Jimmy Dawkins.

            For many people first beginning to explore the Blues, the music stemming from Chicago seems to be the easiest to fall in love with. It is obviously the best known. But by the time he was twenty, Frank was already developing a stronger bond to the Blues from America’s West Coast. Promoter Tom Mazzolini brought a San Francisco Blues Festival package to France and Frank literally attached himself to the tour. It was a stellar line-up: Sonny Rhodes, Luther Tucker, Ron Thompson, Mississippi Johnny Waters, J.C. Burris and Little Willie Littlefield. But they were all artists most Europeans were unfamiliar with and the venues were almost completely empty. This didn’t bother Frank, though. He had these guys all to himself.

            When the tour ended most of the musicians returned home. But Sonny Rhodes decided to stay behind for a while. It seemed that wherever Sonny went, Frank was there beside him, taking a role as the elder musician’s protégé. So when Sonny was booked for a gig and no longer had his band with him in France, Frank was asked to play the show with him. It was 1981 and Frank’s first real paying Blues gig.

            The dream of going to America continued to burn deep inside of Frank. Having fallen in love with the sound of the Bay Area players, he decided that was where he wanted to go. So he asked Sonny, “Do you think if I came to America that I could play?”

            “Oh yeah,” said Sonny. “Come to Oakland.”

So Frank dropped out of the art school he was attending and purchased an airline ticket to San Francisco.

            Frank knew that he had a cousin who lived in Oakland. Tthe son of his grandfather’s oldest brother, whose family had also migrated to America after the War, settling in California. But there had been no connections within the family for more than thirty years. Frank made contact with his cousin, even learning that his cousin was a lawyer who had several Blues musicians as clients. His cousin welcomed him to stay at his apartment, where Frank lived for the next three months.

            Soon after his arrival, Frank tried to locate Sonny Rhodes. But Sonny was nowhere to be found. The only person that he really knew in America and he couldn’t locate him. “Now that’s the Blues,” comments Byrd Hale. So Frank then went searching to locate Eli’s Mile High Club, as Sonny had spoken enthusiastically about the venue.

            Eli’s was owned by Troyce Key, a well-known West Coast guitarist who had teamed with Bluesman J.J. Malone during the 1960s. Oakland and nearby Richmond were regarded as having a wealth of outstanding Blues musicians working the East Bay area. But most of the venues, Eli’s included, were almost completely patronized by an African-American audience and there were not too many white performers who were easily welcomed to play in the clubs. You had to prove that you were good enough.

            “I interviewed bass player Henry Oden recently,” remarks Byrd Hale. “He told me that in some of these clubs in Oakland and Richmond, if you got up on the stage and you weren’t very good, the audience would take your instrument away from you. And then hand it to somebody else who could play.”

            Frank began attending Eli’s regularly and was allowed to sit in with the band. The local musicians were very much impressed with this young, white kid from France who could play Blues guitar so well.

            “I think Frank Goldwasser is one of the ‘baddest’ guitar players on the whole circuit,” quips bassist Johnny Ace. “He has great attack, doesn’t overplay and he has the main gift: a true love of the real deep Blues. Frank’s a real artist.”

            Frank began sitting in regularly with Troyce’s house band, plus Sunday afternoons accompanying pianist Omar Shariff. It was a true schooling in the Blues and he was gaining a lot of support from the Blues community

            After three months, though, Frank had to return to Paris. But he had absolutely no doubt that he was going to move to Oakland permanently. This news was not accepted very well by his parents. Though unhappy with his decision, they knew this was what he wanted and they gave him their blessing anyway. So, after a year back in Paris, Frank made the move to America for good.

            The first obstacle he faced upon his return was that his cousin was getting married and he’d have no place to stay. He explained his situation to Troyce Key. Troyce offered Frank a small room upstairs at Eli’s where he could live. Now despite Frank occupying the room, all types of activities were going on inside, both legal and illegal. It was quite a rough experience, but something that Frank considers a part of his Blues education. He lived in the room for several months, but finally he could not take the atmosphere anymore and moved from the club.

 

             In the meantime, his stature among the Blues community was growing stronger every day. Troyce Key was unhappy with his then current guitar player who was just too polished for Troyce’s sound. Troyce wanted to maintain a back-in-the-alley quality. So when he let the guitar player go, he turned to Frank and offered him the position. It was incredible for the twenty-three year old boy from France, who hadn’t even been off the plane two weeks and now he was being offered his dream job. Every Friday and Saturday night he’d be backing some of the most famed Blues musicians in the world, including Lowell Fulson, Jimmy McCracklin, Elvin Bishop, Percy Mayfield, Pee Wee Crayton, Big Mama Thornton, among many others who were regular guests at Eli’s. It all happened so quickly, Frank can barely remember playing with many of these people, though he knows that it did happen.

And it was also Troyce Key who gave Frank Goldwasser his new name: Paris Slim.

Not too long afterward Troyce began talking about breaking up the band. Drinking quite heavily and recently remarried; performing music just wasn’t as satisfying for him anymore. Frank told harmonica player Mark Hummel about Troyce’s plans, plus his own worries about not feeling self-confident. After all, he was still just this French guy who had no business being here playing this type of music. Mark Hummel has always been encouraging to Frank and told him, “Talk to Troyce. Tell him you want the gig. Tell him you’re going to put a band together and to give the gig to you. You can do it!”

So Frank did go to Troyce. And much to his surprise, Troyce told him, “Alright, you’ve got every Friday and Saturday night.” Frank then formed the first incarnation of the Paris Slim Band to work as Eli’s new house band and began booking the club with full access to Troyce Key’s address book. If he wanted to work with somebody special, Troyce just told him, “Go ahead and hire them.” So he brought in people like Cool Papa, Sonny Rhodes and Joe Louis Walker. The bigger acts, like Lowell Fulson or Jimmy McCracklin, Troyce would book for Frank himself. He gained a lot of exposure through this gig at the club. Working with McCracklin even landed him a role as guitarist behind the prolific vocalist on nights Frank was not at Eli’s.

In December of 1984, the Paris Slim Band went to harmonica player Dave Wellhausen’s small recording studio to lay down tracks for Wellhausen’s new label, Back Track. The band recorded a 45-rpm record; a cover of Lowell Fulson’s “Guitar Shuffle,” backed by the song “Stranded.” The single did well in the Bay Area and gained a little attention elsewhere.

A couple of years later, Frank and Byrd Hale took a road trip to the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. Along the way, they stopped at a small Blues club in Phoenix. Glancing at the club’s juke box, they discovered the Paris Slim single was in the machine. Byrd immediately began to tell everybody in the club that Frank was “Paris Slim.” But nobody would believe him.

When Frank was not working at Eli’s, he could be found at many different clubs throughout the Bay Area. He met guitarist Tim Kaihatsu who was hosting the Blue Monday Party at Larry Blake’s club in Berkeley. The Blue Monday Party, like Eli’s, attracted many of the best artists in the region, such as Luther Tucker, Ron Thompson, Freddie Roulette or Norton Buffalo. He had become such a mainstay with this weekly gig, that when Kaihatsu joined the Robert Cray Band, Frank became the host for this popular weekly show, too.

Tim Kaihatsu was quite impressed with Frank’s guitar prowess. So when he heard that Harmonica legend Charlie Musselwhite was looking for a new guitarist, he suggested Frank Goldwasser. Musselwhite called him right away, but Frank thought that he being tricked by Mark Hummel, who has a uncanny knack for impersonating other Blues musicians. Musselwhite had always been one of Mark’s best, too. So naturally Frank thought it was just Mark calling. But Charlie gave Frank his phone number and told him to call back if was interested. Frank began to have second thoughts, “What if this actually was Charlie Musselwhite? Did I just blow something really big for me?” So he did call back and discovered it was in fact Musselwhite who had called him! He took the gig and played with Musselwhite throughout the region for the next year.

Over the next few years, Frank was all over the Bay Area performing. He spent time playing with pianist Mitch Woods, including two cross-country tours that featured a gigs in New Orleans and Austin, Texas. He also filled the guitar position with The Dynatones for a while and worked with saxophonist Terry Hanck as well.

Another weekly show that Frank always made a point to make involved a two-hour drive every Thursday to Occidental, California. The main reason he made the trek was that the show was run by Nick Gravenites, who had made his mark in the Blues in Chicago with friends Michael Bloomfield and Harvey Mandel. Gravenites was always kind of considered as the honorary Jew of the Blues, so when Frank showed up, he took a shining to this Jewish kid who’d traveled all the way from Paris to America to play the Blues. It struck something inside of him and he took Frank under his wing.

In 1989, Gravenites was approached to reform the Electric Flag for a series of shows commemorating the 20^th anniversary of Woodstock. And he asked Frank if he would fill the role of Michael Bloomfield? Many people mentioned to Frank that they could hear Bloomfield in a lot of his playing. But Frank hadn’t really listened to much of the late guitarist’s playing. It was just a coincidence. Upon hearing that he’d be playing Bloomfield’s part in the shows, several people pointed out what a huge responsibility this was. Eddie Van Halen and Sammy Hagar, hanging out backstage at the show in Lancaster informed him he had pretty big shoes to fill. Perhaps the harshest person to deal with of all was Electric Flag keyboardist Barry Goldberg. He expected Frank to replicate the songs note-for-note as Bloomfield originally played them. It wasn’t easy, but they ran through numbers like “Killing Floor” and “Groovin’ Is Easy” and Frank pulled the shows off without a hitch.

That same year saw the debut of the first Paris Slim Band album. Recorded in California with musicians like Tim Kaihatsu, Jimmy Pugh and Rick Estrin, “Blues For Esther” was released by a European label called Blue Sting. And surprising to Frank, it was nominated for a W.C. Handy Award as best European recording.

Frank has played the San Francisco Blues Festival numerous times. First with Troyce Key and most recently with The Mannish Boys. In the late 1980s the Paris Slim Band was hired for the first time to be the opening set on Saturday, with Chicago Bluesman Jimmy Johnson to follow. It was almost a catastrophe. While driving to the event his car broke down on the Bay Bridge. The brakes had gone out. But they were determined to make the festival so with one person running in front of the car making sure people got out of the way, they drove five miles an hour all the way to the event. They missed their opening set, but Johnson had filled in and they took the second set instead.

In the early 1990s, Paris Slim got another big festival break when promoter Delmark Goldfarb hired the band to play at the Rose City Blues Festival (now known as the Waterfront Blues Festival) in Portland, Oregon. It was a huge opportunity for the band looking to gain major exposure. Frank recalls the set perfectly. The band seemed to be in a groove and the audience was reciprocating. There was a line of fans waiting for autographs afterward. So his anticipation was high when he picked up a copy of The Oregonian the next day and noticed a nice story in the paper. He read it over and over though, and much to his amazement there was no mention of the band playing. The article spoke of the band before and the one after their set, but it was as if they were never even there. To this day, he can’t figure out why he was left out of the article.

Over the ensuing years, Frank Goldwasser recorded many times with a variety of people. His second Paris Slim album, “Bleeding Heart,” on the Globe label, came out in 1996. It was a long hard time putting it together, though. For some reason it just didn’t sound right to him and he set it aside. A few months later he returned to the project and brought in Joe Louis Walker as co-producer to help fit it all together. They basically reworked the entire content and the effort paid off as the album received exceptional reviews from almost everywhere.

For a while, Frank worked with Mountain Top Records, introduced to the label’s owner, Charlie Buttrice, by Byrd Hale. Harmonica player Gary Smith was making an instructional video and he wanted a guitarist to back him on the project. That’s how Frank was brought in. From there Frank worked on an instructional video of his own for Blues guitar. An intense project that was simultaneously recorded in two languages for releases in both English and French, it took a lot of work. Yet nearly ten years later it still has not been released by the label, much to Frank’s chagrin.

Mountain Top did group him with Gary Smith, bassist Johnny Ace and drummer Big Walter Shufflesworth from The Dynatones for sessions that resulted with the album “Mountain Top West Coast Summit – Be Careful What You Wish For.” Frank’s efforts were again highly praised by critics. He went on to participate with a series of albums for Fillmore Slim. And then went into the studio to record a CD to be released under his own name alongside guitarist Rusty Zinn. Frank believes these sessions produced the best music he has ever created. But like the instructional video, Mountain Top will not release it and it frustrates Frank immensely.

In 1998, Frank and his wife moved to Santa Barbara, California to be near his father-in-law who had suffered a heart attack. While living there he made contact with drummer Chris Millar, a major player with Fedora Records. The two had met years earlier in the Bay Area and Frank was impressed with the work Chris was doing with the label. Millar began to hire Frank to participate in a number of sessions for Fedora, with the results being his inclusion on many fine albums by artists like Jimmy Dawkins, Hosea Leavy, Harmonica Slim, Willie Kent and J.J. Malone.

Perhaps the most important change for Frank Goldwasser during this period was the fact that he reclaimed his own name as an artist. He had grown tired of being Paris Slim and decided that he just wanted to back other musicians rather than leading his own band.

One day Frank received a phone call from promoter Michael Koffer, who was looking for a guitarist to play behind Billy Boy Arnold and Finis Tasby at the Ojai Bowlful of Blues Festival. Jumping at the chance to work with these artists, he was put in touch with their manager Randy Chortkoff. Originally, guitarist Alex Schultz was scheduled for the gig, but other commitments called him away. Chortkoff must have been impressed with how the shows came off, because following a recording project in Europe he contacted Frank and told him he wanted to take on something new. What he had in mind was a Frank Goldwasser CD, and he’d pay for everything!

It’s not often that somebody comes to you with an armload of money and says, “Let’s make a record.” But Frank didn’t want to do a straight Blues record. On the chance of not being very popular he wanted to experiment with a new approach. So he asked a wide range of players to be involved. Phillip Walker was one, because he is one of Frank’s heroes and he’d helped give him a break when he was a young kid in Paris, allowing him to sit in with him. And J.J. Malone, who was instrumental for Frank’s early days in the Bay Area. He also invited guitarists Alex Schultz and Kirk Fletcher; two people he’d never met before but had heard a lot about. He even asked tabla player Souhail Kaspar to take part in the sessions. The result was the sensational “Bluju” album, released on Germany’s Cross Cut Records. Frank’s guitar work is impeccable, with perhaps the highlight on the album being the song “Three Sisters” which tells the story of Oakland at the tail end of the city’s Blues boom. Frank calls off the names the people from his memories and sadly passes on that the scene no longer exists.

After “Bluju,” Randy Chortkoff contacted Frank requesting his support for Blues legend Jody Williams on a West Coast swing of his come-back tour. Frank impressions about his time working with the guitarist are mixed. Jody is a fun guy to be around and he loves to talk. If you want to hear stories about Howlin’ Wolf and Bo Diddley, he’s more than willing to go on for hours. But playing on stage with him is another story. Jody loves to play and loves to solo. In fact, his solos can go on extensively because he’s having such a good time. The only problem with this is, Jody forgets to let the other people in the band have their own solos, which can become quite monotonous for the audience and frustrating for the musicians.

 

Randy Chortkoff is full of ideas. His next was to create a Blues super group that everybody would want to book. Named The Mannish Boys, it was an all-star cast made up of Finis Tasby on vocals, pianist Leon Blue, drummer June Core, bassist Ronnie James, Randy blowing harp and Kirk Fletcher and Frank trading riffs on guitar. To add more flavor, an array of special guests were also included on the sessions. On paper the idea was spectacular. But it was yet another project that seemed to go on forever. Randy had brought in a handful of cover songs he wanted to use for the sessions that produced the album “That Represent Man.” They were really funky numbers, but they were also authentic Blues that had a raggedy sound and full of mistakes in their original mix. Randy wanted to replicate this sound. The younger musicians who were used to modern studio technology were able to comprehend the idea. But Randy wanted it just right, having the group play the same songs over and over again, causing questions to arise in the elder musicians minds, “Was this guy insane?” All their lives they had been recording songs to be hits, yet here was this guy who wanted them to mimic this raggedy sounding music. But whatever the thoughts of the time, the album was quite successful and has even received nomination for the Blues Music Awards as both Traditional and Blues Albums of the Year.

The other portion of Chortkoff’s vision for The Mannish Boys took a different path however. Frank warned Randy from the beginning that he would never be able to put this group on the road. Most of the people had their own careers playing with other groups. Ronnie James was with the Thunderbirds, June with The Nightcats and Kirk Fletcher was originally with Charlie Musselwhite and later with the T-Birds. So the band that created the debut album has never played on stage together. Instead, Randy brought in drummer Richard Innes, Tom Leavy on bass and Kid Ramos for guitar. It is a completely different band with its own unique sound far from the first Mannish Boys.

The main difference with the newer version is that it is a Kid Ramos showcase. There’s just no way around it. Kid has had this effect with every group he’s played with. Audiences love Kid and he knows how to command a stage. But Frank doesn’t feel that he connects playing with Kid as he felt he did with Kirk Fletcher. But this on-stage grouping of The Mannish Boys still thrills audiences and a second CD from the band’s performance at the Winthrop Blues Festival, titled appropriately “Live & In Demand” has been issued.

Frank has made several trips to Europe over the years performing at festivals throughout the continent. At the Spring Blues Festival in Belgium, Frank has been allowed to bring in friends of his own choosing to perform with him. In 2003, he had been working around California in a trio comprised of harp man R.J. Mischo, guitarist Steve Freund and himself. The group went to Belgium where they were billed as the Down Home Super Trio and they were quite a huge hit with the audience. So much so that Cross Cut Records asked if they would like to have the play at the Lucerne Blues Festival later that summer and they would do a recording. The only catch being, they couldn’t pay them for this. The idea caught on with Frank and Mischo, both desperate to have more product available for their fans. But Freund chose not to participate. They still wanted to make the record, though, so they recruited drummer Richard Innes seeing that he was playing with Kim Wilson on the festival’s line-up. Special guests guitarists Alex Schultz and Billy Flynn also sat in. Frank admits he was quite nervous for the show and drank too much beforehand. Listening to the “Down Home Super trio” CD now, he thinks to himself, “Oh my God, why did I do this?” But the intent, much like that of the first Mannish Boys album, was to produce something that sounded kind of funky and raggedy, and he feels that they accomplished that.

After living in Santa Barbara for six years, Frank and his wife decided it was time to move once again. Santa Barbara is quite an expensive city to reside. So they focused their minds to two cities in which to relocate. They chose the first, Paris, and made the move in early 2005. It was a short-lived move, though, as Frank’s wife found the city too sprawling and noisy. So this past fall, they resorted to Plan B and returned to the West Coast, settling in Portland, Oregon.

Why Portland? For various reasons. Frank had played several times in Portland, with the Paris Slim Band, with Jody Williams and The Mannish Boys. He always enjoyed these trips and the reception he received in the city. He figured that this was a place where he could come, play and be accepted by the local musicians and fans. One of their best friends had also recently married a guy from Portland. She continuously told them how much she liked the city and to come see it for themselves. So they came and visited, staying at their friend’s home. Finding Portland to their liking, they purchased a home.

Frank had always been impressed by the music he had heard at the Waterfront Blues Festival, but once he started hitting the venues around Portland he was amazed at the quality of music he found consistently around town. So much so, that he wants to share it with the people in Europe. His plans for this year’s Spring Blues Festival in Belgium will be to present the Blues of Portland; something that he believes will continue for the next several years as Europeans will begin to discover this area’s exceptional Blues talent. For the first year, he has already discussed and is arranging to take keyboard player D.K. Stewart and guitarist Lloyd Jones. A pair that will nicely represent Portland across the ocean. And Frank already has ideas for who he is thinking of taking next year, too!

As for now, Frank Goldwasser is starting to feel his way around the venues of Portland. After being here only a few short months, he has discovered a deep wealth of Blues talent around the city. For now, he has been taking it slowly, sitting in at jams and as a guest artist with friends like Bill Rhoades recently at The Cascade Bar & Grill. But don’t expect him to settle for this too long. He fully intends on piecing his own group together and making a name for himself in Portland. And with his Blues pedigree, he’ll be capturing all of our attention quite quickly.   

Steve Cheseborough - Recreating America's Classical Music

Written by Greg Johnson Tuesday, 30 June 2009 20:58

Greg Johnson sits down with recent Portland transplant Steve Cheseborough and finds out what he means when he talks about "America's Classical Music."

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Charlie Musselwhite once sang, “The Blues overtook me when I was a little child.” Well, that statement might just ring as true for Blues historian and guitarist Steve Cheseborough every bit as much as it does for Memphis Charlie. The Blues have been a life-long obsession and it has grown within his own performances and recordings of the legendary players of the 1920s and 1930s. But, whatever you do, don’t label Steve as a cover performer. He is not simply trying to play songs that others have done in the past. Instead, he’s trying to best recreate the music as it would’ve been heard by those long-gone artists. We don’t have the opportunity to see first-hand how someone like Charley Patton or Blind Boy Fuller captivated audiences; but Steve is doing his best to give us the right vision.

Throughout his life, Steve has walked many paths within music. As a performer, student, journalist and author of the popular guidebook, “Blues Traveling: The Holy Sites of Delta Blues.” The book is not just a curiosity purchase for visitors of the Delta; it is a required text for anybody fascinated by or a beginner wishing to delve into the music’s history, offering directions to many of the most important Blues landmarks of the region. It is something that Steve would’ve purchased himself had it been available when he first relocated to Mississippi. But, we’re getting ahead of our story.

Steve Cheseborough spent the first 25 years of his life in Rochester, New York. There was always music in the family household. His mother was quite involved, mostly as a dancer, but also as a harmony singer with her two sisters. His uncle, a music professor of theory at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester would also spend a great deal of time at the home. Most of the music his mother enjoyed listening to was Latin and Steve refers to her as “The Mambo Queen of Rochester.” But his parents’ tastes expanded beyond Latin music and the sounds of performers like Dinah Washington, Erroll Garner, Duke Ellington and Billy Holiday; very Blues-based popular music, could also be heard in the home.

Like many, Steve’s earliest encounters with the Blues came during the British Invasion with bands like The Rolling Stones. The story has been told many times by various Blues musicians of reading the liner notes on such recordings and seeing names like McKinley Morganfield (Muddy Waters), Chester Burnett (Howlin’ Wolf) and Willie Dixon. Steve was no exception and began searching out the recordings by these original artists. It became a passion and by the time he was in his mid-teens, he believed he knew everything there was to know about the Blues.

Then one day when he was about 15 years old, a friend invited Steve to a party, informing him that an older Blues musician would be playing there. Asking who the artist was, he was informed that it was Son House. Though he felt he already knew about everybody in the Blues, he had never heard of Son House before. And, as the party was across town, he decided not to attend, something that he wishes he had done now. Another Rochester teenager of the time, guitarist John Mooney, developed a friendship with the aging Bluesman and through his exposure gained a lot of education in the Blues. But, unfortunately, Steve did not avail himself to this opportunity at the time.

During his teenage years, Steve played electric guitar in several bands. They played mostly popular songs of the day, but Steve always made a point to throw in an occasional Blues song or two into the mix. In his mind at the time, he believed that you had to play music that was commercial in order to make money. Blues was not considered as such and was only a personal obsession. It wasn’t something that he considered as a thing he’d be dedicating his life, too. That came much later.

Rochester was a very cultural city, with the university library and a decent radio station which allowed Steve to peruse its collection, he became immersed in the Blues. Listening to Country Blues intrigued him, but with his belief of commercialism being what it was, he focused on learning the riffs of people like Freddie King, B.B. King and Hubert Sumlin. But, that other stuff haunted him. It was a weird sound that he really thought was cool; just how did they do it? It was like magic. To Steve it was like there had to be two or three guitarists playing together, but how can they stay so tight. When he finally realized that he was actually listening to just one guitar player, he couldn’t fathom how anybody could possibly learn to perform like that? How could you keep that type of rhythm? That pace and chords with your other fingers, plus sing at the same time? To keep it all together that person would have to be supernatural or something way beyond!

Then when he was 19, he discovered a book in the Rochester Public Library titled, “The Art Of Ragtime Guitar,” by Folk Publications. It became a personal quest to work his way through that book. It offered four different methods to help learn: written in scales for people who were able to read music, tabulature indicating finger positionings on the frets, photographs of key hand positions, and it included a flimsy plastic record that could be played on your turntable. Steve devoured the book and would often perform for his friends, who enjoyed hearing him play. It was through this tome that it all became clear to him, “Hey, this is the same thing I’m hearing with those Country Blues artists.” He put on a Blind Boy Fuller and listening to the recording felt as if he had broken a code. Twenty years later, Steve realized that he still had the book in his possession. It was still in excellent shape as it was considered a treasure. But, deciding he no longer needed it, he mailed it back to the library with a letter of apology, asking to be forgiven any late fees he may have incurred.

Steve attended college at the State University of New York in Stoneybrook, where he majored in sociology. Afterwards, he returned to Rochester where he worked in various jobs and continued playing in bands. Music was still only a hobby and none of these groups garnered much notice.

At age 25, he decided to go to graduate school and moved across country to Tuscon, Arizona to study journalism at the University of Arizona. Following graduation, he was offered a job with a small paper in Nogales, Arizona, on the Mexican border, but it only turned out to be a summer position. Soon after, though, he was offered employment with the Phoenix Gazette as a reporter, a job that he kept for the next 15 years.

Still able to find time for music, he hooked up with Navajo musician, R. Carlos Nakai, considered by many to be the world’s finest Native American flute player. Along with keyboardist Larry Yanez, they formed a group called Jackalope. The music was a blend of traditional Indian melodies mixed with modern Jazz improvisations. Releasing an album on the Canyon Records label, it became a popular recording, selling on reservations and in gift shops throughout the Southwest, and is still available on the label’s website.

One thing that Steve did find in Phoenix was a thriving Blues community. This was especially brought home when he caught a performance by Big Pete Pearson, a cousin of W.C. Clark and one of Phoenix’s premier bluesmen. After seeing Pearson, Steve told himself that perhaps Phoenix was a place that he could call home. Still it appeared that most Blues acts were bands, with solo performers being something of a rarity. But, local artists such as Hans Olson impressed him to study Country Blues even deeper. It remained just a personal hobby, though, as he still worked with Nakai.

Steve Cheseborough performing.

As he’d done earlier in Rochester, Steve would often play the Acoustic Blues in private before his friends. A girlfriend at the time asked if he could record a tape for her and not being anybody to do something half-hearted, Steve rented some studio time and produced a cassette complete with artwork. It was a small run of about 200 copies which cost him around $300. Here he was with a freshly made cassette that he titled, “Blues For Jean,” in honor of his girlfriend and after he had given away about 20 copies to his friends, what was he going to do with the rest of them? So, it may be easy to point to this small batch of cassettes as the vital step which convinced him to start performing publicly as a solo artist.

It was actually a great time to make this move in Phoenix, as the city was starting to see a boom in coffeehouses looking for solo musicians to perform. Having played in bands his entire life, it was a bit scary at first to go alone. As a solo act you’re responsible for all the banter with the audience, and if you hit a wrong note, it’s pretty certain they’ll know who made it. All the attention is directed at you; but after a few shows, Steve found that he really enjoyed working by himself.

“This was really the way to go when you’re grown-up,” he reflects. “When you’re younger, after school you’d have nothing better to do, so everybody would get out their instruments and start riffing. As you age, it becomes harder to keep a band together. People start to have families and jobs, so it’s tougher to get together for rehearsals and such. Over time, people can develop personality problems and drug problems as well. Working solo is so much easier in a number of ways.”

While in Arizona, Steve decided to enter the Phoenix Blues Society’s regional competition for the International Blues Challenge. It may not have been the right time for solo artists in this respect however. Many people seemed to be under the impression that you needed to have a band to perform Blues correctly. Showing up at the contest he was questioned, “Are you early? Where’s the rest of your band?” Finding out that he was competing by himself, they immediately placed him as the first performer. It gave him the impression that he wasn’t being taken seriously, but he gave his best anyway.

By 1990, Steve was beginning to burn out with his job at the “Gazette.” Then he saw a movie directed by Robert Mugge titled, “Deep Blues.” Always fascinated by the Blues and its history, he was well aware of the role that Mississippi had played and wished he could’ve been present some 30 years prior to see the performers he had studied. But, the movie woke him up; Blues was still very much alive in Mississippi. So, he decided to make a trip to see it firsthand, traveling to Clarksdale for the Sunflower River Blues and Gospel Festival. While there, he not only got to hear many of the artists he’d been listening to for years, he even had the chance to meet a good number of them. He spent the next two weeks visiting various locations throughout the Delta, and when it was time to leave, he thought to himself, “This is a place I need to return to. Not just for another week’s visit, but somewhere I need to spend some time in.” He wanted to know more, to spend more time with the musicians. To Steve, it was like a religious person who makes a trip to the Holy Land. It truly felt that way and still does to this day.

Returning to Phoenix, his mind was pretty much set. He had to move to Mississippi. He even went as far as enrolling in a Masters program on Southern Studies at the University of Mississippi in Oxford. Now, he just had to decide if he could really quit his job and move across the country?

“The Phoenix Gazette” made the decision for him quite easy, however. The paper had decided to downsize its staff. When the day came for announcements of who would be let go, Steve was anxiously crossing his fingers in hopes that his name was included. A sad day for most, when he found out he was one of the numbers losing their job, he had to hide his glee from the others who suddenly found themselves lost. Plus, because of the length of time he had worked at the paper, he received quite a healthy severance package. It was as if “The Phoenix Gazette” had paid for his move to Mississippi and his tuition.

As a student at “Ole Miss,” Steve wrote his thesis on Bluesman Bo Carter, an artist that he has been enchanted by for many years. The theme of his paper detailed how Carter was an incredibly accomplished guitarist and songwriter, but due to some of the lyrics of his songs, with their double entendre’, he was often mistaken as a “pornographic” or “party” singer. He pointed out that about 70% of Carter’s music may have been based on sex, but looking at the genre overall, that percentage was fairly accurate for all music of the era.

Also while studying in Oxford, Steve had the opportunity to take a course in Ethnomusicology at the University of Memphis taught by renowned Blues historian and guitarist David Evans. It was a small class, with perhaps only two other students, so Steve was able to learn extensively from Evans and the course was even credited for him by the University of Mississippi.

The class with Evans was perhaps even more beneficial a couple of years later. While still a student, Steve was approached with the idea of writing a book describing the various Blues sites around the Delta. He believes that the task was first offered to Evans, who in turn directed them to Steve.

It took him two years to write “Blues Traveling: The Holy Sites Of Delta Blues.” When he first moved to Mississippi, he had spent a great deal of time drowning himself in local Blues knowledge. Many of the locations he writes about he had found on his own during that time. Many more were gained by talking with the local residents of the Delta. Some of the older musicians were still alive and plenty of other people had tales to share. They may have been leery at first of a white “Yankee” coming around and asking questions, but most opened up to his queries, more than willing to help him out.

“Blues Traveling” is now in its second pressing, with updates including easier directions and sadly, new entries such as directions to grave sites of legendary artists. It is unfortunate that the numbers continue to increase year after year. Set up as day trips from starting points like Memphis or Jackson, it is a must-have possession for anybody wishing to explore the history of the Blues in the region, guiding the reader to venues, juke joints, museums and other notable locations of interest.

During the years that Steve lived in Mississippi, he made two more attempts at competing in the International Blues Challenge. The first came through the Beale Street Blues Society in Memphis. Then society President, Dennis Brooks, recalls Steve arriving to their local competition with two very attractive women draped on his arms, who afterwards were very vocal when Steve did not win.

His next try came through the Sonny Boy Blues Society located in Helena, Arkansas. Paired with his good friend, The Mississippi Spoonman, who has an uncanny knack of playing an ordinary pair of dinner spoons (or even plastic spoons) very melodically, even when played on members of the audience, they won the regional contest and competed on Beale Street in The Blues Foundation’s annual event. They won their semi-finals at the Pig On Beale, but lost in the finals to a duet from Little Rock called Lightnin’ Lee & The Atomic Rooster.

The years in the South helped Steve develop numerous memories and added many more credentials to his already impressive resume. One of his most cherished accounts was being able to locate and play Bo Carter’s guitar, a story that he related in an article he wrote for “Acoustic Guitar” Magazine. Owned by an individual who did not realize what he had purchased at first, he invited Steve to try it out. While listening to him play Bo Carter’s tunes, he told Steve that he noticed the spots that he was fingering on the fretboard were worn as if these same songs had been played on the instrument over and over. He also noted that listening to Steve’s recreation, he was obviously somebody who’d spent an incredible amount of time learning Bo’s exact sound.

Steve released two fine CDs: The first titled, “Outstanding Blues,” which came out in 1997, and the second, “Ham Hocks And Gravy” in 2003. He also had the opportunity to meet and become friends with one of the people who most inspired him to move to the South, filmmaker Robert Mugge. The director included a performance of Steve playing Bo Carter’s “Cigarette Blues” in his movie “Last Of The Mississippi Jukes.” They also paired up for a series of one-minute films created to accompany Martin Scorsese’s PBS documentary, “The Blues,” during the Congress proclaimed ‘Year of the Blues’ in 2003. The short clips called “Blues Breaks” were based on entries from the book “Blues Traveling,” and featured historical topics about the genre. (To view these films, visit Robert Mugge’s website at: www.robertmugge.com).

Steve’s performed quite regularly throughout the mid-South, but by no means was he a stranger to the Pacific Northwest. He had first started attending the Centrum Port Townsend Country Blues Festival and Workshop while still living in Phoenix. The week-long event is a great place to encounter some of the very best Blues artists intimately to learn and enjoy their music. First as an attendee and later as part of the staff, Steve continues to make Port Townsend a yearly stop. And, to make his trip even more beneficial, he also started to book gigs around the Northwest and British Columbia. The calm weather of the Northwest was a nice distraction from the sweltering heat he had come to know in both the South and Southwest.

Of course, when you travel to a specific event year after year, you start to develop close friendships with many of the people who share the same journey. It was through Port Townsend that Steve met Portland guitarist, Lauren Sheehan. Traditionally, Lauren and her husband invite many of the performers to their second home on the Wilson River for an after-festival gathering and in 2004, Steve decided he’d make a point of attending this party. At the party, Steve met Taizz Medalia, an amateur musician from Portland. The two stayed in touch with one another and she went to visit him in Mississippi during the King Biscuit Blues Festival. Then, Steve returned to Portland for Thanksgiving with Taizz and ended up staying for two months. Somewhere along the line, it was decided between them that Steve would move to Portland. So, he returned to Oxford in order to tie up his obligations and to pack. But, Steve seemed to be dragging his feet getting this accomplished, so Taizz flew down South, proving to be the right move as it gave him just enough push to say his farewells to Mississippi.

Having lived in a small town like Oxford for so long, returning to a large city had both its ups and downs. There were definitely a great deal more venues where he could perform without driving miles between small towns. In a city like Greenwood, Mississippi for example, if you had troubles with a club owner, there may not be too many other places to perform in town and you’d find yourself looking for another venue that could be perhaps 50 miles away. But, besides a wealth of venues, there is also a significant number of musicians that he now has to compete against for club dates. He knew coming to Portland he’d probably go through some lean times at first, but he had a bit of savings to rely upon. He says he has been able to find plenty of places to perform and he’s still exploring other locales in the region. He has enjoyed his short time in Portland so far, introducing his solo shows to the local audiences and passing on a little history lesson when he feels the crowd is open to such.

It is different in the Pacific Northwest, though, because the region is so isolated from the rest of the United States. A regional musician must rely upon venues in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Northern California and British Columbia for the most part because of the great distances between major cities. Not like living in the middle of the country where just a few hours drive can find you in large markets, making it much easier to set up short tours. Steve will make tours outside of the Northwest however, the only change being he’ll have to fly to the Midwest or South, where he used to be able to travel by car.

Another project that Steve is currently working on is the development of a new Jug band. While in Phoenix, he had been working with such a band, but when he moved to Mississippi he just could not locate the right musicians for the sound he was after. Years had passed since he was in Phoenix and curiosity brought him to try a websearch for his old bandmates. And, to his amazement, he found one of his old friends currently living in Battleground, Washington, Loren Schulte. Together they hooked up with bass player Eric Lanier, who Steve had met through singer Terry “Big T” Williams at a show in Clarksdale, Mississippi. Steve introduced Eric to Jug band music and he became immediately hooked. And, Eric appeared to be a natural with a jug. So, the three of them have been working on songs by popular early Blues groups like the Mississippi Sheiks, Gus Cannon’s Jug Stompers and the Memphis Jug Band, intending to take their act to venues in the area soon.

The one thing that Steve wants to stress regarding his selection of music is that he does not want people to consider him as just a cover artist. To best explain his approach to the Blues, he cites Morgan Freeman from the film “Last Of The Mississippi Jukes:” “It’s America’s classical music.” He is trying to be faithful to the sound and spirit of the originals. If you listen to a classical musician and he plays Beethoven or Mozart, nobody asks, “Do you know any originals? You only play cover songs.” Steve looks at his music in the same manner. When he performs music by Blind Boy Fuller, Blind Lemon Jefferson or Frank Stokes, he considers it classical music. And, if you listen to him play, you just may feel transferred to an earlier time, listening to America’s early classical musicians by a modern one.

Please make a point to attend the Cascade Blues Association’s monthly membership meeting on Wednesday, September 7th at 7 pm at The Melody Ballroom (615 SE Alder) for a chance to catch Steve Cheseborough. Also, check the monthly Calendar in the BluesNotes for other venues throughout the month where you may see this incredible musician perform.

– Greg Johnson