Robert Johnson 1911(?)-1938
Johnson is generally considered the archetypal influence on the blues as both a musical form and as an American mythology. His mastery of the guitar as a fully articulated counterpart to the singing voice, not simply a rhythmic background accompaniment to it, inspired his contemporaries and influenced generations of later musicians, notably Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix. The combination of his prodigious musical ability and the paucity of information regarding his brief life and violent death has made Johnson's one of the most enduring legends in American music.
Johnson was born in Hazelhurst, Mississippi, the son of Julia Ann Majors and Noah Johnson. Julia was married to Charles Dodds, Jr., a successful farmer, carpenter, and furniture maker who, because of a dispute with a prominent white family, was forced to flee to Memphis, Tennessee, where he took the name Charles Spencer. Johnson was conceived and born in Spencer's absence, and his first years were spent traveling with his mother between various labor camps and plantations in the search for work. Julia and her son eventually moved to Memphis and lived with Spencer, his mistress, and their children. Julia left after a time, and her son, then known as Robert Spencer, stayed until 1918. He then left to rejoin his mother, who had married Willie "Dusty" Willis, in Robinsonville, in northwestern Mississippi. After learning of his real father when he was in his early teens, he became Robert Johnson. His interest in music apparently developed around this time. He mastered the Jew's harp and the harmonica and then started learning the guitar. While local bluesman Willie Brown gave him some informal lessons, it was Brown's friend Charlie Patton who probably exerted the most profound early influence on Johnson; Patton is regarded as a virtuoso guitarist and singer who played a combination of gospel, spiritual, and popular music that critics cite as instrumental to the birth of the blues. Johnson followed these men to the juke joints and barrelhouses where they played, and learned by studying their performances. In early 1929 Johnson married Virginia Travis, and the two lived with his half-sister on the Klein plantation near Robinson-ville. Accounts suggest that Johnson was an attentive husband and proud expectant father; Virginia died during childbirth in 1930, however, and Johnson resumed his musical apprenticeship with Brown, Patton, and now Son House, a bluesman and fallen preacher whose intensely emotional songs soon became Johnson's favorites. House has recalled that at that time Johnson was only an average guitar player, and that he, Brown, and Patton would occasionally make fun of him. In 1931, he married Calletta Craft, an older woman with three small children, near Hazelhurst in southern Mississippi. He stayed for a time, but soon abandoned Calletta, who was in frail health and died several months later. Johnson traveled north, appearing in Robinsonville with preternatural abilities on the guitar and letting it be known that he had sold his soul to the devil. Johnson did not invent the story that one's soul could be sold at "the crossroads"—it was an established part of local lore and earlier musicians had claimed to have done so. But Johnson's claim appears to have been believed more than anyone else's. For, in a relatively short period of time, his playing had improved from unremarkable to astounding; he had not only mastered and expanded on the styles represented by Brown, Patton, and House, but also had assimilated the techniques of other, non-local musicians. He was playing in a way no one had heard before. In addition, acquaintances noted a sinister quality to his demeanor. Muddy Waters, who had seen him play at this time and who was a much larger man than the rather slightly-built Johnson, recalled him with awe and fear, saying that he was widely perceived to be "a dangerous man." Johnson's reputation spread quickly and he became the most popular blues performer in Mississippi and the surrounding states. In a hotel room in San Antonio, Texas, on the 23rd, 26th, and 27th of November 1936, Johnson held the first of his two recording sessions; the second took place in Dallas on the 19th and 20th of June 1937. He recorded 29 songs all together. In August 1938, Johnson was back in Mississippi, an itinerant musician. Past accounts of his death have been sketchy. The latest and apparently most reliable is related by Stephen C. LaVere in his liner notes to Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings (1990). Johnson and Sonny Boy Williamson (Alec Miller), the famed blues harmonica player, were performing at a house party in Greenwood, Mississippi. Johnson was lavishing attention on a woman he knew, who happened to be the wife of the man who was hosting the party. During the evening someone handed Johnson an opened bottle of whisky, which Williamson—who had been noticing the effect of Johnson's actions on some of the men at the party—promptly knocked from his hands, warning him never to drink from an open bottle. LaVere writes that Johnson responded '"Man, don't never knock a bottle of whisky outta my hand. '" Another bottle was offered to Johnson, which he drank, and which was laced with strychnine. Johnson became violently ill, contracted pneumonia, and died three days later.
As La Vere notes, Johnson's songwriting reflects four basic themes: unrequited love; traveling; evil thoughts; and intense, serious concentration and self reflection. For example, in "Kindhearted Woman Blues" he poetically articulates what became a staple preoccupation of blues songs: "I love my baby, ooh / my baby don't love me / But I really love that woman / can't stand to leave her be / A-ain't but the one thing / makes Mister Johnson drink / I's worried 'bout how you treat me, baby /1 begin to think / Oh babe, my life don't feel the same / You breaks my heart / when you call Mister So-and-So's name.…" The urge to travel was as prominent in his songs as it was in his life. In "Hellhound On My Trail" he says "I've got to keep movin' / blues fallin' down like hail… / And the days keeps on worry in' me / there's a hellhound on my trail.…" In one of his most famous verses, from "Me and the Devil Blues," he suggests that his restless ways will continue even after death: "You may bury my body, ooh / down by the highway side / So my old evil spirit / can catch a Greyhound bus and ride." Critic Robert Palmer states that the inspiration for this lyric may have been a song by Peetie Wheatstraw, in which he sings "When I die, ooh, well, please bury my body low / So, now, that my old evil spirit, mama, now, won't hang around your door." Palmer argues that a comparison of Wheatstraw's and Johnson's words "makes a telling case for Johnson's genius, for while Wheatstraw's image is a fairly straightforward rendering of a prevalent black folk belief, Johnson seizes on the Greyhound buses that were beginning to crisscross the Delta's growing network of two-lane highways for a contemporary, strikingly specific image." A major thematic concern of Johnson's was the contemplation of evil and, sometimes, the remorse it can cause. In one of his most vicious songs, "32-20 Blues" (a 32-20 was a powerful gun), he considers what to do "if she gets unruly and / thinks she don't wan' do": "Take my 32-20, now, and / cut her half in two / She got a. 38 special but I b'lieve it's most too light… /1 got a 32-20, got to make the camps alright.…" On the other hand, suggesting that Johnson was aware that his actions had serious consequences, he wrote in "When You Got A Good Friend" that "I mistreated my baby /but I can't see no reason why / Everytime I think about it /1 just wring my hands and cry.…" And in "Preachin' Blues (Up Jumped the Devil)" he presents a touching image of lonely self-reflection and determination: "…the blues / is a lowdown achin' heart disease / Like consumption / killing me by degrees /1 can study rain / oh, oh, drive, oh, oh, drive my blues /1 been studyin' the rain and /I'm 'on' [going to] drive my blues away."
Robert Johnson: King of the Delta Blues Singers, Vol. 1 (songs) 1961
Robert Johnson: King of the Delta Blues Singers, Vol. 2(songs) 1970
Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings (songs) 1990
SOURCE: "Robert Johnson: A Perpetuation of A Myth," inLiving Blues, Vol. 94, 1971, pp. 34-6.
[In the following essay, Garon attempts to provide a balanced estimate of Johnson's talent and influence as a blues musician.]
"… Robert Johnson is acknowledged as perhaps the most accomplished and certainly the most influential of all bluesmen.…" This overwhelmingly biased opinion, dressed as "acknowledged" fact, not only appears in a rock magazine whose readers are in dire need of real information about the blues, but it was written by someone whose familiarity with the blues is more than superficial; someone who, indeed, should have known better.
That a writer with much more than a passing acquaintance with the blues should continue to perpetuate the Robert Johnson myth is evidence only of how firmly the myth is entrenched. The purpose of this article is not at all to denigrate Robert Johnson, who really was one of the finer bluesmen, but to discuss the implications of the myth as well as some general problems centered around the concept of "influence."
But first, the myth itself: "acknowledged as perhaps the most accomplished [bluesman]." Whether we read "accomplished" in the sense of "dynamic" or "effective," there is considerable disagreement among those enthusiasts who have been listening to the blues for years; few of them would name Robert Johnson as their favorite...
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SOURCE: "Searching for Robert Johnson," in Living Blues, Vol. 53, 1982, pp. 27-41.
[In the following excerpt, Guralnick presents an evaluation of Johnson's achievements as a blues artist.]
The sources of [Robert Johnson's] art will … remain a mystery. The parallels to Shakespeare are in many ways striking. The, towering achievement. The shadowy presence. The critical dissent that great art cannot come from a person so uneducated. The way in which each could cannibalize tradition and create a synthesis that is certainly recognizable in its sources and yet somehow altogether and wholly original. I am not arguing that Robert Johnson's art has a Shakespearean scope, nor is he a lost figure in an epic tradition, as some romanticists would suggest. As a lyric poet, though, he occupies a unique position where he can very much stand on his own.
His music remains equally unique. Not that it cannot be placed within a definable tradition, still forcefully represented by Muddy Waters and Johnny Shines today. But there was something about his music that seemed to strike all who listened, so that even a professional musician like Henry Townsend—on friendly terms with recording stars like Roosevelt Sykes and Lonnie Johnson—would express his awe at Robert's technique and execution. Most accounts agree he rarely practiced. "When he picked up his guitar, he picked it up for business," says Johnny...
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SOURCE: "Stones in My Passway, Hellhound on My Trail," in Greasy Lake & Other Stories, Penguin Books, 1985, pp. 146-52.
[The following is a short story based on Johnson's life.]
I got stones in my passway
and my road seems black as night.
I have pains in my heart,
they have taken my appetite.
—Robert Johnson (19147-1938)
Saturday night. He's playing the House Party Club in Dallas, singing his blues, picking notes with a penknife. His voice rides up to a reedy falsetto that gets the men hooting and then down to the cavernous growl that chills the women, the hard chords driving behind it, his left foot beating like a hammer. The club's patrons—field hands and laborers—pound over the floorboards like the start of the derby, stamping along with him. Skirts fly, straw hats slump over eyebrows, drinks spill, ironed hair goes wiry. Overhead two dim yellow bulbs sway on their cords; the light is suffused with cigarette smoke, dingy and brown. The floor is wet with spittle and tobacco juice. From the back room, a smell of eggs frying. And beans.
Huddie Doss, the proprietor, has set up a bar in the corner: two barrels of roofing nails and a pine plank. The plank supports a cluster of gallon jugs, a bottle of Mexican rum, a pewter jigger, and three lemons. Robert sits on a...
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SOURCE: "Last Fair Deal Gone Down," in Michigan Quarterly Review, Vol. 30, No. 2, 1991, pp. 323-33.
[In the following essay, Junger offers an account of his research into Johnson's life in Mississippi.]
The drug dealer is my age but broke and black and missing two fingers. He wants to do business but I want to hear about growing up poor in Greenville, Mississippi; we end up just driving around town in the heat of the day. After a while he says he owes too much money to be just sittin' around talking. I don't believe him—who ever heard of a broke drug dealer?—but I take him to his old neighborhood to pay off one of the debts. The kid he owes spots him a block away and chases the car on foot down the street. I pull over and my friend jumps out and hands over nine dollars, a good-faith payment on two hundred, then slaps some hands and gets back inside.
"I got to get out of this business," he says. "But I don't even have a dollar."
We drive around some more as the sun sets and the afternoon cools off. People are filling the street corners and front porches in loose gangs, family groups. I ask him when crack hit the little towns of the Mississippi Delta. He says a few years back.
"It's everywhere," he says somberly. "I won't say I'll never do it again because I don't want to lie; but someday I will clean myself up. I know the Lord does not visit a...
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SOURCE: "Brer Robert: The Bluesman and the African American Trickster Tale Tradition," in Southern Folk-lore, Vol. 48, No. 2, 1991, pp. 141-57.
[In the following essay, Siems discusses parallels between African-American folktales and accounts of the lives of famous blues musicians.]
Many of the African American musicians who helped to create the blues have left behind colorful tales of their lives and careers. The narratives told by a particular group of mese musicians—male "downhome," or "rural" blues artists—have received a great deal of scholarly attention, primarily because rural artists were thought to be closest to the roots of the blues. Whatever their factual accuracy, me tales told by these men represent artistic oral performances which are at times as entertaining as the bluesmen's music. And as oral performances, the stories of the bluesmen draw heavily on themes and character traits which have existed for centuries in African American narrative tradition.
Although commercial recordings from the 1920s and 1930s reveal many of the musical and lyrical elements which made up the rural blues styles, Oiey provide little information on how those styles developed or on how the obscure performers of those styles actually lived. To obtain information of mat sort, scholars searched the communities from which the first rural blues recording artists came in the hope of finding living...
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SOURCE: "Standing at the Crossroads Between Vinyl and Compact Discs: Reissue Blues Recordings in the 1990s," in Journal of American Folklore, Vol. 105, No. 416, 1992, pp. 215-26.
[In the following essay, Pearson discusses the "Robert Johnson myth" and examines the reception of Johnson's work as a recording artist.]
Thinking about Robert Johnson generates questions about the impact of phonograph recordings on folk tradition. After all, Robert Johnson is characterized as a bellwether—the artist who represents the transition from country-dance musicians limited to local influences to a new breed of professionals whose technique and repertoire were influenced by phonograph recordings. Fairly or not, Johnson is portrayed as an innovator who conceptualized and shaped his songs in a modern way, as preformed units conditioned not by the needs of an audience of dancers but by the limitations of recordings.
To a certain degree, the strange career of Robert Johnson has been shaped by three manifestations of his recordings that reflect the major changes in commercial sound recording formats. The first few 78s issued in his lifetime brought him the status and notoriety of a recording artist. David "Honeyboy" Edwards, who knew Johnson, provided an anecdote illustrating the prestige of recordings. A Delta woman offered Johnson a dime to play "Terraplane Blues" on a street corner in Greenwood,...
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Charters, Samuel. Robert Johnson. New York: Oak Publications, 1973, 87 p.
Includes commentary on Johnson's life and work as well as transcriptions with brief analysis of his twenty-nine songs.
Greenberg, Alan. Love In Vain: The Life and Legend of Robert Johnson. Garden City, NY: Doubleday and Company, 1983, 252 p.
Screenplay to the fictionalized narrative film directed by Greenberg.
LaVere, Steve. "Tying Up a Few Loose Ends." Living Blues 94 (November-December 1990): 31-3.
Corrects some errors in the liner notes to the reissue of The Complete Robert Johnson.
"The Death of Robert Johnson." Living Blues 94 (November-December 1990): 8-20.
Various articles and reminiscences by musicians, scholars, and acquaintances of Johnson's.
O'Neal, Jim. "A Travelers Guide to the Crossroads." Living Blues 94 (November-December 1990): 21-4.
Presents various accounts of where the "crossroads" in Johnson's music may be located.
Rubin, Dave. "Robert Johnson: The First Guitar Hero." Living Blues 94 (November-December 1990): 38-9.
Overview of Johnson's guitar-playing technique.
Shines, Johnny. "The Robert Johnson I Knew." American FolkMusic Occasional (1970): 30-3.
Reminiscence by a fellow...
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