If Robert Johnson is the “King of the Delta Blues singers”, then Charlie Patton is the goddamned godfather of it all. Unfortunately, the man and his music are overshadowed by Johnson's mythology and have gone virtually unrecognized for decades. And with white bread "bluesman" John Mayer making Rolling Stone's cover this week as one of the "New Guitar Gods," it's about time a true god like Patton gets his due tribute.
Sure, Johnson wins praise for his elusive past—the rumours of handing over his soul to Hades at the crossroads in exchange for front porch finger pickin’ skills and a soaring falsetto only add to his historical allure—but Johnson was, in fact, largely unknown by natives of the deep Delta, during his musical heyday in the 20's.
It’s white guitar slingers like Clapton and Page whose boyhood fascination with Johnson’s 78’s not only inspired them to pick up their instruments, but also fueled a fascination with the obscure backwater bluesman. And because of Clapton's burnin' hot cover of "Crossroad Blues", and Zeppelin's blatant appropriation of his licks and lyrics, purists falsely believed that Johnson's music was the holy grail of blues.
More about Patton's influence and a hell-raisin' mp3. after the jump . . .
Patton, on the other hand, was a genuine plantation celebrity in the 20’s, with a voice so booming witness claim it could carry over 500 yards without amplification. A consumnate slick willy, his hair was always neatly combed to the side, his dress clean and sharp, and you can be damn sure his guitar never came out of its case unless their was a profit to be made.
Gospel or non-secular, Patton’s recordings sound like the man survived off a daily dose of gravel and whiskey for sustenance, and if he wasn’t pulling a woman on one arm and downing bourbon with the other, he was gettin’ run outta town for causing hoardes of plantation workers to leave their crops unattended just to hear him roar into the night.
Whether he was popping bass strings to carry the rhythm, or beating his hand against his piece like a primitive drum head, Patton established the formula that Johnson, Son House, Sleepy John Estes and so many other legendary acoustic axeman brought to fame into the 1960’s. And at a meager 5 foot 5, Patton’s brutish strumming and otherworldly howl resonates like a dying man twice his girth playing for his last nickel on judgment day.
So turn the lights off and crank this up to 11. Just be sure to keep the fan on. It gets mighty hot down in the Delta . . .
Dig it? Buy Patton's Tunes . . .
