Reviewed by Andrew Rolfe It was a mean ol' world for Blind Willie Johnson. Mother died when he was just out of nappies. Dad remarried a mean ol' gal who took out her scorned-woman fury on the helpless young when she discovered her husband's infidelity. The sin of the father was visited upon the son, and Willie got his new name courtesy of lye thrown into his eyes. He spent most of his adult life singing out his soul, his woes and his praise on Texan street corners. It was there that the Columbia Record label discovered him. His wife probably found him there too. For a few years Willie found fame if not fortune charming a late1920s and early '30s America with his born-to-sing-the-blues voice. Sadly, the relationship with the label didn't last as long as the one with Mrs Johnson: she was faithful for life. After a few hectic years of recording and selling more records than water in the Mississippi, Blind Willie suffered from that fatal disease called fashion. With a change in society's musical taste, and as The Depression gave way to a poorer economic climate, Willie and his searing blues gospel were dropped quicker than you can say "falling profits." He ended his days pretty much as he began them, apart from his pretty wife, singing and plucking his battered guitar on the street corners, eking out a living from kind-hearted citizens. He was taken prematurely in his 40s when, after his ever-faithful wife dragged him to safety from their burning house, the hospital refused to treat him because he was blind. Crazy but true. He and Mrs J had to fend for themselves amongst the ashes of their former abode. He died of pneumonia within a week. Blind Willie was more than qualified to sing The Blues. He was PhD level and not just because of his tragedy-ridden life. He had the kind of voice that gave country blues its character. His deep gravely tones might have been pounded out by a Texan prison chain gang: a speech therapist would have had a heart attack. We're talking rough; positively abrasive: listen to this album for too long and your ears will be worn out, literally. Not all tracks feature the growling tone: sometimes he finds a higher range. Slide guitar accompanies the voice, as does a gentle backing-vocal female: Willie B Harris. Willie (the man) does all the playing. He glides fluidly up and down the fret board managing to beat out rhythm and pluck lead as naturally as a bird singing to the dawn. Awesome. A genius. Goodness knows what they used to record with in those days. My guess is they played into a tin can fastened with string to a steam-powered recorder the size of a house. Despite the total lack Dolby super duper digital extravagance, you know immediately that you're in the presence of a genius. These 20 songs represent the crowning and definitive sound of a heavy weight blues hero. Tracks include: "Keep Your Lamp Trimmed And Burning", "Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The Ground", "Jesus Is Coming Soon", "Sweeter As The Years Go By" and "Nobody's Fault But Mine" successfully covered by Led Zeppelin. Not all of them sound like they were played on the cigar container. Not that Willie couldn't play. He slides and picks the blues as classily as any, it's just a matter of technology: I'd like to see Glenn Kaiser do any better using a wooden frying pan stringed with shoe lace and chicken wire (not that he wouldn't do at least as well). After a while you might get weary of the unique gravelly bellow: not many of the tracks are sing-a-long easy listening. But some surprisingly are. A couple of the four-liners sound like those old-style Pentecostal revival songs you can repeat forever (I always wondered what inspired them), and get your soul tapping its feet after a few short bars. These recordings have been assembled before on numerous compilations. But if you haven't got them you should immediately part with sufficient cash to purchase this album.
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