Search - J.B. Lenoir :: Introduction to J.B. Lenoir

A more "poetic" introduction to J. B. than Scorsese's collec

Samuel Chell | Kenosha,, WI United States | 09/17/2009

(5 out of 5 stars)

"Of all the great blues singers, including Big Bill Broonzy and Rev. Gary Davis, J.B. Lenoir is the most individual, original, inimitable. Call him the Jimmy Scott of the blues, the soulful angel, the angelic androgyne--the fact remains that he's always direct, clear and plain-spoken while remaining true to the Lemon Jefferson tradition (with some tutelage from Bill Broonzy, who recognized vocal talent sung at any frequency). These songs are all the more powerful for lacking the sexual connotations, the gender politics, the gender-specific complaints and obsessions. He sings from the heart of a human being and, surprisingly, given the register of his voice, without the least hint of vulnerability. (Not that he's merely overpowering in an early Wayne Newton sort of way.) This is a fine collection, even though the audio is far from professional. Some of the distortion is not the fault of the guitar amp, but it's nonetheless minimal and is, moreover, reminiscent of a local label like Chess Records. The recordings cover a span of 10-12 years (the documentation is somewhat lacking), including on-location Lenoir with off-the-cuff remarks by J. B. as well as some studio takes.



It doesn't matter whether he's accompanied exclusively by guitar, or adds harp, or has a 3-4 man rhythm section behind him. J. B. passes the ultimate test: he swings whatever the circumstances. (Strangely, for all his seemingly universal acceptance and popularity, I've never been able to say the same about Willie Nelson, whether he's with his own group or Wynton Marsalis' or first-call N.Y. jazz players. The beat is mechanical, straight up-and-down; the voice is pleasing--maybe more so than J. B.'s.) J. B. tells the truth in no covered or uncertain terms. If your ears don't hear it, your feet certainly will. Particularly moving, and politically topical, is "My Dear Old Mother," causing the listener to reflect not merely on the "motherless child" but on the feelings of the absent mother looking down upon the injustices inflicted upon the object of her unconditional love. "Alabama Blues" is a deeply moving lament about a state's police brutality and its effect on an entire family. "Mama Talk to Your Daughter" is an ironic rebuke of an overly protective mother whose intrusion may not be in the interest of either child. These latter songs, from the early '60s, demonstrate just enough of the political content of the protest songs that were many listeners' introduction to the underrated, much-neglected blues singer (fortunately, not overlooked by two of cinema's greatest directors--Martin Scorsese and Wim Wenders).



The Martin Scorsese collection is easily recommended for its production values and documentation, but the one you're looking at captures more of J.B.'s unique vocal expressiveness as well as the "poetry" of the blues as J.B. interprets them. Scorsese's introduction to J.B., on the other hand, emphasizes the blues as a social phenomenon, or "house party" occasion, with almost as much riffin' and jivin' from the accompanying instrumentalists as masterful storytelling by J B. himself. For that reason, I'd give the nod to this otherwise spartan, hasty, amateurishly recorded production. But pick up the Scorsese set if only for its accurate dates, great photos, and those times when you just feel like kicking back.



The program closes out with an almost eery "duet"--J. B. singing in unison with, and in the same register as, his single-note enunciation of the melody on guitar. He was, and always will remain, an American original. Maybe not as pleasant to listen to as some popular singers who dabble in the blues, but he comes as close as any song-poet to the line separating, possibly obliterating, the difference between a "folk expression" and genuine "art.""