Bravo, Chris Albertson

[Alexander Hawkins]

I have the Garvin Bushell memoirs sitting in a pile ready to read...looks/sounds like an intriguing guy!

[king ubu]

I also just got the Wellstood/Jackson album - not played yet - but also "Blues by Lonnie Johnson" - wow! Featuring Hal Singer, this is a great one, Chris! Any stories to share about it?

[Christiern]

I'm glad you like the album, Ubu. I don't recall this session, specifically, because I did several with Lonnie at that time, but he was easy to work with. Of course, I had gotten to know him quite well, so we spent more time out of the studio than in it. I don't have the album, so I can't tell if the following repeats parts of my notes, but it is an excerpt from a piece I wrote for a book, Bluesland (Dutton 1991) and undoubtedly long out of print. This extract deals with how I met Lonnie:

Over the years, jazz writers have shown a tendency to turn somewhat morbid when dealing with blues singers. If the gloom wasn't there, they often invented it—God forbid that a singer of sad songs should lead a happy life. This is not to say that Lonnie Johnson's was a bowl of cherries, but neither were things as hopeless as Samuel Charters pictured them in his 1959 book

Country Blues

. A chapter devoted to Lonnie had him living in Cincinnati that year, "not well, and doing very little musically." It described him as a sad person who had gone through life as a loner and become "a sick man, shabbily dressed," too ashamed to show his face. "For Lonnie," read the tear-wrenching summation, "it has been a long road, without much of an end."

It had, indeed, been a long road, but one paved with triumph as well as tragedy, and it was far from over. In 1958, when I had a daily show on Philadelphia jazz station WHAT-FM, Lonnie's records frequently graced my turntables. I had always admired his versatility, and I relished treating my listeners to the breadth of his artistry: the superb plaintive blues, the racy double entendre duets with Victoria Spivey and Spencer Williams, the pioneering instrumental duets with guitarist Eddie Lang, and his dazzling guitar solos on classic Armstrong and Ellington sides. Lonnie Johnson was an outstanding blues artist and composer, but his influence stretched far beyond the idiom with which he was most closely identified; his intricate twelve-string guitar work of the twenties is the foundation for much of the music we hear today.

Being a recent immigrant from Denmark—where the government-operated radio afforded jazz as much reverence as it did any other important art forms—I was astonished to find that Lonnie Johnson's name was unfamiliar to many of my American listeners, even those who considered themselves to be dedicated jazz fans. The few who had heard of him, knew only of his commercial hits, songs like "He's a Jelly Roll Baker" and "Tomorrow Night," and I was determined to set the record straight, as it were. One morning, after playing some of his wonderful twenties sides, I wondered aloud what had happened to Lonnie Johnson, and the phone instantly lit up. The first caller was banjo player and former bandleader Elmer Snowden—then a parking lot attendant—who himself was a legendary figure, having introduced Duke Ellington to Harlem in 1922. Elmer reported that Lonnie had lived in Philadelphia for the past several years, and that he had seen him at a local supermarket the day before—so much for being down and out in Cincinnati. The next call came from a gentleman who worked at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel and had a coworker named Lonnie Johnson, but knew nothing of this man, a janitor, having a more glamorous past.

That afternoon, the hotel's maintenance supervisor said he thought it unlikely that Johnson was a famous performer, but added "he might play guitar, because he's real careful with his hands, and always wears gloves to protect them." Indeed he did, and I recognized Lonnie Johnson instantly as he reported for his three-to-midnight shift that day

The following Saturday afternoon, I arranged a small gathering at my apartment for the purpose of bringing Lonnie and Elmer to the attention of two top New York record producers who had accepted my invitation to come down. I had neither met nor spoken to John Hammond and Orrin Keepnews before, but the mere fact that they made the trip and seemed eager to hear Lonnie and Elmer gave me hope.

My Philadelphia apartmen, 1959. Left to right: Lonnie Johnson, yours truly, John Hammond, unidentified drummer, Elmer Snowden.

I still have my tapes from that gathering, so I don't rely on memory when I report that it was an evening filled with amazing music. Lonnie, a lean man with a misleading, perpetually sad face, looked much younger than his years. That afternoon, he was in a splendid mood as he exchanged stories with Elmer, a jolly, slightly overweight man who seemed gladly to accept second billing. There were many questions and compliments from Hammond and Keepnews—who represented Columbia and Riverside Records, respectively—but neither man seemed prepared to whisk anyone into a recording studio. A few days later, I took the tapes to Bob Weinstock, the owner of Prestige Records, who immediately approved the recording of an "exploratory" Lonnie Johnson album. A month later, when he heard the test pressing of Blues by Lonnie Johnson, Weinstock was so impressed that he signed Lonnie to a contract. Several albums followed, including Blues and Ballads, featuring Lonnie and Elmer together, and one that reunited Lonnie with an old studio partner from the twenties, Victoria Spivey Lonnie's career was once again heading up.

Encouraged by Weinstock's reaction, and egged on by the kind of boldness that can only come from naïveté, I picked up the phone and called the William Morris Agency As it happened, my call was routed to a devoted Lonnie Johnson fan who was delighted to hear that he was alive well, and available. The result was a one-month booking at Chicago's Playboy Club, at $350 per week. I told Lonnie that I did not intend to make money on him, but that I expected to eventually be reimbursed for my expenses, which now included a tuxedo and a Gibson guitar. As it turned out, I was repaid a total of $25, but it was impossible to get angry with Lonnie; he had a way of looking as sad as his most poignant songs, and to know his background was to understand his fear of hitting the skids again. I understood that those who handled Lonnie's business matters in the past had not always done so honestly, so it was not surprising to find that he viewed my offer of nonprofit management with suspicion. In some ways, Lonnie was out to-get back some of the losses he had suffered at the hands of shady managers, club owners, and record company powers, but it was clear that he also bore some blame for past slides.

This, the last in a series of comebacks, happened to be perfectly timed. America was experiencing a folk music revival that embraced ersatz "folkies" like the Kingston Trio, Bob Gibson, Oscar Brand, and Peter, Paul and Mary, but also focused renewed attention on the real thing, including the blues singers of the twenties. Young folk music fans were eager to learn more about men and women whose names appeared on time-worn 78-rpm record labels, and among them few performers had recorded as prolifically as Lonnie Johnson.

As his name began to appear in newspapers, and his records were played on the air, Lonnie basked in his newfound celebrity status. Unlike previous peaks he had experienced, the crowds that now gathered around him consisted mainly of young white fans who were perhaps more attracted by the mystique of a legend stepping out of history than by anything he sang or played. They were full of questions about the artists he had worked with and about his own past, but Lonnie had few answers; there were times when all the attention seemed to overwhelm him, and while he responded politely to fans and press people, he hardly ever volunteered personal information. Even I found him reluctant to discuss his past, except to acknowledge that which had already been written.

[Chuck Nessa]

In the photo it looks like John Hammond is picking your pocket.

[JSngry]

In the photo it looks like John Hammond is picking your pocket.

That might well be one of the creepiest looking pictures I've ever seen of anybody. Seriously.

[Christiern]

In the photo it looks like John Hammond is picking your pocket.

I wondered what happened to that condom!

[king ubu]

Thanks a lot! I'll read this (and the liners) tonight at home!

The photo is rather creepy, indeed, but I always love seeing some photos from these days where quite obiously I haven't been around...

[AllenLowe]

actually, I think Hammond is just giving his butt an affectionate squeeze -

but, all seriousness aside, I'm glad you posted that passage from Bluesland (which I own and have read - but one can never get too much Lonnie Johnson) - Johnson is amazing - when I was researching my book American Pop I w was absolutely amazed to hear some of his 1920s recordings, which are, basically, the first modern blues recordings - free flowing lines, long, smooth phrases - basically, taking Blind Lemon Jefferson to the next stage - everyone should hear them - to use a somewhat awkward analogy, Lonnie Johnson is the Louis Armstrong of the blues world.

[kh1958]

The book is out of print, but I ordered one from an amazon.com seller, and there are plenty more available.