Whither the blues - Canadian Blues

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Whither the blues

Written by John Taylor

What would Robert Johnson's legacy have been if he hadn't purportedly sold his soul to the devil? What would Robert Johnson's legacy have been if he hadn't purportedly sold his soul to the devil?

What would the world remember of a poor, uneducated and underprivileged minstrel whose life, according to the mores of the age, was as cheap as the poisoned whiskey that killed him? Assume for a moment it was indeed a satanic bargain, struck at midnight "down by the crossroads," that either gave to or revealed the musical genius of young Robert.

The impact on the blues is incalculable; some 29 songs, all seminal, every one a raw, unpolished gem still widely performed to this day, each as evocative a portrait of life today as then. (That they're able to withstand so many radically different interpretations with no loss to their essential dignity is proof of just how strong these songs are). These recordings, in total only a couple of CDs worth (if all the alternate takes are thrown in), are still hauntingly affecting, revealing a tormented soul who really did seem to have hellhounds on his trail.

And there's the story itself; as an archetypical figure in the history of the blues, Robert Johnson is part of the bedrock, in many ways the personification and the exemplification of the blues tradition itself. But given that he died an early and agonizing death, by numerous accounts "crawling on hands and knees, howling in pain like a dog" . . . was it worth it?

The blues, it seems, has arrived at its very own crossroads. Whether it chooses to sell its soul to the devil is very much up in the air at the moment. The choice, it would appear, is between remaining true to tradition, and thereby almost instantly relegating the blues to the dusty past, or virtually reinventing the form, drawing in new life, new blood, by incorporating a more contemporary approach.

The latter option would certainly seem a devil's deal; to save the blues by changing it, rendering it all but unrecognizable. But it may well be the only hope for survival.

Something has to give. The blue palette is rich, but it's not infinite. What possible room can there be for artistic growth in a genre that, by definition, must adhere to a formal structure, if we further impose constraints born of a previous century? If we stick strictly to tradition, blues may well become tomorrow's Dixieland, the exclusive province of aging enthusiasts with leather hats a la Stevie Ray taking the place of straw boaters. In short, an art form already dead, sadly unaware of its own demise.

In an increasingly fractured world where the marginal (and blues has for many years been a marginal music) is ignored as simply not profitable enough, commercial appeal would appear to be the only available avenue for "keeping the blues alive.'" And commercial appeal? Certainly if one's to believe whatever passes for hype in the blues world - it hinges on a successful marriage of the old and the radically new, with the new very much front and centre.

There's already a younger generation chomping at the bit, eager to put their own stamp on the blues. Many find the traditional structures restrictive, yet rather than step outside the form entirely; they choose to stretch existing boundaries, attempting to merge modern sounds into the mix, to marry and rap and hip-hop with shuffle and boogie.

If that's the future, so be it. The current blues audience needs to make room for the next. And while it's essential that some of the lore and the legend be passed down, it's equally important to remember that the "elder statesmen" we revere today were once innovators, every bit as eager to forge something entirely new. Those raw, primal sounds that continue to reach across the years were once as fresh as the sound of rap and hip-hop are to today's youth. And each generation searching to find its own voice is a much older tradition than that of the blues anyway.

But there are limits, lines that, once crossed, render the music something other than blues.

The blues has always been about life. If it's art it's folk art, of and by the people. And it's the human heart, in all its mystery, all the joy and sorrow, all the inexplicable glory that gives the blues its heart. Blues is music with sweat on it. It's birth, it's death, and everything in between.

Whether one chooses to remain within tradition or to reshape the form into something altogether new, every word, every note has to resonate with a sense that it's all part of something larger, something approaching Truth, uppercase 'T' if you please. And central to it all is the connection between performer and listener, that sharing, whether of joy or sorrow, pain or pleasure.

Music made by machine, however challenging, however stimulating, will never be able to establish that connection. It may well be part of a legitimate artistic viewpoint, but how can music generated via computer ever encompass the life, the heart at the very core of the blues?

It might reflect the sound that surrounds life, it might express the pulse of the street, but it can never be life the way great blues is. Stretch the structure if you must, but keep it human or it's inevitably to the music's detriment. Replace heartfelt expression with studio wizardry and the blues becomes as disposable as a brand name fallen on fashion's disfavour.

As long as people live, love, and die there's reason to believe the blues will always be with us. Artists not yet born will inherit it, will shape it into something that reflects their own life experience. We can only hope the heart of the blues isn't lost, that it continues to be the most profoundly emotional music the world has ever known. That commercial interests don't result in a safe, sanitized, marketable "product." That machines don't take over, replacing human expression with an algorithm that approximates feeling. Hope, in other words, that the shadowy figure down by the crossroads doesn't hold all the cards.

On the other hand, it is called "the devil's music," isn't it?

As long as there are people like you out there, actively reading about and supporting the blues, and most of all listening to 'em, I feel confident in the music's future.

Doesn't mean we can let our guard down, though . . .

Copyright 2002 John Taylor

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