When New Jersey’s Courier-News awarded Chris Vincent “Best Blues Artist” for its “Makin’ Waves” awards back in March, the paper exhorted fellow Garden Staters to “be proud of this rare talent and keep him from moving away.”
Ha ha. You’re not getting him back.
Okay, I don’t want to rag on someone’s home state unless they do it first. But Chris is the kind of artist that could single-handedly revitalize the New Orleans blues scene, despite his roots. (He laughingly refers to his hometown of Bayonne, New Jersey as “The Blues Capital Of The World.”) Still, as they say, it ain’t where you from, it’s where you at that counts, and Vincent’s much-acclaimed debut, Long Blue Night, places him squarely in the Delta. Which is just how he likes it. “When I was a little kid, I guess I listened to pop music, what anyone else would,” he muses. “When I was nine or ten, I would go see this fella who lived up the street. A horn player. I spent a lot of my youth in that guy’s basement listening to him play blues.” It was there that the dark acoustic blues of a bygone era began to haunt young Chris: “Son House, Robert Johnson, Vance Lipscomb… he had a ridiculous record collection,” he says admiringly. “He loaned me a trumpet, but absolutely nothin’ came of it. So he gave me my first guitar, an old Stella.” It was a guitar that meant so much to Vincent, he still uses the same model today.
Much is usually made of Chris Vincent’s amazing prowess in recreating, all on his lonesome, the dirty growl of back-porch slide blues, especially since he looks more like your cousin who roadies for Ozzy. The constant focus on his looks somewhat rankles the usually easy-going guitarist. “I tried listening to rock and heavy metal, all that crap. Believe me, there’s more money in rock or heavy metal. I considered it, but I couldn’t do it,” he says. “The only place I have difficulty is with some of the blues purists. Usually an old white guy,” he notes with appropriate irony. “He has a set thing in his mind; there’s no winning that guy over. But as far as getting radio play, there’s no problem.” True: Track one, “Tired and Mistreated,” is already burning up several of the braver blues stations. But, Jesus Christ, he’s a big bald white guy with a goatee. “I certainly understand the confusion,” he says. “I’ve had the shaved hair when it was out of style, but people still think I’m a biker or a skinhead. That has nothing to do with it–I’m just bald. When you lose your hair at 19, it’s a knock on your self-esteem.”
Long Blue Night is decorated with blows to the ego, real tales of heartbreak and disillusionment spiced with remarkable turns on slide, dobro, and banjo. Chris says they’re not intentionally dark tales, however. “People focus on the deeper, darker feel of the whole record. My whole perspective is that it’s all about hope, all about moving forward.” That’s certainly not in the Delta tradition, is it? What about Johnson, and the crossroads, and … “Those people, they don’t exist anymore,” he says flatly, as if to distance himself, claim his own space. And truth be told, he does celebrate just being alive, like all good blues does. The last track on his CD, “Tucker’s Blues,” is dedicated to his half Dalmatian-half Labrador mutt, who woke him up from a raging house fire, literally saving his life.
One gets the impression that Vincent would be happy with just a guitar and a dog–they were the only companions when he recorded Long Blue Night, and he eschews a backup band entirely. “I tried playing in some blues bands,” he acknowledges, “but I never fit in. Because a lot of them, to be honest, sound exactly the same. And if I’m not gonna be different, there’s no reason to do it at all.” Which, critical raves or not, has made it hard for him to book dates. “I feel more comfortable playing by myself, and taking home what little there is by myself. Still, there’s a lot of people that won’t even consider having a solo act play.” That doesn’t bother him much, though, because as anyone who’s heard the album can tell you, he’s plenty raw and danceable all alone. “I make a hell of a lot of noise when I play guitar,” he chuckles. “It ain’t Jim Croce.” (Chris doesn’t have anything nailed down for November yet, but he will be playing as many gigs as he can… be sure to catch him and witness the phenomenon before the mainstream media catches on.)
Frost Passes…
Some sad news in the Gone But Not Forgotten File: The Mighty King, Frank Frost, passed away October 12 at age 63, from complications after a long illness. One of the last of the great postwar harmonica players, Frost was regarded mainly for his longtime collaboration with Sam Carr (as Frank and Sam, the Jelly Roll Kings, and Frank Frost and the Nighthawks). A native of Helena, and taught by none other than Sonny Boy Williamson (II), Frost may best be known to the general public for his appearance as one of the “Jookhouse” musicians in the 1986 film Crossroads. He also appeared on the acclaimed soundtrack.
Fat Possum News
Blues drummer and vocalist Grace Brim has also passed away at the age of 75. Best known for her collaborations with husband John, she backed him for a period of nearly thirty years. Their best known works are the Chicago Chess sides “Lifetime Baby,” “Tough Times,” and “Ice Cream Man” (which was later recorded by rockers Van Halen). She also recorded and performed with many blues icons including Snooky Pryor, Jimmy Reed, Roosevelt Sykes, and Sunnyland Slim. And Fat Possum tells us that the dearly departed Junior Kimbrough’s last album, Meet Me In the City, has just been released. The best document of his live show, it was recorded, like all his albums, at Junior’s juke joint in Chulahoma, Mississippi, with an additional three songs recorded at the 1993 Sunflower Blues Festival in Clarksdale.
Blues This Month
Sadly, there’s not much happening in town this month, if your intention is seeing great blues artists do their thing. Granted, cover boy Tab Benoit gives his all at the House Of Blues on the 24th. The always-fascinating Night Tripper, Dr. John, appears at the UNO Lakefront Arena on the 11th, following ZZ Top’s appearance there on the 5th. (Rumor has it ZZ is returning to their boogie roots. I hope so.) And the ever-evolving Rod Piazza & The Mighty Flyers will no doubt light up Storyville on the 12th. But compared to last month’s embarrassment of riches, it all seems a little skimpy.
That is, of course, unless you count John Carey’s BBQ Blues Summit, a new tradition just now being forged at the Ugly Dog Saloon (401 Howard Ave, at the corner of Tchoupitoulas). Every Tuesday from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., you can groove to whatever blues artists happen to be happening through town, and at the same time chow down on some incendiary Southern-style barbecue. Atmosphere for days, great music and food, and not a single cover in sight. Says Carey, “The great thing about having a summit like this is that it brings the blues community together and gives its members the chance to play with people outside their band units.” Some of those broken units have included Jumpin’ Johnny Sansone, J. Monque’D, Nelson Lunding, Andy J. Forest, and the occasional fish-out-of-water like London, England’s own Eddy Martin Band. For more info ring up John Carey himself at (504) 269-2521 or contact the Ugly Dog at (504) 569-UGLY. (I’d call just to dial that number.)
