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Week 13 - The Blues - Humanities

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The story of bluesman Robert Johnson is complicated and layered, a rich blend of fact, fiction and folklore. It can be considered a triumphant tale of rags to riches; a tragedy of a musical genius taken too soon; the legend of a man that made a pact with the devil and paid the price. What really happened depends on who you ask, and as time goes on the stories get more embellished and elaborate.

All we know for sure is that the legendary bluesman recorded 29 tracks between 1936 - 1937, a year before his death. These songs, an eclectic mix of folk storytelling and masterful guitar licks, went on to inspire the likes of Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton and the Rolling Stones. Not a bad achievement for a boy that, as far as we know, was born in a shack in Mississippi.

The problem with Robert’s story stems from the lack of information available. Most of what is known about him has been pieced together through scraps of documents and old anecdotes that have faded over time. No surprise, then, that the blanks have been filled in with tall tales and make-believe.

He was born, most likely, in Hazlehurst around May 1911. From the get-go his situation was complicated. He was the tenth child of Julia Dodds and the product of an affair with a man Robert would never meet. It was a hard life that was confounded by the lack of stability. Growing up he bounced around a lot and lived with at least two different stepfathers. One, Charles Dodds, lived in Memphis. It was while living here he began to take an interest in playing guitar and the blues.

This is usually the part of the story where we hear about a natural ability with music but for Robert this wasn’t the case. Even after years of practice on the guitar he was considered average. In fact family and friends actively discouraged him from playing.

At aged 19 he met and married 16-year-old Virginia Travis. Soon she became pregnant and, to the delight of most, Robert promised to quit music and get a job at the local plantation. This was not a contentious decision by any means. Robert was happy and determined to give his child the stability he never had. Sadly none of this would come to pass.

Virginia and the baby died during childbirth. Robert was not there when it happened. In a final hurrah before working in the plantation and becoming a father he had traveled to some nearby towns to play music. When he got back his child and wife were already buried. In one fell swoop his whole future had been taken away.

Devastated and alone he had no idea what to do next. In the fog of grief he picked up his guitar and kept moving. He drifted aimlessly. During those dark days singing and performing were the only things that brought meaning and so he made a decision. He wasn’t going to work on the plantation for pittance, instead he would make a name for himself playing music.

At this time, circa 1930, the blues legend Son House took up residence in Robinsonvile, Mississippi. He became a regular at the juke joints and bars of the town. He recalled a young man named Robert who was eager to get on stage and play. Performers were welcome but this guy wasn’t very good. “Get that guitar off him, he’s running us crazy,” Son remembers. It was true. Robert lacked talent. But he had a zest for knowledge and was on the look out for a musical mentor. Problem was these were loud clubs with fast music and boozed up performers, no one had the time, or the interest, to teach this clumsy guitarist how to play.

Robert left town but was unfazed. What he lacked in skill he made up for in gumption and stubborn determination. He was a man with nothing left to lose after all, so setbacks did nothing but push him harder.

What happened next is unknown, there’s a gap in the timeline. This is the space that, over the years, has been filled with magic and myth. The simple truth is Robert disappeared. He wasn’t seen in any of the towns he frequented along highway one. No sightings anywhere. Then in 1932, almost a year later, he turned up in a juke house in Banks, Mississippi. Son House was playing that night and he recognized him as the clumsy guitarist from the year before. As ever the young musician was eager to perform and they reluctantly let him play. Expectations in the room were low, however, the performance that proceeded would be talked about for years to come.

From the opening bar Son and the performers noticed a stark difference. Instead of ham-fisted strumming or awkward plucking he made the guitar sing. Everyone was blown away. Somehow the mediocre musician had not only improved but had surpassed all the years of experience surrounding the stage. At one point he stopped playing and added an extra string, turning the guitar from a six string to a seven string. “I had never seen anything like it,” Son would state in an interview years later.

The state of Mississippi at this time had a culture steeped in superstition and folklore. Demons and black magic were common themes in the tradition. Given his almost supernatural transformation it wasn’t long before word began to spread that Robert might be dabbling with the dark forces and had “been to the crossroads.” In this popular myth the crossroads is a place where one could go at midnight to strike a deal with the devil. It was suspected that Robert had exchanged his soul in order to become a master guitarist. a reputation that was cemented with songs titled such as Me and the Devil Blues. At the Crossroads. Hell hound on my Trail.

The next few years brought Robert a moderate amount of success. He no longer played street corners for nickels and dimes, he was selling out juke joints and roadhouses up and down Mississippi. But he wasn’t satisfied. He was looking to take his career to the next level, he wanted to sell out venues in the bright lights of New York and Chicago. This would never happen.

Between November 1936 and June 1937 he made three records, a total of 29 tracks. It was a collection of all his work to date and, unfortunately, it would be the only recordings he would ever make. Less than a year later he would be dead. He never achieved the success he had longed for. As with his whole life, the events surrounding his death are a mystery and have spawned a fair share of outrageous theories. Some believe he died after contracting syphilis. Others think he was killed by a poisoned bottle of whiskey bought by a jealous husband. And of course, there are those who believe something more supernatural was at play. Could it be that the devil came calling and Robert Johnson had to pay back his dues?

In one of his most famous songs, Me and the Devil Blues he sang:

Early this morning
When you knocked upon my door
Early this morning ooh
When you knocked upon my door
And I said, "Hello Satan"
"I believe it's time to go"

 


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