Episode 1 The Devil's Music

Many people believe the blues began in Mississippi,

though it's the kind of thing no-one can prove one way or the other.

The blues were created by poor blacks in the South, that's certain.

It happened sometime after about 1900, that too is certain.

Snatches of song were written down by folklore collectors,

that's about all the evidence we have.

So what did those old blues -

and they weren't always even called that - what did they sound like?

Possibly something like this...

# Hey, poor boy

# All the way back home

# Hey, poor boy We got pulled over

# And they put us off and prison-bound

# Their mother, she got worried

# The evenin' sun was goin' down

# Their mother, she said, she said

# My son somewhere in prison is bound

# My, their mother, she got worried

# My mother went on scrapin' and cryin'

# My mother called

# He told her They had us sent prisoner-bound

# Well, my mother talked to the sergeant

# Asked him how much was our bail

# Well, the sergeant told my mother

# They would take 200 dollar bills

# My mother she came to the sergeant

# She didn't even have a dime

# My mother saw me looking inside now

# She said "I don't even have a dime"

# Well, the sergeant He talked to my mama

# Pulled me down this awful freight train

# They said "You'll get your 200 dollar bills

# "And I will return him back to your home." #

That was Bukka White singing Poor Boy,

an archetypal traditional folk song.

Folk collectors found that song all over the Deep South in the 1900s.

Every singer sings it his or her own way, making up their own words,

passing it on in a new form, but always, it's Poor Boy.

Booker White died only a few months after that film of him

at his home in Memphis, Tennessee.

And many regarded him

as the last of the great Mississippi country blues singers.

Now, the sliding of the knife on the guitar

is a style going back to the earliest days of country blues.

In this next song, he uses a metal tube over his finger as a slide.

He used to use a bottle neck but it cut up his finger.

This is his own song,

not some folk song passed on from other singers,

but his own composition.

# Aberdeen is my home

# But the men don't want me around

# Aberdeen is my home

# But the men don't want me around

# Cos they know I will take these women

# I will take them outta town

# Ooh, sittin' down in Aberdeen

# With New Orleans on my mind

# I was sittin' down in Aberdeen

# With New Orleans on my mind

# Well, them Aberdeen women

# Told me they would buy my own gasoline

# Hey, two little women

# I ain't ever seen

# They has two little women

# That I ain't ever seen

# Well, these two little pretty women

# Just from New Orleans

# Play it good now

# Oh, listen, you women

# You know that I'm a poor boy

# Listen, Aberdeen women

# I don't have a dime

# Even though I'm a poor boy

# Don't even have a dime

# Cool it now

# Oooooh Oooh, ooh, yeah

# Where we used to live

# Oh, look over yonder

# Where we used to live

# Well, don't you know what they do to me

# Can you

# Yeah!

# Bah, bah

# Bah-bah-beep I'll find him and say no more

# Bah-bah, bah-bah

# I don't sing no more

# You can tell everybody

# Standin' knockin' on the door

# Tyin' it up now

# Put rhythm to it. #

The record is going out in Aberdeen, Mississippi,

across the Tombigbee river, goodbye, good.

Back in the '20s and '30s,

songs like that were the pop songs of the day.

On brittle 78s, cheaply recorded,

often by non-professional singers,

just the good old boy from the plantation nearby

who played for dancers.

Once songs came out on record other people would hear them

and so the folk tradition carried on.

But, unlike now, when a song is covered by pop artists,

the words would get changed and the song,

though basically an old one, would still be personal to the singer.

This next song first came out in 1928

by a magnificent Mississippi singer called Tommy Johnson.

The version we have here

is by an old friend of Tommy's, Houston Stackhouse,

backed by Joe Willie Wilkins - Cool Drink Of Water.

# I asked her for cool water

# And she gave me gasoline

# Lord, I'd ask her for water

# She'd give me gasoline

# Lord, I asked for cool water

# And she gave me gasoline

# Lord, Good Lordy, Lord

# Cry, "Lord, I wonder

# "Will I ever get back home?"

# Cried, "Lord, I wonder

# "Will I ever get back home?"

# Good Lord, Lordy, Lord

# Lord, I went to the depot

# Looked up on a board

# Lord, I asked

# How long

# Had this south-bound train been gone

# She said, "He done taken your faror

# "Blown back smoke on you"

# Said, "He's taken your faror

# "Blown the smoke on you"

# Lord, Lordy, Lord

# Lord, I asked the conductor

# "Could I ride the blind?"

# Wanna know can a broke man ride the blind, I ain't got a dime

# He said "Son, buy your ticket

# "Buy your ticket

# "Cos this train ain't none of mine"

# He said "Son, buy your ticket

# "The train ain't none of mine"

# He said "Son, buy your ticket

# "Buy your ticket

# "Cos the train ain't none of mine"

# Good Lord, Lordy Lord. #

How about that?

While old traditional songs

were being passed on by being recorded,

there were also plenty of new blues being composed.

By the 1940s and '50s, you could hear blues on the radio.

Usually little local stations who would play records,

or sometimes use a local band to advertise products.

Our next singer, Sonny Blake,

was inspired to take up music

partly by hearing harmonica blues on the radio.

The song he sings comes not from Mississippi,

but from a record made by a man from Waco, Texas, Mercy Dee Walton.

When it first came out in 1952,

it was up-to-the-minute black pop music.

Now it's become a blues standard,

One Room Country Shack.

# Sittin' here 1,000 miles from nowhere

# In this one-room country shack

# Sittin' here 1,000 miles from nowhere

# In this one-room country shack

# Oh, I ain't got no kind of companion

# Nothin' but this old nine-foot cotton sack

# Every night around midnight

# People, I just can't sleep no more

# Every night around midnight

# People, I just can't sleep no more

# Only a cricket and frog to keep me company

# What, boy?

# And the wind's howlin' round my door

HE PLAYS HARMONICA

# I'm gon' get up early in the mornin'

# Look out this old raggedy beat-out T

# I'm gon' get up early in the mornin'

# Look out this old raggedy beat-out T

# Yeah, babe You know there's an actual fact

# I don't know where in the world that I'll stop at

# Oh, mercy!

# Sittin' here 1,000 miles from nowhere

# In this one-room country shack

# Sittin' here 1,000 miles from nowhere

# In this one-room country shack

# Oh, d'you know I ain't got no kind of companion

# Nothin' but this old nine-foot cotton sack. #

Records, radio - all these are perfectly legitimate ways

for folk music to be passed on.

But more traditionally-minded folklorists

might rule them out, "Two commercial", they'd say.

"Folk songs should be passed on

"purely by word of mouth," they'd argue.

They're only really happy when the composer is "Anon"

and the song's origins lost in the mists of time.

Well, our next singer

is the kind of man the folklorists would probably like.

When he was filmed in 1976,

he was age 77, long white beard,

and hands horny from years of working in the cotton fields.

Sam Chatmon learned his music

long before blues records were being made.

He learned from his father and his huge family,

nearly all of whom were musicianers,

so they all swapped songs, swapped instruments,

learned from other singers

and lived their lives right at the heart of the living folk process.

# I got a brown-skinned woman

# Live up on the hill

# Now don't you hear me telling you where you stay?

# I got a brown-skinned woman

# Live on a hill

# And that fool quit me

# I swear I love her still

# How come you wanna do, woman

# Like you do, do, do?

# Now don't you

# Hear me tell you, pretty mama

# How come you wanna do, woman

# Like you do, do, do?

# How come you wanna treat me, woman

# Like you do, do, do?

# When I was uptown this mornin'

# On my way back home

# Now, don't you hear me tellin' you, pretty mama

# When I was uptown this mornin'

# On my way back home

# Well, the devil met me and told me

# "Your woman's dead and gone"

# Don't the hearse look lonesome

# Rolling 'fore your door?

# Now, don't you hear me

# Telling you, pretty mama?

# Don't the hearse look lonesome

# Rolling 'fore your door?

# It's taken that woman you loving

# And she can't get back no more

# Well, I ain't going down

# Big road by myself

# Now, don't you hear me

# Telling you, pretty mama?

# Well, I ain't going down

# Big road by myself

# And if I can't take you, woman

# I carry somebody else

# Oh, yes, I is, baby

# Well, went to the grave

# Looked down on her face

# Now, don't you hear me

# Telling you, pretty mama

# I went to the grave

# Looked down on her face

# Said, "I feel your condition, woman"

# But I sure can't take your place. #

A fine, assured performance from Sam Chatmon.

People think of blues as sad -

the word means depressed, or in low spirits.

And of course, the blues can be sad, can be poignant.

But they're also about helping you not to feel sad,

blues can be about feeling good.

Then, as often as not it's good-time music, music to dance to,

and that's what Sam's Rag is all about.

# That's my girl

# Oh, shake it now

# Oh, that's my girl

# Who's doing it now

# I ain't going to take nobody's word

# I'll stir it with myself

# Oh, see that girl with the red dress on

# Oh, she got good Show us your boy

# Oh, see that girl with the red dress on

# Oh, she got good Show us your boy

# I ain't gonna take nobody's word

# I'll try it for myself

# Oh, that's my girl

# Oh, that's my fella

# Oh, shake it now

# Who's doing it now?

# I ain't gonna take nobody's word

# I'll stir it with myself

# Yeah, boy!

# Oh, get on

# That's what I'm talkin' about

# Oh, that's my girl

# Oh, shake it now

# Oh, that's my girl

# Oh, stirrin' it now

# I ain't gonna take nobody's word

# I'll stir it with myself

# Oh, mama, mama, look at sis

# In that back yard, doing that twist

# Mama, just look at sis

# In the back yard doing the twist

# Now, I ain't gonna take nobody's word

# I'll stir it with myself. #