Before we turn to a serious discussion of Chester Burnett aka Howlin’ Wolf, a true story about another wolf, last name Blitzer. A friend of a friend of his cousin’s friend who lives in Blitzer’s swank neighborhood in Bethesda, MD swears come one full moon night he watched a howling Blitzer lope naked across his backyard, in pursuit of a terrified deer. This friend of a friend of a cousin’s friend assumed it was just an acid flashback, but when he turned on CNN the next day he swears he saw flecks of blood in Wolf’s beard.
As for Howlin’ Wolf, he’s only one of the greatest blues musicians to ever walk Planet Earth. The Wolf could do it all: sing, play guitar and harmonica–hell, I betcha he could have rocked the blues on the hornucopian dronepipe had somebody handed him one. Thousands of people have paid homage to Howlin’ Wolf over the years, but my favorite encomium comes from the late Cub Koda of Brownsville Station, who said, “No one could match Howlin’ Wolf for the singular ability to rock the house down to the foundation while simultaneously scaring its patrons out of its wits.” Howlin’ Wolf and Wolf Blitzer have a lot in common.
There are better Howlin’ Wolf albums out there, but listeners have long been drawn to 1971’s The London Howlin’ Wolf Sessions on the basis of its who’s who cast of renowned musicians. Session attendees included Eric Clapton, long-time Howlin’ Wolf guitarist Hubert Sumin, Steve Winwood, sessions pianist extraordinaire Lafayette Leake, Charlie Watts, Ian Stewart, Ringo Starr, Bill Wyman, Klaus Voormann and some other guys whose names elude me at the moment.
The players’ excitement at being in the presence of a great is palpable, and they give their best as a result. Clapton’s playing is breath-taking throughout–his stinging leads on such tracks as ”Highway 49,” “Do the Do,” “Red Rooster” and “Rockin’ Daddy” are almost enough to validate all that “Clapton Is God” nonsense. Rolling Stones co-founder Ian Stewart, Lafayette Leake, and Winwood share piano duties on the sessions, but it’s Stewart who shines–his rollicking 88s lend a shakin’ shotgun shack feel to tunes like “Rockin’ Daddy” and “Do the Do.”
Watts is his usual rock steady self on all but “I Ain’t Superstitious,” on which Ringos does the boogaloo. As for Wyman, he sits back and watches things happening, only emerging from the shadows to satisfy your yen for more cowbell on “I Ain’t Superstitious.” Saxophonists Dennis Lansing and Joe Miller and trumpet player Jordan Sandke lively up “I Ain’t Superstitious” and “Built for Comfort.” And 19-year-old harmonica prodigy Jeffrey Carp–who drowned shortly after the sessions in a boating accident–blows the harp like an old bluesman seated on the porch of a sharecropper’s shanty somewhere down Mississippi way.
But the star of the proceedings is Howlin’ Wolf, whose gruff timbre is the equivalent of 40 bullhorns. His voice is what you’d get if you cloned, say, four Captain Beefhearts and stood ‘em all in front of the same microphone. The man’s a force of nature–or better engineering–a locomotive you’re tempted to call out of control, except the Wolf knows just where he’s going. He sounds world-weary on “Top of the World,”and sly and very, very mean on “Wang Dang Doodle.“He’s a chicken on the prowl on “Red Rooster,” and a cool rockin’ ramblin’ man on “Highway 49.” And he’s the epitome of concupiscence satisfied on “Do the Do,” on which he crows, “34 bust, 22 waist/Everything right in place.” He may as have thrown in a “hubba hubba.”
Listeners have a whole Library of Congress’ worth of Howlin’ Wolf recordings to choose from, but The London Howlin’ Wolf Sessions makes for a wonderful introduction for rock fans looking to expand their horizons from Howlin’ Wolf’s adopted home of Chicago to Detroit, Memphis, the Mississippi Delta, and points south. Recordings will never capture the Wolf’s ability to scare audiences out of their wits. You had to be there. Just like you have to be in Wolf Blitzer’s neighborhood on a full moon Bethesda night.
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