[78-L] Honeyboy Edwards concert, 2003

[Cary Ginell]

On September 20, 2003, I took these notes on the occasion of a performance by David "Honeyboy" Edwards the night before:

Got a rare opportunity last night to see probably the last of the Delta blues musicians, David "Honeyboy" Edwards, in a concert sponsored by the Santa Barbara Blues Society. Edwards is 88 and for those of you familiar with Woody Allen films, he is the "Zelig" of blues history. It seems like he knew and played with everybody - check out this list: Tommy Johnson, Charlie Patton, Robert Johnson, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Sonny Boy Williamson, Little Walter, the Memphis Jug Band, Blue Coat Nelson, Sunnyland Slim, Robert Nighthawk, B. B. King, Memphis Minnie, Blind Roosevelt Graves, Roosevelt Sykes, Robert Petway, Tommy McClennan, Frank Stokes, Rube Lacy . . . and on and on and on. Edwards didn't make commercial records before World War II. His first recordings were for Alan Lomax and the Library of Congress in 1942. He recorded extensively beginning in the 1950s when he made records for Sam Phillips, who was then leasing masters to labels like Chess and Modern. By the 1960s he was recording more and is still an active artist for Earwig.

When I met him before the concert, there were so many names running through my head, I had no clue what to ask him. Finally, with the batteries running out in my minidisc recorder, I asked him about Patton, Robert Johnson, and Tommy Johnson. He told me about how powerful Patton's voice was; that it was so loud that he never needed a microphone and how he stayed in a constant state of drunkenness while playing on the streets of Ruleville, Mississippi. He told me about seeing Robert Johnson just before he died after being poisoned, how he was crawling around on the ground, howling like a dog because he was in so much pain. He told me about Tommy Johnson drinking Sterno and still being able to play anything. I only got a few minutes on tape, but kept on talking to him after my machine conked out. Fortunately, Edwards' career and life have been very well documented by his longtime manager and musical partner Michael Frank, who played harp with Edwards as his only accompanist during the two sets they gave. Frank is the owner of Earwig Records and also helped Edwards write his autobiography. "The World Don't Owe Me Nothing," published in 1997 by Chicago Review Press. The book, which I purchased last night and got Edwards to sign, has all of his stories in it, and is the best preserved testimony of what it was like to be an itinerant blues singer in the South during the Depression.

Edwards is in great shape for 88. He's in good health, slim, with a kind face and a dignified demeanor. Bill Givens, the founder of the Origin Jazz Library label that I know run with Michael Kieffer, used to tell me about meeting Mississippi John Hurt, and described him the same way. There was a certain gentleness about Hurt that struck Givens more than anything else and I could see that element in Edwards as well. Edwards recorded both country blues and Chicago blues and mixed the styles during the concerts, playing the old bottleneck style of Skip James and then segueing to the boogie-based riffs of Lightnin' Hopkins and John Lee Hooker. But what amazed me the most was looking at this hands and his fingers. They are like works of art; sculpted, gnarled, and sinewy. I tried to imagine whose hands those hands shook, what guitars they played, what legends' backs they slapped. Somebody should do a casting of Edwards' hands before he dies. Damned if my camera batteries didn't run out also before I could get a closeup shot of those hands. 

The audience of about 200 was seated in folding chairs in the showroom of a Volkswagen dealership. Outside in the parking lot, a local caterer offered up free creole goodies: spicy hot meatballs, buffalo wings, and dirty rice. Of course the hot items only spurred requests for drunks, which is how they really make their money, and there was more than one mad dash for the beverage stand, myself included. Edwards was playing an acoustic guitar (I didn't catch the brand) with a plug-in amplifier, fretting with a steel bar. The audience was mostly white, but included some noted music authors who Edwards is going to appear with tonight in Sherman Oaks at a book fair. I got a chance to meet one of my heroes, Peter Guralnick, author of "Feel Like Going Home" and "The Last Train to Memphis." 

Edwards played two sets, each lasting about an hour. The shows started at 8:30 and didn't finish until after 11. He never seemed to get tired, never needed a drink, or asked for anything on stage. People in the audience were very reverential, yelling "We love you, Honeyboy!", laughing at his stories, and giving repeated standing ovations. He received well-wishers between sets who treated him like he was royalty. You had to lean down close to hear him talk. His accent is thick and a little difficult to understand. The stories he told are all in his book; he pretty much has an oral history repertoire and has them down well, but you could see in his eyes that he was visualizing the people he has seen and the places he has been.

I was too young to see any of the blues musicians who were rediscovered in the 1960s: Hurt, James, Estes, and the others. But I feel fortunate to at least have met and talked briefly with one of them and actually witness one of the most stunning and memorable performances of my life. Long live Honeyboy!

Cary Ginell