Tag: Buddy Guy

The Roots Music of
Ryan Coogler’s Sinners, Explained

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Writer’s Note: If you haven’t seen Sinners yet, be warned – there are significant spoilers below.)

 

“There are legends of people born with the gift of making music so true it can pierce the veil between life and death, conjuring spirits from the past and the future…”

 

So begins the film Sinners, the epic Southern gothic horror film from acclaimed director Ryan Coogler (Fruitvale Station, Black Panther). Sinners tells of twins Smoke and Stack Moore (both played by a fantastic Michael B. Jordan), who open a juke joint with the help of their cousin Sammie (Miles Caton) in their small Mississippi hometown in 1932. Driven by a love for blues music and a desire to create a safe gathering place for other Black people, the twins establish Club Juke at a defunct sawmill, unwittingly setting into motion a sinister chain of events.

That opening narration, which points to Sammie and his prodigious musical gifts, accompanies an evocative montage of folk imagery, as the narrator outlines the importance of musical storytellers within tight-knit communities. One such folk figure is the West African griot, a protector of oral tradition who also often served as leaders in their communities. The montage is backed by haunting resonator guitar, a musical motif that will repeat throughout the film.

Coogler tapped the GRAMMY- and Oscar-winning composer Ludwig Göransson to score Sinners, continuing the creative partnership the two began with Coogler’s 2013 film Fruitvale Station (which also stars Michael B. Jordan). Rootsy and atmospheric, the score takes blues influences and ratchets up the tension with strings and percussion to suit the horror themes that unfold midway through the story.

Artists who perform on the Sinners soundtrack include Brittany Howard, Cedric Burnside, Rhiannon Giddens, Alice Smith and Rod Wave. Players on the Sinners score include Buddy Guy, Bobby Rush, Justin Robinson, and Leyla McCalla. Roots musician and actor Lola Kirke appears in the film as Joan, a member of the KKK who becomes a vampire.

Sinners is set in Clarksdale, Mississippi, a Delta city famous for its rich blues music history and for its role in the Great Migration, which, on the whole, found over six million Black Americans leaving the Southeast for large cities in other regions – including Chicago, Detroit, New York City and Cleveland – in order to flee racial segregation, Jim Crow laws and racial violence like lynching.

Dense with musical references, Sinners incorporates blues history into the naming of its characters, too. Stack’s name likely references the classic American folk song “Stagger Lee,” also known as “Stagolee” or “Stack O’ Lee Blues.” That tune tells the story of a real-life man and professional procurer, Lee Shelton, who lived in St. Louis, Missouri, in the late 1800s. Friends called Shelton “Stag” because of his perpetual bachelorhood, and, at times, “Stag” became “Stack.” On Christmas Day, 1895, Stack shot and killed a man named Billy Lyons after Lyons stole Stack’s Stetson cowboy hat, and the rest would soon become musical history.

Michael B. Jordan as Smoke and as Stack, in Warner Bros. Pictures’ ‘Sinners.’

The song’s original writer is unknown, and it has been recorded and performed by a bevy of artists in the intervening decades. One of the most popular recordings is performed by Mississippi John Hurt, a pioneering blues artist. In 1957, Louisiana-born R&B singer Lloyd Price rewrote the song as an upbeat rock number, scoring a number one Billboard pop hit. When Price performed the song on American Bandstand, host Dick Clark had him tone down the “violent” lyrics by giving the song a happy ending.

While Stack’s name is loaded with meaning, the name Smoke is more ambiguous, though as a pair the twins’ names could point to “Smokestack Lightning,” a 1956 song by another Mississippi blues artist, Howlin’ Wolf.

The plot kicks off in earnest when Stack and Smoke return to Clarksdale from Chicago, where they hoped to escape the Jim Crow racism of their home state. Disillusioned by the racism they still encountered once there, the brothers decide to move home to establish Club Juke, recruiting their cousin Sammie to be part of the house band. Sammie is rarely seen without his guitar, a 1932 Dobro Cyclops resonator that Göransson used to record much of the film’s score.

Stack claims that the guitar he and Smoke give to Sammie once belonged to Charley Patton, the Mississippi-born singer and guitarist widely considered to be the “father of the Delta Blues.” (At the movie’s end, Smoke reveals the truth to Sammie: that the guitar actually belonged to his and Stack’s father all along.) Showing Stack his chops, Sammie performs “Travelin’,” a song original to the film.

The emotional and artistic high point of Sinners is a surreal, mid-party musical number that connects the blues to Black music traditions from past and future eras, including hip-hop and rock and roll. The scene begins at Club Juke, with Sammie performing the original song “I Lied to You.” The character Delta Slim soon delivers a short monologue, telling Sammie, “Blues wasn’t forced on us like that religion. Nah, son, we brought this with us from home. It’s magic, what we do. It’s sacred, and big.”

When the opening narration replays after Slim’s speech, things get psychedelic. An electric guitarist dressed in ‘70s rock and roll regalia appears, shredding licks while Club Juke dances around him. A DJ booth appears, with a man in ‘80s hip-hop-inspired clothing behind the boards. B-boys dance among club-goers, and a West African griot appears carrying a drum. Time dissolves as boundaries between musical traditions blur, capturing the essence of 20th-century Black music in one stunning scene.

Trouble starts when a trio of vampiric folk musicians (yes, you read that right) tries to enter Club Juke, hoping to perform. That image of a literal blood-sucking monster in no small part resembles the white colonization of Black music, particularly blues music, adding gravitas to the unexpected plot development. The trio tries to woo their way in with a folksy version of the traditional blues song “Pick Poor Robin Clean,” made popular by Virgninia-born blues artist Luke Jordan in 1927 and the artists Geeshie Wiley and Elvie Thomas – from Louisiana and Texas, respectively – in 1931.

(L to R) Peter Dreimanis as Bert, Jack O’Connell as Remmick, Hailee Steinfeld as Mary, and Lola Kirke as Joan in Warner Bros. Pictures’ ‘Sinners.’

After being denied entry to Club Juke, the trio retreats, performing a hypnotic rendition of the Scottish/Irish folk song “Wild Mountain Thyme” outside the club grounds. The song was especially popular during the American folk music revival and has been recorded by Bonnie Dobson, Judy Collins and Joan Baez, among many other artists.

As the vampire plot unfolds, the musical story takes a bit of a backseat, though a major fight scene between the remaining Club Juke revelers and the ever-growing contingent of vampires does include another major musical number. Led by Remmick, the group performs a chilling, spirited version of the hop jig “Rocky Road to Dublin,” an Irish folk music standard with roots dating back to the mid-19th century.

The next big musical moment comes after the film’s end when, taking a cue from his MCU days, Coogler includes a post-credits scene. Set in Chicago in 1992, the scene features two familiar faces: blues legend Buddy Guy, who plays elderly Sammie, and contemporary blues star Christone “Kingfish” Ingram, a member of the elder Sammie’s band.

Guy, who also performs a version of “Travelin’” on the Sinners soundtrack, was born in 1936 to Louisiana sharecroppers and moved to Chicago to pursue music when he was 21. Shortly after relocating, Guy would meet Chicago blues legend – and Mississippi native – Muddy Waters, who would become his friend and mentor. It’s a full circle moment to close out the film, and one that reinforces the importance of lineage to the blues music tradition.

Unsurprisingly, Sinners is a movie that rewards rewatches. Coogler and his collaborators built a musical world rich with detail and allusion, and did so with what was clearly an enormous amount of love and passion. If you’re a music fan, Sinners is well worth your time – just be careful if you hear a late-night knock at your door.

Sinners is now available to stream on HBO Max and is available to rent VOD. The film is also still showing in a limited number of theaters in select markets.

All images courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures. Lead Image: Miles Caton as Sammie Moore in Warner Bros. Pictures’ Sinners.

A Blues Sensation, Christone “Kingfish” Ingram Tells His Story on ‘662’

Posted on by Editor

Christone “Kingfish” Ingram seemed to come out of nowhere with his 2019 Alligator Records debut Kingfish. At 20 years old, the native of Clarksdale, Mississippi, emerged as a fully-formed guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter and was quickly hailed as a defining blues voice of his generation. Since then, he’s toured the nation, performed with acts ranging from alt-rockers Vampire Weekend to Americana star Jason Isbell to blues godfather Buddy Guy.

In the midst of all this success, just as his career was taking off amidst over a year of non-stop touring, he lost his mother, Princess Pride Ingram, a devastating blow that the young man had to overcome.

“She was the biggest supporter that I had,” says Ingram, who is now 22. “She took care of all my business and she didn’t mess around about her baby. She was everything: she was the bodyguard, the manager, the handler. She christened the people who she wanted me to look after me, a few people who had already taken me on as their own, so she knew we were gonna be all right.”

All of this life experience is reflected on Ingram’s second album, 662, named after the area code for his North Mississippi home. Like his debut, 662 was co-written and co-produced by Tom Hambridge, who also collaborates with Buddy Guy. The joint connection is no coincidence.

“I met Tom in 2017 through Mr. Buddy Guy,” says Ingram. “Mr. Guy is the one who fronted the first record and he put us with Tom. Our first writing session together went so smoothly that we got six songs done that day. It was very cool. He’ll spend time listening to the stories that I tell him and we will put our heads together on a groove. We basically bounce ideas off each other until we have a song. The main thing is we’re trying to tell my story.”

Ingram’s story shines through on 662 songs like “Rock and Roll,” which directly addresses his mother’s passing. He says that transferring his emotions into a song was a key part of his grieving process.

“It definitely helped because music has always been my out,” he says. “I never had been a big talker, but I’ve always been able to get my fears and thoughts out through music. There are times when music doesn’t work and tears just have to fall, but most of the time, music is how I get it out. It was a big relief for me. Big time relief.”

Ingram’s personal story about growing up in the Delta, home of the blues, and picking up the torch is also told explicitly in the song “Too Young to Remember,” where the chorus states “I’m too young to remember, but I’m old enough to know.” The song also includes the evocative line, “When you see me play my guitar, you’re looking back 100 years.”

“That’s me representing all the greats that I studied,” says Ingram. “Lightnin’ Hopkins, Son House, Johnny Shines, Robert Nighthawk, Albert King, Otis Rush, B.B. King, Buddy Guy… all those guys that I soaked up, including stuff I’ve gotten from my local blues players. All of that represents way more than 100 years of our history and tradition — maybe 300 years — and it’s important to me.”

Ingram was first exposed to the blues by his father, who showed him a Muddy Waters documentary that drew him in, and then showed him B.B. King’s cameo appearance on Sanford and Son, an underrated moment in the history of the blues. Young Christone was also inspired by the blues band that lived next door to him. But what really turned Ingram from a passive fan of the blues into an active participant was his enrollment in a music education program at the Delta Blues Museum.

“That was the foundation for me,” he says. “When I went there, not only did they teach me how to play but I got a chance to understand more about the blues, where it came from and the history of great blues men and women, many of whom were from the same part of the world as me. Not only did we study songs and instruments and whatnot, but they had these file cabinets they would open up and take out files where we’d read blues stories and have conversations about them. It was a full-on arts education program, a very important part of my development. Before the Blues Museum I sort of knew about the history but I didn’t know it was that important.”

Kingfish focused mostly on hard-driving blues shuffles, though it also included a wider range of material: “Listen,” a gorgeous, upbeat, melodic duet with Keb’ Mo’; “Been Here Before,” an acoustic deep blues that explored his own outsider status as a kid digging an ancient musical form; and a couple of aching slow ballads, highlighted by “That’s Fine By Me.”

662 continues to dig deeper into a wider range of material. “That’s All It Takes” is a beautiful ballad punctuated by surging horn charts and Ingram’s sweet guitar fills framing his aching vocal. “Rock and Roll” and “You’re Already Gone” feature gentle, nuanced singing and swinging, non-blues-based acoustic picking. Indeed, while Hopkins, House, and Shines are the acoustic blues players that Ingram says were his primary influences, they’re not the first unplugged players who come out of his mouth when asked who’s currently inspiring him the most. That would be Tommy Emmanuel and Monte Montgomery, two virtuosos conversant with the blues, but certainly not wedded to the genre.

Ingram considers his acoustic playing essential to his music, featured on stage every night, with him playing duets with the keyboardist. “I love playing acoustic and switching up the dynamics,” he says. “I like to bring the energy up real high and then bring it down.”

As rooted as Ingram is in the roots of the blues, he has also been a proponent of bringing the music into the future, collaborating with peers and with hip hop musicians. Even before his first album was released, he recorded two songs for the streaming series Luke Cage with hip hop artist Rakim, with whom he performed on NPR’s Tiny Desk Concerts.

“I always wanted to do something with blues and hip hop, because hip hop is like the blues’ grandchild,” he says. “We have something like that planned down the road that I can’t discuss yet but I’m really excited about. Working with Rakim was the foundation of me wanting to play real instruments behind rappers. That’s a really great path.”

Working with older musicians from Rakim to Guy also allowed Ingram to observe how to be more professional. When he first started, he was playing covers and took pride in not making setlists, instead just following his instincts.

“In order to have a structured show, you have to have a setlist, so I started to make them and to really work on arrangements instead of just playing,” he says. “All of that worked and then playing all these shows, now I feel like I have more confidence up there. I still get nervous but I have confidence behind it.”

Part of Ingram’s growing confidence is due to simple maturity. Part is due to the reaction of fellow musicians. And part is just watching the crowd and seeing their enthusiastic response. As his touring has grown ever wider, his crowds ever larger, positive reinforcement is the natural consequence of seeing positive response.

“In that moment it really does give me more confidence to see the crowd enjoying it,” he says. “It gives me a sigh of relief and makes me say, ‘Maybe what I’m doing is all right. Somebody likes it.”

Photo credit: Justin Hardiman

BGS 5+5: Bruce Iglauer, Alligator Records

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Bruce Iglauer, Founder and President of Alligator Records
Hometown: Sweet Home Chicago
New Release: Alligator Records — 50 Years of Genuine Houserockin’ Music
Latest Album Produced: The Preacher, The Politician or the Pimp by Toronzo Cannon
Personal Nickname: Mr. Alligator

What’s your favorite memory from working in the music business?

After all these years, it would still be the first session I produced, back in 1971, with my favorite Chicago blues band, Hound Dog Taylor & The HouseRockers. We cut their debut album in two four-hour sessions, direct to two-track (I couldn’t afford multi-track recording) and 100% live in the studio. They played the same ragged instruments that they played in the South Side Chicago clubs. Hound Dog had a cheap Kingston guitar played through a Sears & Roebuck Silvertone amp built by Danelectro. Of the six speakers, two were cracked and distorted beautifully. Brewer Phillips played an ancient Fender Telecaster through a not-too-old Fender Concert amp, and Ted Harvey beat on an old Slingerland drum set. We recorded a couple of takes each of about 25 songs both nights, and chose the best for the album. We tried to make a record that felt just like their gigs at Florence’s Lounge, a South Side neighborhood bar where they played every Sunday. They rocked the house, so the slogan of Alligator Records became (and still is) “Genuine Houserockin’ Music.”

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to work in the music business?

I came to Chicago in 1970 to work for a year as the shipping clerk at Delmark Records, a venerable small blues and jazz label. Then I was going to go back to college. The first week, the boss, Bob Koester, asked me to come to a recording session as “gopher” (the guy who goes for things like sandwiches, whiskey, guitar strings, etc.). I watched as, before my eyes, Chicago bluesman Junior Wells, accompanied by Buddy Guy, Louis Myers, Fred Below, Earnest Johnson and the best blues piano player in the world, Otis Spann, sculpted a blues record that’s worth hearing 100 times. I couldn’t believe this music was being created live right before my eyes. It was incredibly exciting. After that, I had no thoughts of going back to college.

What advice would you give to an artist who’s pursuing a career as a singer-songwriter?

Be a realist. The chances are better than not that you will not be able to make a living doing this. Be prepared to be hungry. Then, if you’re truly determined, insist on making your own statement. Don’t consciously think about being “commercial,” but do think, “Will other people relate to this music, or am I just indulging myself?” If your music doesn’t communicate, then you should perform for yourself in your bedroom and get a day job! If you do perform, remember that each performance is a way of auditioning your songs to the people you want to be your fans. Pay attention to their feedback, both what they say and how they react to each song, each verse, each line.

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

I guess that I should answer that about both artists and producers (because above all, I’m a talent scout and producer). The artist who influenced me most has to be Elmore James. He wasn’t the best technical guitar player in the world, but he played and sang with such undiluted passion that every record he cut is worth listening to over and over. The first two things I listen for with an artist are passion and originality. He had both. As far as producers, I’d name my old boss, Bob Koester, of Delmark Records, for letting artists be who they are, and Tom Dowd, for inspiring artists to great performances in the studio — including Ray Charles, The Allman Brothers, Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin, Freddie King, Eric Clapton and literally hundreds more.

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

Find blues and blues-based artists who have that passion and originality, and help them (whether I’m their producer or not) to capture that passion and originality in a recording. Then, be the bridge that connects the artist to his or her potential audience. That way, if the Alligator Records team and I succeed, artists will make records that will rock people’s bodies and souls, and we will help the artists reach more and more ears and (hopefully) get the recognition they deserve.

Photo credit: Chris Monaghan

The Garden of Gospel Music: A Conversation with Phil Cook

Posted on by Editor

The motivation for Phil Cook’s unapologetically familiar gospel sound is simple: he LOVES that style of music and the people he’s learned it from. At times he veers into Appalachian instrumentation, reflecting his current North Carolina surroundings, and there’s individuality and innovation aplenty. But this Wisconsin kid and his band never stray far from a black gospel blueprint, incorporating backing choirs, tinkling piano stabs, organ that’s more Booker T. than Benmont T., and a vocal delivery that’s loose and expressive.

On his new album, People Are My Drug, Cook invites us to marvel gratefully and joyfully at the greatness of so many people whose creativity and communal originality have flourished under oppression, as well as those who hold the weight of the world within their silence.

There is a definite space that People Are My Drug lives in. I’d love to hear your thoughts on that. 

I’m lucky. If I’ve learned anything, it’s to surround yourself with people that know what they’re doing, have a lot of experience, and have something to say. I can possess those things, not all at the same damn time, but if I’m surrounded by other people, I feel safer to be that multiplicity. So my circle starts with my brother, as a producer who knows me better than any other and helps me deliver the most honest statement that I can make. He knows when I’m hiding and helps me stand up tall and be who I have to be to do the thing.

From there, all the musicians in the band – we essentially made the record in two days. Most everything was made in a studio in Wisconsin, which happens to be owned and operated by my old friend Justin Vernon. So we brought the whole crew up, and we holed up in a live room, the four of us – drums, bass, keys, and me. We played for two straight days and didn’t leave the room. We trusted the people across the house were doing their job.

And that’s where this record starts: trust. I am surrounded by musicians that I trust more than anyone else in that moment on stage or in the studio, and we made that a bubble. Then after we were done we had a nice dinner and went into the control room and listened to the record that we’d just made. We were laughing and smiling at each other. There are little moments that happen all over the place. We start out “He Gives Us All His Love,” and I was like, “Bass, I love ya.” And when we listened back to it, that’s exactly what the vibe of the entire record is, that fraternal kind of vibe.

Speaking of fraternity, “He Gives Us All His Love” stirs me to feel universally connected to humankind, more brotherhood of man than fatherhood of God. Is that what you were going for?

Yeah! It’s my favorite Randy Newman song off of Sail Away because it’s the one time he lets his sardonic humor-guard down for a very simple song about gratefulness and generosity, and I like that a lot. Funny story, we sang our version of that song for the first time and halfway through it a woman in the front row looks up at me with a little smile and goes, “How do you know it’s a ‘he’?” and immediately switched the entire perspective of the song. And the rest of the song we sang “She gives us all her love.” I was like, “Well, this is how we’re gonna perform it from now on!”

And that’s the kind of spontaneous moment that you have to pay attention to as a musician, to be open when something passes by and be like, “That’s it! Cool! Switch directions. Let’s hit this.” And you trust. It made for a really beautiful moment at a hometown show. So yeah, I do feel that the fraternity, the brotherhood of man, is the heart and soul of how gospel music plays a role in my life. It’s much more of a family, a community. That’s the togetherness of space that I think the center of this record is.

What I ultimately got out of a childhood in church was this great community that was really supportive of me being who I was. They saw a little kid with glasses in Wisconsin, and they told me to keep being who I want to be. That’s what every kid deserves. And as much as I walked away from church, when something is a part of you in your childhood, you can’t just walk away from it. It’s going to be a part of you for the rest of your life, even if you don’t have a weekly interaction with it.

And I think gospel music in general has been a part of me having this continual, ongoing dialogue with my faith and my questions in a deeper way that feels really real, that feels like a real practice, nothing about dogma, nothing about a system. It’s not gonna work for everybody, but I was able to dial back my anxiety medication after two or three years pretty much listening to quartet black gospel music and getting into it until I started to feel it.

What is it about gospel music that connects you to that human moment?

Well, gospel music is the original garden of all music that comes out of America. On one side you’ve got the blues, which way more people in the white community are familiar with. That’s ubiquitous. A lot of people know who Robert Johnson is, Buddy Guy, B.B. King, even someone more eclipsing, like Jimi Hendrix. A lot of those artists were torn their whole lives between what they were doing for money and what they were doing on Sunday morning.

Religion never left them either. Religion gave them so much. So even blues artists weren’t free of that spiritual paradox. If you look at some of the greatest singers, they all came out of this garden of the church. Aretha, Curtis Mayfield, Sam Cooke, all the Staples Singers – a vast number that were able to have a safe space as they were growing up. The safest space they could find was church, the place where they were able to seed and plant their art and their voice.

The church was also the source of this friendly competition with players raised up there. You’ve got young kids in the wings watching every single move that you’re doing, and they’re going home and practicing. It creates a whole circle of virtuosity and innovation. It was the only place for it to thrive, and, damnit, it thrived. It changed the entire world. Most of those artists went on to big careers in soul music and left the church in some ways. The church didn’t leave them though. That was with them the entire way.

I appreciate the way in this album you direct attention toward others and away from yourself. I’ve cried twice this morning listening to “Another Mother’s Son.”

It’s heavy. I had my own experience with almost losing my youngest son when he was born to some complications with respiratory stuff. You get close to almost losing the thing that you hold most precious, even though you just met him. Your family is forced to grip with the possibility that things aren’t gonna turn out ok. I don’t know who isn’t gonna be affected by a situation like that in a way that’s gonna crack your heart wide open. And what happens after that is really important.

He came home from the hospital and I put him to bed; we’d had an incredible family day. I felt like, “Oh, my family is so strong. I’m so thankful for this family. We’re gonna get through this life together and it’s gonna be ok.” And then I checked Instagram and saw the video that Philando Castile’s girlfriend, Diamond, took of the police officer after [the officer] shot him multiple times with her daughter in the back seat of the car. In that moment it was the juxtaposition of how safe I was feeling, how strong my family felt, to seeing a young man who was such a giving soul ripped so violently from his own mother, who called him her miracle child.

She wasn’t supposed to be able to have kids and she had a son, Philando Castile. And then this broken-ass justice system completely stole him away from her and everyone else that loved him. And it just hit me way harder than it normally would have because of what I went through. Often times you go through something and then maybe days, months, years down the line, something else will happen that will give you a whole new perspective on what you experienced initially.

The second fold was one of my bandmates, a phenomenally gifted musician and gregarious, incredible human being, Brevan [Hampden], who came over one night to meet [my son] Amos. Brevan was raised by his mother, who had three boys, all black men in America growing up. We sat on the porch drinking beers, and the talk turned to all this stuff. I love Brevan with all my heart. We’ve gone through a lot in our lives as musicians together in just a few years. And I think that moment just a few days after Philando Castile’s death really delivered home the two worlds that are so separate in this country. What some mothers don’t have to worry about. And what some mothers have to live in fear of every single day. And no matter how hard they sandbag and prepare against the terrible reality that could happen, their black son is walking out the door every day with a target on his chest. There’s no guarantees.

Brevan was raised sternly about how to interact with police, body language, tone of voice, every single thing. It was so foreign to me to listen to that, growing up in northern Wisconsin, the diversity-free capitol of the world. I knew all the police officers in Chippewa Falls. They all knew my mom and dad. I don’t know how many benefits of a doubt I got because of that. I can’t ignore that. I’m gonna go through the rest of my life grateful that it’s never happened to me. It’s a poisonous system, and I moved south to get away from indifference, so I could be in more of an interactive dialogue with communities that didn’t look, think, and act like me.

Photo credit: Josh Wool (Top); Graham Tolbert (Middle)