Chromatic man

Chet Williamson teaches us new dogs some old tricks

by John O'Neill

It's been roughly 20 years since a kid from Great Brook Valley named Dave Sneade -- already flipped on the blues -- changed his name to Chet Williamson (a tribute to heroes Sonny Boy Williamson and Chet Baker), grabbed his harmonica, and embarked on a career that's made him what he is known as today: Worcester's premier harp squawker. Raised in a housing project almost exclusively by his mother, while Dad was out drinking away life, it was adios to Sneade and to the Valley, and hello to a swinging blues cat. But, even before, his fate seemed sealed when another kid, Dennis Brennan, dropped by the Lincoln Neighborhood Center, where kids from all over would get together to play music, to give Williamson a present.

"Brennan gave me my first chromatic [harmonica]," says Williamson. "Besides Paul Butterfield albums, there weren't many white guys playing. [And] one day he came over to me and said, `I hear you playing this.'"

And, like a perfect marriage, Williamson and the chromatic harp became inseparable. With his once popular now obscure instrument, Williamson became just as much a preservationist as he did a harmonica whiz.

For those in need of a quick lesson: the chromatic plays along outside traditional harmonica scales, and it has a range closer to a flute. Or think in terms of the piano -- the diatonic (the proper name of 99 percent of the harp that is currently played) is the equivalent of a piano with all white keys; the chromatic adds the black ones in. Not at all like the traditional Chicago sound that people associate with blues harmonica, the chromatic harp has a more restrained quality to it: it also gives the player more freedom to carve out sound. Or, as Williamson puts it, "diatonic is a blind-man's instrument in that it's very internal. It's more physical. Like if you bend a note you swallow it. [Chromatic] is a different animal. I'd try to bend notes, and they would flat out. It's not a very contemporary sound, unless you put it through an amp and use pedals. The instrument doesn't project and fill a room the way a blues harp does. . . . I was frustrated for years. I ran with jazz cats who kept telling me to just find my own voice."

Which, of course, he did. Williamson and his tin sandwich have been regulars on the club scene with bands like Big Town Players, Rhythm Oil, and, most recently, with local legend Reggie Walley and His Bluesicians. He's also hopped on stage to share songs with folks as diverse as Sleepy LaBeef, Joan Osborne, Alan Dawson, Walter and Valerie Crockett, the Main Street All-Stars, She's Busy, and Duke Levine.

He's been a rock-solid sideman for two decades, but he recently rallied to put out his own disc, Chromatic Swing. Recorded live to tape and mixed down in a single evening (a very old-school jazz tradition for a very old-school sounding harp), Swing mixes the '30s-flavored Kansas City-style swing associated with Count Basie, Sweets Edison, and Lester Young with a jazz sensibility that must be, at the very least, an indirect result of spending the past two years playing with Walley and Bunny Price. Which is to say, if your idea of swing is the recycled, horn-driven blech of the New Age Zoot Suit Rioters Movement, you'll find Williamson "swings" about as hard as a pre-reattached John Wayne Bobbitt did. If, however, you're looking for a mature, classy, and highly personal spin through one-man's life-long passion, the blues-soaked jazz that is Chromatic Swing reaches into the past through well-known standards, semi-obscurities, harmonica chestnuts, and Latin-tinged tunes that roll along with a rich fullness. It is a well-rounded, self-assured little disc that is a credit to not only Williamson's playing, but also to a stellar band who back him. Bassist Thomas Kneeland (Trio Kakalla) and drummer Steve Ramsay (Jay Geils/Magic Dick Bluestime) hold down a mellow vibe on rhythm, while pianist Matt McCabe (Roomful of Blues) carries a couple of numbers with his strong improv skills.

"I sent the guys the material we were going to do about a month ago [before the recording sesion], and we came in, set up from five to six, recorded from six to 10, and mixed from 10 till midnight. It's all acoustic. I stood in front of a mic and played. It's a laid-back record."

The disc opens with the smooth "Jive at Five." From there, the band take on the specter of the Harmonicats with "Peg `O My Heart," then nod to Basie on "Blue and Sentimental," and they do Charlie Shavers one better with "Undecided." Williamson leads the boys in a variety of interesting directions, most notably on the Albert Dominguez-penned double-shot "Frenesi/Perfidia." (Which, even if the name doesn't jump out at you, you know the tune. If "Caravan" is the over-recorded "Yesterday" of Latin and "Mambo Number 5" the all-too-familiar "Free Bird," "Perfidia" is most likely the genre's answer to "Satisfaction.") Williamson is able to use his instrument to speak as a singing voice, a guitar, or as a brass section with a graceful breeziness. Chromatic Swing is not your average blues album, nor is it your standard jazz disc. It is an unconventional take on mostly-conventional songs. There are moments when you'd wish the band would chuck the charts and really cut loose, and parts of Swing are unabashedly corny, but not without being endearing. And it's obvious Williamson is fully aware of that; the disc, after all, is more a love letter to his boyhood influences, to a time when he played on the streets of the projects as David Sneade.

"It's borderline music you can hear in better elevators everywhere," Williamson chuckles. "But I like that it's acoustic and clear. You can hear my ideas.

"If I do another one, I'd do it the exact same way. It just seemed right. It's a very honest approach to music. Maybe that's just where I'm at as far as challenging aggressive music. I'm just trying to find me."