Swinger

Long John Hunter is no throwback

by Mark Edmonds

Long John Hunter may work out of Texas and wear a large hat, but any similarities between him and all of the Stevie Ray Texa-blues clones end right there. Sure, his career began because he too hoped to cash in as a bluesman. But not because he thought it was cool. No, the Louisiana native found himself facing a lifetime of menial labor when he decided to pick up a guitar. Comparatively, it was an attractive alternative.

Lucky for us, he managed to find the middle ground between originality and a commercially viable sound. You'll find that balance on the recently released Border Town Legend and Swinging from the Rafters (Alligator), in which he comes across sounding more like a throwback to Texas music as it was in the '50s and '60s than anything out of the Clinton '90s. In those days, the Ray Sharpes, Ivory Joe Hunters, and Johnny Copelands, working the Lone Star version of the chitlin' circuit, saw no lines between blues, R&B, swing, and country. They regularly combined all four into a heady potion with a sound all its own. Hunter's music shares a similar alchemy. Shuffles, drags, a touch of swing, and a little bit o' soul all show up here and there.

But he's his own man, and his music reflects that. At times, it's not perfect -- he misses notes and stumbles through some of the tricky transitions in his horn-fortified originals -- but it's always heartfelt. Swinging, released in 1996, kicks off "Time and Time Again," a snappy Texas shuffle that's right out of the Sharpe catalogue, complete with rolling horn lines and biting leads. After a segue into the minor-key blues of "I Don't Care" (a cut that sounds like a lost classic from Houston's ACA studios, circa '65), he slides into the slinky rhumba of "Stop What You're Doing," a track eerily reminiscent (with its phased Telecaster sound) of a number of Albert Collins instrumentals, and then continues on into the unplugged "In the Country" and a swinging cover of Willie Love's lowdown "V-8 Ford."

Swinging is one of the best collections of Texas music in recent memory -- something that makes me wonder just how good Hunter's live shows are. He's slated to hit Gilrein's next Thursday, and I bet he sets the place on fire with his five-piece Walking Catfish band. It's the same type of guitar/sax/bass/drums combo he's fronted for 40 years. Ironically, his career might not have happened at all had it not been for a chance meeting in 1954 with B.B. King, who was just starting out. A friend had invited Hunter to see the future legend play a Beaumont club. Reluctantly, he paid the $1.50 cover, and then watched in awe as King worked the crowd.

During the show, he got an idea. "I was just a hard laborer then, and I was always looking for a way to get out of that," he admits. "That night, [I] looked at him and saw the girls fussin', and I thought that might be my way out. So I went out and bought me a guitar on Wednesday, started teachin' myself Thursday, and played my first gig on Friday. Made two dollars and fifty cents."

He finished out the decade with that same ax, working regular gigs in Beaumont and Houston while trying his hand at recording. He waxed a handful of singles, including one, "Crazy Baby," for Don Robey's Duke Records (King's and Bobby Bland's label) that scored enough airplay to guarantee him steady work.

But he found traveling the long, lonely highways of Texas a drag. So, in '57, he landed himself a steady gig at the Lobby Bar in Juarez, Mexico, that kept him busy seven nights a week. Playing to a wild mix of cowboys, soldiers, laborers, and every kind of rogue you can think of, he stayed 10 years and became known for his theatrics on-stage as well as for his music.

He fondly looks back on the evening Buddy Holly approached him. At the time, Hunter had no idea who Holly was. "He came up, shook my hand, and told me he'd been in a few times to see me work," he recalls. "He told me that he'd been diggin' my music, and, I thought, that was nice. But I just thought he was another somebody, you know? After that, he went out to California, and in a while, everybody was talking about him."

On another evening, James Brown and his band showed up. "He got up during a break and played," Hunter says, "but folks there didn't see nothing but Long John Hunter. They were getting boos all over the house. It made me feel bad, 'cause I was lovin' them. I guess I'd just sold 'em on all that raggedy stuff I was doin'. I was a wild, crazy amateur, but they couldn't see nothing else."

The Lobby eventually closed, leaving Hunter to drift through a succession of gigs and new addresses for the next 25 years. It wasn't until the release of Ride with Me (in 1992 on the Spindletop label), that the world finally heard him.

"I just play happy music," he says simply. "What I play ain't about crying and bumping your head against a wall. I'm trying to project something positive. I want people to leave my show saying, `Wow, I sure enjoyed that.' That, and `Yeah, I'd come see that again.'"

Long John Hunter and the Walking Catfish play at 9 p.m. on January 29. Tickets are $7. Call 791-2583.