This month In Blues Legends 01/12
Willie Dixon, Bobby ‘Blue’ Bland, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Junior Wells, Albert Collins, BB King, Jimmy Johnson, Hubert Sumlin ,David Johansen, Charlie Musselwhite, Lucky Peterson, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Taj Mahal, Gregg Allman
They are the “Blues Legends” performers selected among the 1308 Posts we publish this month.
Here, they are reunited in one glorious playlist. Enjoy!
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Tracklist
![]() 1 . Willie Dixon . Rock Me, Shook Me“You Shook Me” slinks in with a smoky, atmospheric swagger, a blues standard that’s as much about its raw, emotive pull as it is about its crafty songwriting chops. Willie Dixon and J.B. Lenoir’s footprint here is colossal, with a sly nod from Earl Hooker’s “Blue Guitar” forming the framework for what Muddy Waters would transform into a vocal masterclass in 1962 under the Chess Records banner. This wasn’t just Waters flexing his gravelly storytelling; it was also Dixon staking his undeniable claim as one of the era’s most significant figures in shaping electric blues. Flash forward, and the song’s reimaginings bring their own tonal spices—Rod Stewart’s languid phrasing atop the Jeff Beck Group’s gritty 1968 “Truth” rendition feels like molten steel pouring over rock foundations, while Led Zeppelin’s take on their debut album sparks volcanic energy, crackling with Jimmy Page’s slide-laden intensity and Robert Plant’s primal wails. Then there’s the fascinating intertextual moment when AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” cheekily nabs a lyric, spinning it into their own leering rock anthem. While “You Shook Me” often wears a scowling blues face, its migration through diverse contexts and genres gives it a double-edged appeal—a touchstone for blues purists and a handy launchpad for rock renegades alike. The song isn’t quite a polished artifact; it’s more like a weathered cornerstone—imperfect, unyielding, and ever-influential. ![]() |
![]() 2 . Bobby ‘Blue’ Bland . I’ll Take Care of YouBobby ‘Blue’ Bland’s “I’ll Take Care of You” feels like the soundtrack to midnight confessions and unspoken promises, drenched in 1959’s deep blues melancholy. Written by Brook Benton, this track lands somewhere between a plea and a vow, carried by Bland’s molten delivery and an arrangement that courts heartache without overselling it. The electric organ is the unsung hero here, weaving a smoky curtain of sound behind the warm strings, muted guitar, and tender rhythm section. It’s not often a song sounds like it’s holding your hand, but this one practically cradles you as Bland pledges unwavering devotion with all the sincerity of a man nursing both regret and redemption. Commercially, it barely grazes the Billboard Hot 100 at number 89, yet its influence looms large, spawning more covers than you’d think one song could sustain. From Van Morrison growling through his rendition to Gil Scott-Heron dragging it into a new dimension, the tune’s DNA seems to mutate with every cover, most famously turning into Drake and Rihanna’s subdued club anthem “Take Care” via Jamie xx’s production wand. Is it a blues classic? Not in the traditional sense—it foregoes grit for a cinematic polish that purists might side-eye. But its longevity, adaptability, and raw emotional core remind us why some songs refuse to fade, even as they shapeshift into entirely new genres. It’s a curious tension: a song rooted in the timelessness of heartbreak, yet constantly reinterpreted to fit the aesthetic of whoever picks it up next. “I’ll Take Care of You” doesn’t just live; it evolves, dragging its baggage and beauty along for the ride. ![]() Bobby Bland releases his debut album . ‘Two Steps from the Blues’ (1961) |
![]() 3 . Lightnin’ Hopkins . Hurricane BeulahLightnin’ Hopkins’ “Hurricane Beulah” holds a peculiar place in his discography—neither a cornerstone of his career nor a forgettable throwaway. Recorded in the wake of 1967’s Hurricane Beulah, the song mirrors Hopkins’ knack for chronicling the world around him, blending observation with raw musicianship. The hurricane, infamous for wreaking havoc across Texas and Mexico, finds itself refracted through Hopkins’ unmistakable guitar work and free-flowing lyricism. Unlike polished studio creations, “Hurricane Beulah” feels like something birthed in the moment: urgent, offhand, and undeniably Hopkins. Released during his tenure with labels like Arhoolie Records under the stewardship of Chris Strachwitz, the track sidesteps commercial ambitions to focus on storytelling. Its absence from iconic albums such as *Mojo Hand* signals its position as an outlier, yet its charm lies precisely in its unpolished spontaneity. Hopkins doesn’t overextend on metaphor; instead, he carves out vivid sketches—of floods, devastation, and resilience—infused with his signature blues grit. The tune lacks the market polish that some listeners associate with ’60s folk-blues revivalists, but its unvarnished honesty is its strength. It’s Hopkins at his most nimble: a storyteller not burdened by perfectionism, just a man and his guitar wrestling with nature’s unruly force. ![]() |
![]() 4 . Junior Wells . Hoodoman BluesJunior Wells’ “Hoodoo Man Blues” slips onto the stage with an untamed swagger, equal parts grit and groove. The track captures a distilled essence of mid-60s Chicago blues, powered by Wells’ smoky harmonica flourishes and a vocal delivery that walks a thin line between defiance and despair. Buddy Guy, uncredited on the original LP for contractual reasons, threads his guitar licks with an understated, raw elegance—not flashy, just searing enough to stay lodged in your memory. The rhythm section, with Jack Myers on bass and Billy Warren on drums, locks into a restrained yet relentless pulse, giving the song a chassis sturdy enough to carry its rough-edged charm. Far from slick, this is blues at its most unvarnished—a reminder that raw emotion often triumphs over technical polish. What’s intriguing is how the song brushes up against history; originally dismissed when cut onto a 78 rpm disc, it found redemption years later through Bob Koester’s persistence, embodying the underdog spirit baked into the genre. Its runtime is compact, just under three minutes, but the alternate take included on the album hints at the looser, more exploratory side of the production process. By the time the harmonica sighs its last breath, you’re left with a feeling of having witnessed something fleeting yet timeless—proof that even rejection can someday sound like victory. ![]() |
![]() 5 . Albert Collins . Black Cat Bone“Black Cat Bone” by Albert Collins drips with the grit of blues tradition and the dark allure of Southern folklore. Featured on the Grammy-winning 1985 album “Showdown!”—a fiery collaboration with Robert Cray and Johnny Copeland—the song taps into African American mysticism, where the “black cat bone” becomes a talisman of luck and power. Collins wields his guitar with surgical precision, delivering razor-sharp riffs that amplify the track’s haunting undertones. The song’s structure adheres to classic blues frameworks, leaning heavily on repetition and call-and-response, yet Collins injects enough personality to keep it from feeling formulaic. His raw delivery mirrors the storytelling tradition of the genre, weaving a tale of resilience and otherworldly charm. Culturally, the track serves as a bridge between the real struggles of the human condition and the escapist pull of supernatural belief, a theme often present in blues lore. While the album itself climbed to #124 on the US charts, its legacy is far weightier, credited for reinvigorating traditional blues in the ’80s. Collins’ performance exudes authority without pretense, showcasing why his influence extended to events as high-profile as President Clinton’s 1993 inauguration. Is the song groundbreaking? Hardly—but its unflinching commitment to the roots of blues ensures its endurance, carving a space where magic and music intertwine in equal measure. ![]() |
![]() 6 . B.B. King . One Kind FavorB.B. King’s “One Kind Favor” is a poignant final bow from the blues legend, drenched in raw emotion and stripped-down authenticity. Produced by T Bone Burnett, the album serves as a loving homage to King’s blues forebears, reinterpreting classics by Lonnie Johnson, Howlin’ Wolf, and Blind Lemon Jefferson with a reverent yet singular touch. The production leans into an almost timeworn aesthetic, abandoning gloss for grit, as if pulling the listener into dimly lit juke joints of bygone eras. King’s guitar work still carries its trademark sting, though the edges occasionally feel softened by his advancing years, allowing his voice—worn but steady—to take center stage in storytelling. Tracks like “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean” radiate both mortality and defiance, a thematic thread woven throughout the album. At 83 during its release, King channels the weight of a lifetime into each note and lyric, creating a musical farewell that avoids self-pity but lays bare the vulnerability of age. It’s a swansong less about reinvention and more about reflection, underscoring the timeless power of the blues when handled by a master who lived its every nuance. |
![]() 7 . Jimmy Johnson . Born under A bad signJimmy Johnson’s rendition of “Born Under a Bad Sign” carries a paradoxical weight—a blues standard steeped in grit and resignation, yet elevated by the sleek artistry of a seasoned musician. Originally penned by William Bell and Booker T. Jones, the song captures the plight of the downtrodden with lines like “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all,” summing up the crushing inevitability of hardship with chilling simplicity. Johnson treats the track with the reverence it demands but injects his signature touch, balancing mournful vocals with the intricate precision of his guitar work. The lineage of the song is impossible to ignore; first immortalized by Albert King in 1967, it’s since become a cornerstone of blues history, tethered as much to its social commentary as its unforgettable groove. Johnson, in turn, avoids the trap of outright mimicry, opting instead to navigate its iconic structure with understated virtuosity rather than flashy reinvention. Recorded in a live context during “Buddy Guy Meets Jimmy Johnson” (2014), the performance gains extra resonance, framed by the shared legacy of these two blues giants. Stripped of studio polish, the rawness of Johnson’s delivery underscores the timeless relevance of the song’s themes—disillusionment, struggle, and the tenacity to sing about them anyway. Comparisons to his contemporaries like Freddy King and Otis Rush feel inevitable, yet Johnson’s approach skews subtler, less about explosive crescendos and more rooted in moody restraint. There’s an economy in his playing, a narrative pacing that doesn’t so much shout as murmur truths that cut just as deeply. And while the 1967 Stax production remains unmatched in its seminal influence, Johnson’s interpretation doesn’t buckle under this legacy—it revels in the quiet confidence of an artist who knows that the blues isn’t just a style; it’s a lifeblood. ![]() |
![]() 8 . Hubert Sumlin, David Johansen & Charlie Musselwhite . Smokestack Lightning“Smokestack Lightning” assembles three blues heavyweights—Hubert Sumlin, David Johansen, and Charlie Musselwhite—for an electrifying rendition of a Howlin’ Wolf classic. The song’s roots trace back to the raw crackle of 1956, yet this reimagining carries its own storied weight, with Sumlin’s snarling guitar leading the charge. Sumlin, whose tenure alongside Howlin’ Wolf shaped the sound of electric blues, shines with every pluck, his playing a controlled chaos that teeters joyfully on the edge of collapse. Johansen, famously tied to the swagger of the New York Dolls, swaps glam for grit here. His vocal delivery drips with reverence yet veers just enough off-script to avoid idolatry. It’s less polished, more lived-in—the kind of voice that’s seen some long nights and shorter mornings. Aided by Musselwhite’s harmonica, which weaves in and out like a sly conspirator, the song punches through its well-trodden form with muscular sophistication. Produced as part of a celebratory toast to Charlie Musselwhite’s career (and birthday, no less), there’s a sense of unhurried camaraderie here. Nothing feels over-considered, yet there’s a precision to the interplay, almost like a wink to the audience. For all the sweat and stomp, its core remains slyly relaxed, even playful. And yet, there’s a dichotomy worth considering. This is revivalist blues performed by masters who arguably eclipsed the genre’s origins commercially, if not spiritually. If Sumlin is the authentic anchor, Johansen and Musselwhite bring an outsider’s zeal that occasionally treads precariously on the line between homage and appropriation. But it’s this tension that makes the performance compelling—it both reveres and interrogates. The original might have landed itself in the Grammy Hall of Fame, but this updated take avoids the trap of nostalgia for its own sake while remaining rooted in tradition. Despite its many retellings, “Smokestack Lightning” demands attention once again, its timelessness reinforced rather than diluted by yet another incarnation. |
![]() 9 . Lucky Peterson . Dust My BroomLucky Peterson’s rendition of “Dust My Broom” sits at the crossroads of reverence and innovation, pulling a well-worn blues relic into his world of acoustic grit and smoky vocal clarity. Featured on the 2010 album *You Can Always Turn Around*, this cover quietly pays homage to Robert Johnson, yet avoids becoming a carbon copy by injecting Peterson’s singular perspective and restrained swagger. The carefully assembled lineup, including Larry Campbell’s layered guitar and mandolin work, adds texture without outshining Peterson’s central presence. Recorded in Woodstock, NY, during a period of personal and musical rehabilitation, the album situates Peterson’s take within a broader narrative of resilience, but never beats you over the head with its backstory. Instead, tracks like this one stand out for their immediacy—blues that feels lived-in, like an old jacket, rather than forced heritage cosplay. Peterson’s approach sidesteps over-polishing in favor of a leaner, more spontaneous energy that recalls the rugged charm of the genre’s roots while steering clear of nostalgic overworship. Sure, the song still thrives on its eternal I-IV-V chord structure and slide-laden simplicity, but Peterson wrings enough freshness out of its deep grooves to avoid predictability. “Dust My Broom” here isn’t about reinvention; it’s about understanding where the magic lives and feeding it just enough oxygen to burn anew. ![]() |
![]() 10 . Muddy Waters . The Blues Had A Baby (And They Named Rock and Roll)Muddy Waters’ “The Blues Had a Baby (And They Named Rock and Roll, Pt. 2)” is a brash declaration that ties the roots of modern rock to its blues foundation, forcing listeners to acknowledge the genre’s parentage without sugarcoating the lineage. Emerging from the 1977 album *Hard Again,* this track struts with the raw energy of a seasoned musician returning to form, backed by a tight-knit ensemble that sounds as if they’re playing not for the audience but for each other. Johnny Winter’s production avoids the excesses of the era, keeping the focus firmly planted on Muddy’s gravelly vocals and the rolling interplay of guitar, harmonica, and piano, each instrument vying for its turn in a roughneck symphony of defiance. The nervous swagger of James Cotton’s harmonica and Bob Margolin’s guitar riffs provide a restless push-pull tension, while Pinetop Perkins’ piano is the steady hand that keeps the chaos grounded, pointing to the blues’ inherent duality of agony and celebration. Co-written with Brownie McGhee, the lyrics don’t aim for poetry but instead rely on a knowing authority, laying bare the DNA of rock ’n’ roll without stumbling into self-congratulation. Critics at the time lauded the album as evidence of Muddy’s still-vital artistry, and for once, the praise was deserved, injecting life into a genre that had often veered into self-parody by the late ’70s. The track lacks polish—not a misstep but an intentional reminder of the blues’ unvarnished electric roots, with every crack in the sound telling a forgotten story. There’s a cheeky sense of reclamation here, as Muddy doesn’t just claim credit for rock’s origins but demands the genre acknowledge its debt in full, practically daring fans raised on FM radio to trace their favorite riffs back to the Delta. Decades later, the song and its parent album remain a touchstone for both diehard blues aficionados and curious rock historians, proving that sometimes the old masters still have an unmatched fire in their bellies. ![]() Muddy Waters releases the album ‘Hard Again’ produced by Johnny Winter (1977) |
![]() 11 . Howlin’ Wolf . Evil (Is Going On)Howlin’ Wolf’s “Evil (Is Going On)” hits like a primal growl from the depths of the Chicago blues scene, drenched in grit and simmering menace. Crafted by Willie Dixon in 1954 and recorded at Chess Records, the track sits on a twelve-bar blues backbone, giving listeners a syncopated backbeat that refuses to be ignored. Howlin’ Wolf’s raspy, commanding voice chews through the lyrics, while his blues harp snarls like it’s alive, creating an atmosphere that’s equal parts seductive and sinister. The lineup is a murderer’s row of talent: Hubert Sumlin and Jody Williams deliver sharp, intertwining guitar lines, Otis Spann’s piano adds flickering bursts of high-end melody, and Willie Dixon’s double-bass and Earl Phillips’ drums ground the mood with spine-tightening precision. Later re-recorded in 1969 for “The Howlin’ Wolf Album,” the track took on a weirder, fuzzier life, but it’s the original that remains an untouchable vortex of raw emotion. Covered over the years by acts like Cactus and Tom Jones, it’s proof that some songs are too electric to stay confined to their era. ![]() |
![]() 12 . Taj Mahal & Gregg Allman . Statesboro Blues“Statesboro Blues,” as delivered by Taj Mahal and Gregg Allman during the 2014 tribute concert “All My Friends: Celebrating The Songs & Voice Of Gregg Allman,” marries gritty blues traditions with a flourish of modern reverence. The song’s roots trace back to Blind Willie McTell’s 1928 original, but it was Taj Mahal’s 1968 version, with Jesse Ed Davis’ piercing slide guitar, that lit a fire under Duane Allman. This pivotal moment not only reshaped the Allman Brothers Band’s musical identity but also introduced slide guitar to a new generation. Performed at the Fox Theatre, the 2014 version reflects the deep rapport between two stalwarts of American blues. The interplay of Mahal’s charisma and Allman’s whiskey-soaked delivery highlights their shared musical lineage while giving a fresh jolt to the classic. Nomination for Best American Roots Performance notwithstanding, this isn’t a track driven by accolades—its character thrives in the unrelenting groove and swagger. Whether it’s the rugged guitar interplay or the soulful vocals, the performance doubles down on the genre’s raw energy, making it less an archival moment and more a celebration of blues as a living, breathing force. While some iterations of such classics run the risk of turning into museum pieces, this collaboration sidesteps that pitfall thanks to its onstage electricity and tight musicianship. It’s not breaking any new ground, but it doesn’t have to; it revels in what’s already firmly established, creating a bridge between then and now without overstaying its welcome. ![]() |
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