About midway through the Holmes Brothers’ opening set at B.L.U.E.S. a man shouted from the audience, “Where you guys from?” “New York,” answered guitarist Wendell Holmes, adding that he and his brother had originally hailed from Virginia. But the man who’d asked wasn’t really looking for that kind of answer; you could tell by his dazed, radiant expression that he meant something like, “Where the hell have you guys been?”
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For the recent gig at B.L.U.E.S., however, they stripped things down to the basics: guitarist Wendell, brother Sherman on bass, and Popsy Dixon on drums. Chicagoans used to the rowdy sparseness of west-side blues trios might have expected a night of bare-bones revelry. What they got was a full-bodied, sinewy performance that took the listener on a journey through a sizable portion of mid- to late-20th-century African American pop-music history, with a strong dollop of gospel tradition thrown in.
Many performers who attempt that type of all-inclusive mix end up sounding dilettantish, but the Holmes Brothers can segue effortlessly from doo-wop novelty numbers into heart-tearing close-harmony gospel, then charge into roaring rock-and-roll barn burners without missing a beat–and all with unflagging dedication. Stylistic boundaries, even the supposedly unbreachable barrier between the sacred and the secular, are eliminated.
After a while, though, it became evident that this determination to bring a new twist to nearly everything they touch is a cornerstone of the Holmes’ musical philosophy. They’ll “worry” a lyric or a phrase, as a gospel singer does when the spirit hits, stretching and embellishing it until you’re nearly lulled into distraction. Then without warning they’ll pull it all together and deliver an ecstatic punch to the soul.
It’s a further measure of this band’s excellence that they could follow such a moment with a series of Jimmy Reed songs that included a slow-grinding “Baby, What You Want Me to Do” without trivializing what had gone before. Again it was dedication that provided the continuity: the thick, meaty harmonies on “Baby, What You Want Me to Do” overlaid the song’s sensual rhythmic charge to create an urgent, virile celebration of carnal devotion that was no less heartfelt than the spiritual devotion proclaimed earlier.
