JOHNNY SHINES
Johnny Shines and Snooky Pryor
Disgusted, Shines retired from music in the late 50s. It wasn’t until 1965, when some tenacious European aficionados coaxed him into the Vanguard studios, that he recorded again. He remained the same independent, headstrong man he’d always been, and his talents were undiminished, especially the wit that had brought such unusual poetry to his old lyrics.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
A debilitating stroke several years later virtually eliminated the possibility of a full comeback. But listening to these tracks today one doubts they would have been sufficient to propel Shines to the stardom he craved. The mix of styles is uneasy, and his strongest work is in a genre that simply doesn’t reach most mainstream audiences–intimate, intense solo acoustic blues in the Delta tradition.
Still, Shines is most eloquent when he sticks to his roots. “Too Lazy,” with lyrics adapted from Charlie Patton’s “Banty Rooster Blues,” is an example of the immediacy Shines brings to traditional material. His resonant voice highlights the lyrics’ irony, and his emotional involvement makes even the most archaic country imagery sound relevant.
Willie Dixon’s “My Love Can’t Hide,” by contrast, seems a good idea gone bad–an attempt to harness Shines’s fierce roar and put it in a late-50s-style urban-blues context. Shines has suggested that pianist Dove was responsible for the song’s failure, but I think it would have sunk under the weight of its own bombast regardless. The bass line lurches ominously, goaded by a growling baritone sax, and Walker’s trembling guitar leads spew venom over the top; Shines groans out extended phrases at the very bottom of his vocal range, then suddenly erupts into an ear-splitting wail. It sounds almost like a Screamin’ Jay Hawkins track with Shines’s vocals laid over it.
The expected Robert Johnson tributes are for the most part successful. Especially welcome is “They’re Red Hot,” highlighting for a change the fun-loving side of Johnson’s muse. It’s a rollicking bit of good-time double- entendre hokum, and its jauntiness is a welcome reminder that traditional blues are as much party music as they are soul-baring exercises in folk existentialism.
