HENRY GRAY
Henry Gray is a piano player known to blues fans for
his appearance in some
of the great recordings made in the 50's and 60's with such figures
as Billy
Boy Arnold, Little Walter, Jimmy Rogers and Jimmy Reed. His major
contributions however, were made with Howling Wolf, with whom
he stayed on
for twelve years as a full-time, permanent band member.
Henry is considered by many to be the greatest of the classic
Chicago school
still with us. He was born in Kenner, Louisiana, a suburb of
New Orleans, on
the 19th of January 1925, and was raised in Alsen, just north
of Baton
Rouge.
No one in his family was musically inclined, but he began to
learn piano
from a neighbour at the age of 5 or 6. Three years later, almost
entirely
self-taught, he was able to play 20 or 30 gospel hymns and spirituals,
and
this led to his becoming the organist at the local Baptist Church.
He began
to play blues he had picked up from the radio ; such artists
as Bill
Broonzy, Tampa Red, and Roosevelt Sykes, and the idea of visiting
Chicago
took root. He finally arrived there in 1945 and sought out such
well known
bluesmen as Sunnyland Slim, Roosevelt Sykes and Eddie Boyd. His
main
influence however, was his mentor Big Maceo Merriweather, who
taught him the
technique of Boogie Woogie, and as Henry was a fast learner he
was soon able
to go professional. His first group, the Red Devil Trio, with
Hudson Showers
(guitar) & James Bannister (drums) worked the south side
clubs and it was
there that he made friends with Little Walter, Howlin' Wolf and
Muddy
Waters.
In 1952 his first recording session took place with Jimmy Rogers,
whose solo
career was just about to take off.
Soon after this he met Morris Pejoe, from Palmetto, Louisiana,
and they
formed a band who had a residency at the Upstairs Lounge, 258
W. Washburne,
for almost 2 years, giving Henry a steady income. The following
years
produced several more sessions for Chess, with Little Walter
and Junior
Wells, and his band recorded 12 sides which were later to come
to light
under the name of Morris Pejoe ; on harmonica the Legendary Henry
Srong who
replaced Little Walter in the Muddy Waters band but was murdered
before they
had a chance to record together.
Morris Pejoe and Chess had a falling out and Henry returned to
Chess in 1954
to record again with Jimmy Rogers, with whom he toured throughout
the south.
After that tour, he recorded with Dusty Brown for Parrot and
Billy Boy
Arnold for Veejay. In 1955 Howling Wolf invited Henry to work
regularly with
his band, and to record with him. Wolf had one of the best bands
at the
time, and the offer came at a good time for Henry as Pejoe was
losing
interest in music as a career.
Henry stayed with Howling Wolf's band until 1968, when his father
became ill
and decided to return to Louisiana and care for him. He did not
give up
music however, became friends with many of the Excello artists
who were
recording for Jay Miller meeting Clarence Edwards who also lived
in Alsen,
they formed a band that included Sam Hogan (drums), Clarence
Prophet (bass),
and John Hart (tenor sax).
This group started as a hobby but soon developed a following
and began to
play regularly in the Baton Rouge area. They recorded for Chris
Strachwitz
in 1970 on the "Louisiana Blues Album" (Arhoolie AR19011).
Later the same
year, they recorded the Swamp Blues Double Album for Blue Horizon.
Henry's success at the New Orleans Jazz Fest in 1976 led to his
first solo
album : "They Call Me Little Henry" (Blue Beat 7732),
and later the Blind
Pig album : "Lucky Man" (BP 2788).
Big Maceo would be proud of his protégé who retains
his style of 50's
Chicago Blues. Henry's more recent efforts have been with Clarence
Edwards
on "Swamp's the Word", the sidetrack compilation :
"Chemical City Shakedown"
(SCK001), The New Rose release "Swampin" as well as
SHORT FUSE'S "Sting It"
(Sidetrack SCK004), and a CD on Wolf Records, "Louisiana
Swamp Blues Volume
II" (Wolf 120.923), and SHORT FUSE'S "Free Lunch"
Cambaya CD027-E).
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CLARENCE EDWARDS (March
25, 1933 - May 20, 1993)
"I Looked Down Thar Railroad"
 
I first met Clarence Edwards in the winter of 1989,
my first night at Tabby
(Thomas)'s Blues Box - as soon as he appeared on stage I knew
I was seeing
one of the greatest bluesmen alive and I was astonished to hear
he had never
recorded an album under his own name. I had some of his material
from the
early '70s in my record collection, but did not realise it was
the same
person, as he was so superior in the flesh. Although I had virtually
no
experience in the music business and I was in Baton Rouge to
gather material
for a still uncompleted book on Slim Harpo, my life took a different
turn
the moment he sang the opening lines to Muddy Waters' Still A
Fool. As the
sort of Muddy Waters admirer who believed that anyone trying
one of the
master's songs was wasting their time and that of the audience,
it seemed to
me that he was actually improving on the original.
Clarence's voice was unique and lent itself to electrified country
blues
more than any voice I had ever heard in postwar blues. I went
up to him and
suggested recording an album. He agreed and to my surprise gave
me his phone
number. I went back to my hotel and woke up in the morning wondering
how on
earth one went about such a project.
Clarence was a man of few words and was very shy, always wearing
dark
glasses on stage. He was partial to sardonic one liners that
would surprise
the listener as they usually followed a long silence.
We got to know each other very well over the next three years,
travelling
over 50,000 miles across America with different band members.
Clarence was
the sort of person one could spend a whole day with without exchanging
more
than a sentence, yet feeling comfortable all the while. We would
drive from
state to state and Clarence would sit in the same seat behind
the driver
conserving his energy for the two great loves of his life - his
family and
his music. When we came on stage he would always surprise me
with a new
song, sometimes a composition of his own that he had made up
on the journey,
sometimes a blues song that we'd heard on the cassette player
in the van.
The first record (Swamp's The Word, Sidetrack 001) received terrific
critical acclaim but was ignored by the U.S. record industry
and was
eventually released by Red Lightnin' in England. Inexperience
had led me to
believe that talent will win out, however critical plaudits are
not enough
and the only U.S. company that showed any appreciation of Clarence's
talent
was Alligator. Bruce Iglauer wrote me a letter in which he accurately
pointed out that, though musically excellent, in today's climate
such
ventures were not going to make any money because they were directed
at the
"hardcore bluesfan". Fortunately, Dick Waterman, through
the recommendation
of Living Blues' Peter Lee, was to come to our aid and got Clarence
a slot
in the Benson and Hedges festival circuit, which enabled Clarence
to be seen
and appreciated by audiences in New York, Texas, and Atlanta.
Gradually, Clarence's name became better known nationally through
radio
exposure and the grapevine of blues societies and it seemed as
though
commercial success was around the corner and the two years of
constant
travelling was beginning to pay off. Inevitably, this began to
arouse
jealousies on his home turf as many of the perennial losers on
the fringe of
the music business began to feel that maybe there was money in
this blues
thing. Clarence was very aware of this situation and asked me
not to look
for any more bookings in the Baton Rouge area, saying : "They're
just plain
jealous, but we'll make it." And when an offer came from
a European festival
in September, it seemed as though we really would.
Despite the fact that none of Clarence's recordings sold more
than 2,000
copies, his name was respected and when we flew to Belgium the
reaction of
the European media and audience brought it home to him that his
years of
struggle had not been in vain.
However, it was not to be. He developed an infection caused by
an allergy to
the varnish on the neck of his guitar and it caused him such
pain under his
fingernails that he had to stop playing altogether. At the same
time it
seemed like a temporary setback and none of us suspected it would
become so
serious he would never play again.
Clarence was ripped off after 30 years of working in the same
scrapyard,
where he was made redundant after a takeover with no payoff and
no union. He
would be similarly treated by the music business, performing
for as little
as ten dollars for many years.
However, in the last years of his life he was at least granted
the
satisfaction of knowing he was appreciated and if he had lived
would
undoubtedly have eventually received some of his just desserts.
I extend my
sympathies to his wife, children, and grandchildren.
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