‘One hundred years ago, Robert Johnson was born in Mississippi – a dirt-poor, African-American who would grow up, learn to sing and play the blues, and eventually achieve worldwide renown. In the decades after his death, he has become known as the King of the Delta Blues Singers, his music expanding in influence to the point that rock stars of the greatest magnitude – the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, the Allman Brothers – all sing his praise and have recorded his songs.

He lived from 1911 to 1938 and recorded just 29 songs between 1936 and ‘37 for the American Record Corporation, which released eleven 78rpm records on their Vocalion label during Johnson¹s lifetime, and one after his death. When alive he was barely noticed but, some recordings were re-released in the early Sixties and suddenly he was acclaimed as a lost genius.

The power of Johnson’s music has been amplified over the years by the fact that so little about him is known and what little biographical information we now have only revealed itself at an almost glacial pace. Myths surrounding his life took over: that he was a country boy turned ladies’ man; that he only achieved his uncanny musical mastery after selling his soul to the devil. Even the tragedy of his death seemed to grow to mythic proportion: being poisoned by a jealous boyfriend then taking three days to expire, even as the legendary talent scout John Hammond was searching him out to perform at Carnegie Hall in New York City.’

From: http://www.robertjohnsonbluesfoundation.org/biography

My song was initially writen in the Sixties but dug up recently and totally revamped. The rant now is really a dig at musicians who copy indiscriminately off YouTube. Of course, we all view music online, no problem with that (in fact I’d recommend it except for the almost total absence of income for performers) but many make little attempt to develop the material themselves or even copy it to a reasonable standard. Where a good replica is achieved audiences may be happy but, though I can admire the skill, I decry the lack of originality. There’s also something a little sad about some white, English, comfortably middle class, guy aping a long dead black dude singing about having a ‘hell hound on my trail’. In the case of Robert Johnson (and many others) that wasn’t just poetic licence.

 

ROBERT JOHNSON’S GONE   

    

 Robert Johnson’s gone – he just walked out of here.

At least that’s who he sounded like – man I almost shed a tear.

He got it off-a YouTube – copied note for note,

Can a white man sing the blues? I don’t know. But he ain’t the real bloke.

 

Chorus – Coz Robert Johnson’s gone.  Robert Johnson’s gone. He’s real gone.

 

Blind Lemon is dead – and so is Sonny Boy.

You know how they played so well, oh yeah, it was the real McCoy.

Leadbelly and Sleepy John, Louisiana Red,

What unlikely names they had – but what terrible hard lives they led.

 

Ah but who was Robert Johnson? By the way.

King of the Delta blues. Many people say.

Even Eric Clapton said he was the best.

Only twenty seven when they laid his body to rest.

Some say he was murdered, with a dose of strychnine.

Leaving just a few recordings – as the only evidence he’d been.

 

You can drink your whisky. You can mess around.

You can stay out late at night, but watch out for that old hell hound.

Never take an open bottle, from a jealous man,

Or he’ll be dancing on your grave, just as soon as ever he can.

       

Waiting at the crossroads – sky’s a-turning black,

If you sell your soul tonight – won’t ever get it back.

It don’t matter who you are, even if you paid your dues.

You ain’t never gonna walk, in any old blues man’s shoes.

June – 2014