FREE4ALL, Part 6: Call of the Wild

“This difference is generally taken for granted and is looked upon as a diff- -”

Nope. Sorry. Not this time.

Roll over, Adorno!

Time to play some rhythm and blues!

Amplified, hard-hitting blues tunes would eventually catapult the culture industry to levels of power and influence that even Adorno hadn’t predicted. Maybe it shattered our attention spans in the process, and made us all impulsive and pliable suckers. Who knows? But the music also changed our society for the better.

This wasn’t evolution or forward progression. It took us back, way back. To the mists of time.

To the call of the wild.

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In West Point, Mississippi, in the early 1920s, a young boy named Chester moved to his grandparents’ home after his mother kicked him out.

The boy was angry, and sometimes he strangled his grandmother’s chickens to death. His grandfather, hoping to scare the boy straight, showed him the corpse of a wolf he had shot one night.

In the late 1920s, the legendary blues troubadour Charley Patton traveled to West Point and played for the patrons of the black taverns there. Now a teenager, Chester was plowing a field when heard the man playing as he passed by one day, and was transfixed.

Soon he was traveling with Patton and providing vocals to his songs. He later sang with Son House, Robert Johnson, and other blues legends. Burnett gained a reputation for his distinctive voice–a gravelly, guttural roar. And for the feral energy of his performances.

He eventually chose a name to fit his wild stage persona:

Burnett took the primal fear of his childhood memories and wore it like a costume.

In 1943, after leaving the Army, Howlin’ Wolf moved to West Memphis, Arkansas, and played in the juke joints there.

For years, Wolf howled his songs out in the hopes that someone in nearby Memphis would notice. And eventually, someone did.

In early 1951, Ike Turner came calling. Fresh off the success of his single, the rowdy rhythm and blues tune “Rocket 88,” Turner took Burnett to Memphis to record some tracks.

Little did he know, he was creating a new template for his rock ‘n’ roll recordings soon to come. When Philips heard Burnett singing for the first time, he thought: “This is where the soul of man never dies.”

Wolf and Philips sold the songs to record labels known for their interest in rhythm and blues:

Wolf’s tunes for Chess both became hits on the Billboard R&B charts. And the Chess family convinced him to move up to Chicago to play shows and record some more. Wolf drove from West Memphis to the Windy City, newly earned cash in tow, and he formed a new band to bring his ideas to life. His time had come.

He soon met the other icons of Chicago’s ascendant blues scene: Big Bill Broonzy, Elmore James, Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters, B.B. King.

In their music there was the twang of the country fields, the volume of the local pub, and the elegance of the downtown nightclub all in one.

Still, despite the stage persona, Burnett was otherwise a straight-laced businessman. Whoever played in Wolf’s band got paid often and well, and were even provided health insurance. But he was a strict taskmaster, and he forbade his musicians from drinking. He knew that a career in the blues could take him far, and he took that prospect very seriously.

Of course, his success would be eventually eclipsed by the younger rock ‘n’ roll stars like Chuck Berry and Bo Diddley. And even more so by the white rockabilly singers that Sam Philips would record: Jerry Lee Lewis, Gene Vincent, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison. And everyone was eclipsed by Elvis Presley. 

But by the time of the 1960s, most rock bands had moved beyond Elvis imitations into the sounds of the Chicago and Detroit electric blues musicians.

And these new kings of pop culture paid open tribute to the older legends. Cream and the Doors would both put Howlin’ Wolf songs on their debut albums. The Rolling Stones would not only cover him, they would invite him to play with them for a live television appearance.

And fittingly, they played his song, “Red Rooster.”

Burnett happily played the role of father figure to the new generation, referring to the Stones’ singer with affection as “my little boy Mick Jagger.” Finding his inner wolf had raised him out of poverty and beyond success, into cultural significance. It made perfect sense that his role would be to teach others how to free the wildness within.

The legacy of rock ‘n’ roll is Howlin’ Wolf’s story writ large. A poor man from the country gives voice to his troubles in the blues, then he transforms his blues into something cathartic and fun, finding dignity and community in the process. Meanwhile, audiences in the city are able to tap into that primal energy and just let go for a moment. And this creates a new demand that takes the market by storm.

Rock ‘n’ roll was the new dance fad, but it was also all about that wild, freewheeling, libidinal energy. Far more than swing or jump blues, this fad enabled moments of ecstatic abandon and explosive, lusty passion.

Not to mention, it helped white youths to see the humanity of black musicians playing the songs they loved. This fad proved to be an important ingredient for our societal liberation.

Of course, the transformation wasn’t all good. Plenty of the early rock ‘n’ roll pioneers, black and white, engaged in some sleazy and sometimes violent behavior. And for some, the darkness of their songs proved to be more than just a pose.

Take Pat Hare. The guitarist who almost single-handedly pioneered both rockabilly and heavy metal guitar.

If Howlin’ Wolf represents the cultural shift at its best, perhaps Pat Hare’s story serves to warn us of the dark side of liberation.

Once rock ‘n’ roll became a fixture of the popular music industry, rebellion itself became a lucrative commodity. Something to cultivate and encourage among artists.

Often the rebellion was just a pose. Yet in the decades to come, seriously bad behavior among popular musicians would be further incentivized and protected by record labels and their lawyers, continuing even today. 

All true. But culture is complicated. And most social transitions involve trade offs rather than simple improvements. The fact remains that the primal energy of electric blues and rock completely shook up our cultural systems. And in many ways, for the better.

The stranglehold of puritan virtues was relaxed just a bit. And the everyday person got just a little closer to the Bohemian ideals of the avant garde circles. More than Allen Ginsberg ever could, rock ‘n’ roll taught regular folks how to Howl.

Hold on a second:

Fighting back against repressive social orders with the force of primal, libidinal will?

Where have I heard that before? 

Ah, yes:

Dude, Where’s My Van? Chapter 1: The Romance of Revolt

No wonder they called this stuff “the devil’s music.”

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