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Blues Musicians Archives - I Love Blues Guitar
I Love Blues Guitar

Category: Blues Musicians

  • Eric Sardinas – Planks of Pine

    Eric Sardinas – Planks of Pine

    Slide, Fire, and Fury: The Wild Blues World of Eric Sardinas

    If there was ever a blues guitarist who looked like he just walked out of a swamp-side voodoo shack with a slide guitar in one hand and a bottle of fire in the other—it’s Eric Sardinas.

    The first time I saw him live, I didn’t know what to expect. I’d heard about this guy who played slide like the devil himself taught him, lit his guitar on fire (literally), and looked like a rock god dropped into a Mississippi juke joint. But when he hit that first note—with a steel-bodied Dobro cranked through a Marshall stack—I knew I wasn’t just watching a blues gig. I was witnessing a blues exorcism.

    A Modern-Day Blues Wildman

    Born in Florida in 1970, Eric Sardinas grew up digging deep into the records of Delta legends—Son House, Bukka White, Elmore James. But instead of copying them, he supercharged their style. He took the grit of slide blues and fused it with rock energy and stage presence that would make a metal band jealous.

    His weapon of choice? The resonator guitar—specifically a Dobro—which he plays with blistering slide technique, bare fingers, and zero fear. Most guys play it sitting down. Sardinas straps it on, cranks it up, and rips into it like it owes him money.

    Tone Like a Thunderstorm

    What makes Sardinas so unique isn’t just his energy or showmanship—it’s that tone. The combination of a resonator and full-on electric overdrive shouldn’t work, but in his hands, it sounds like heaven and hell are fighting it out on six strings.

    He doesn’t play pretty. He plays ferocious. Each note sounds like it’s being dragged through gravel. Each solo sounds like it’s about to fall off a cliff—and then lands perfectly, right in the pocket.

    The Albums That Set My Speakers on Fire

    Here’s the thing about Sardinas: he doesn’t make records for background music. He makes albums that demand attention. That grab you.

    Here are the ones that made me a believer:

    • 🔥 Treat Me Right (1999) – The debut. Raw, aggressive, full of swagger. If you want to know what it sounds like when Delta blues gets strapped to a jet engine, start here.
    • 🎸 Devil’s Train (2001) – Even heavier. Even hotter. Features killer slide work and a title track that feels like it was born from smoke and gasoline.
    • 🕶️ Black Pearls (2003) – Grittier, deeper, more dynamic. This album showed his growth as a writer without losing any bite.
    • ⚡ Sticks & Stones (2007) – A blues-rock monster. Grooves hard, hits harder.
    • 🔊 Boomerang (2014) – Sardinas at full throttle. A perfect blend of blues, rock, and molten slide madness.

    Sardinas Live: Hold Onto Your Beer (and Your Soul)

    Seeing Eric Sardinas live is not just a show—it’s a ritual. He comes out in leather and snakeskin, Dobro slung low, fire in his eyes. And once he starts playing, it’s like watching a tornado let loose on a stage. He doesn’t play the blues—he attacks them.

    One night in a sweaty LA club, he played a 12-minute version of “Rollin’ and Tumblin’” that made me rethink everything I thought I knew about slide guitar. By the time he was done, I’d forgotten what year it was. The guy didn’t just command the stage—he owned the air around it.

    And yes—sometimes he sets his guitar on fire. It’s not a gimmick. It’s a warning.

    Why Eric Sardinas Still Matters

    In a blues world that sometimes leans too hard on the past, Sardinas explodes forward. He honors the old school, sure—but he plays like he’s got something to burn, something to prove, every night.

    He reminds me that the blues isn’t just for quiet reflection or smoky back rooms. It can be loud, sweaty, dangerous. And still be true to its roots.

    New to Sardinas? Start Here:

    • 💿 Treat Me Right – The essential intro. Delta blues on fire.
    • 🚂 Devil’s Train – Dirty, gritty, and full of fury.
    • 🎧 Boomerang – Polished, wild, and full of teeth.

    And if you ever get the chance to see him live—go. Bring earplugs. Bring holy water. And bring your soul—because he’s gonna light it up.

    More info at ericsardinas.com.

    Eric Sardinas plays slide guitar like he’s got one hand in the past and the other striking lightning. He’s not just keeping the blues alive—he’s setting it ablaze. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

    Thank You

    We appreciate your time and dedication to reading our article. For more of the finest blues guitar music, make sure to follow our Facebook page, “I Love Blues Guitar”. We share exceptional selections every day. Thank you once again for your continued support and readership.

  • Magic Slim – Buddy Budy’s Friend

    Magic Slim – Buddy Budy’s Friend

    Raw, Real, and Loud: How Magic Slim Became My Blues Backbone

    If there’s one bluesman who could blow the roof off a bar with nothing but a Telecaster and a stare, it was Magic Slim.

    I can still remember the first time I saw him—tall, broad, towering over his guitar like it was a weapon. No frills, no flash. Just blues, cranked up, stomping, and true. The band kicked into “Ain’t Doing Too Bad,” and by the first solo, I was hooked. Not in a polite nod-your-head way—I mean shouting-into-my-beer hooked.

    That night, I learned: Magic Slim wasn’t here to finesse you. He was here to flatten you—with tone, truth, and a groove so tight it felt like a vice grip on your chest. And I’ve been chasing that sound ever since.

    The Road from Mississippi to Chicago

    Born Morris Holt in Mississippi in 1937, Slim grew up in the Delta dirt, steeped in the raw, emotional power of the blues. But when he hit Chicago in the ’50s, he found his voice—loud, mean, and sharp as broken glass. He didn’t come up playing slick riffs in studio lounges. He came up grinding it out in clubs where you had to earn every cheer.

    Originally a piano player, he switched to guitar after losing a finger in a cotton gin accident. That’s right—he lost a finger and still became one of the greatest electric blues players of all time. That’s grit. That’s blues.

    His early days were spent learning from the best—Magic Sam, his mentor and the guy who gave him the nickname. And it stuck. Magic Slim. Not flashy. Just formidable.

    Magic Slim & The Teardrops: The Ultimate Barroom Blues Machine

    You can’t talk about Magic Slim without talking about The Teardrops, his longtime backing band and one of the tightest, funkiest, hardest-hitting blues outfits I’ve ever heard. They didn’t just back him up—they drove the whole train.

    When I saw them live, it was like watching a freight train roll through a juke joint. Bass thumping, drums snapping, Slim’s guitar slicing through the mix like a knife through barbecue.

    They kept it simple. A few chords, a big groove, a songbook full of pain and swagger. Songs like:

    • 🎸 “Goin’ to Mississippi” – a total barn-burner
    • 🎶 “Ain’t Doing Too Bad” – classic Teardrop fire
    • 💥 “Rough Dried Woman” – as gritty as a gravel road
    • 🐍 “Let Me Love You Baby” – raw and full of bite

    I’ve seen a lot of bands try to “modernize” the blues. Not Slim. He made the blues bigger, not slicker. He never pandered, never sweetened it. Just turned up, plugged in, and let it rip.

    The Albums That Changed the Game for Me

    Magic Slim made dozens of records, and nearly all of them are front-to-back blues beatdowns. But here are the ones that stayed glued to my CD tray:

    • 🔥 Scufflin’ (1996) – My introduction. Crunchy, wild, and full of swagger.
    • 🎸 Black Tornado (1998) – Aptly named. This one rips.
    • 🥃 Raw Magic (1991) – Gritty, stomping, no-nonsense Slim.
    • 🎤 Raising the Bar (2010) – One of his final records, and it proves the man never slowed down.

    Slim didn’t make “hits.” He made statements. Records that punched you in the gut and dared you not to feel something.

    Seeing Magic Slim Live Was Like Going to Church (If the Church Served Whiskey)

    I was lucky enough to see Slim in the early 2000s in a small club in Chicago—no stage lighting, no fanfare, just Slim, The Teardrops, and a packed room of sweaty blues fans who knew what was coming.

    He played like a man possessed—head down, guitar snarling, voice cutting through the smoke like a buzzsaw. He didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. The music spoke. It roared. It preached. And we all said amen.

    When he launched into “Luv Sumbody,” I swear the floor shook. That moment is burned into my memory as one of the most pure blues experiences of my life.

    Why Magic Slim Still Rules

    In a world where blues sometimes gets watered down or polished up for polite company, Magic Slim was a reminder of where it came from. The barrooms. The jukes. The streets. The struggle.

    He played like every song had something to prove. And in a way, it did.

    Magic Slim passed in 2013, but his music hasn’t lost a drop of power. Put on any record, and you’ll hear it: that grinding groove, that slashing tone, that truth. He played like a man who meant it. Every time.

    Where to Start if You’re New

    Here’s your fast track into Slim’s world:

    • 💿 Scufflin’ – Classic Teardrop stomp.
    • 🔊 Gravel Road – Straight-up electric Chicago blues.
    • 🎤 Black Tornado – Thunderous, aggressive, unforgettable.
    • 📀 Raising the Bar – Late career, no loss of edge.
    • 🕺 Anything Live – Because seeing (or hearing) Slim live is essential.

    And trust me: once you hear him, you’ll want to hear all of him.

    Magic Slim didn’t clean up the blues—he cranked it up, stomped it down, and made it swing. He’s the reason I love my blues big, bold, and unapologetically real. And once you step into his world, there’s no going back.

    Thank You

    We appreciate your time and dedication to reading our article. For more of the finest blues guitar music, make sure to follow our Facebook page, “I Love Blues Guitar”. We share exceptional selections every day. Thank you once again for your continued support and readership.

  • Skip James – Mountain Jack

    Skip James – Mountain Jack

    The Ghost in the Guitar: How Skip James Haunts My Blues Soul

    There’s blues you hear with your ears.
    Then there’s blues you feel in your bones.
    And when I first heard Skip James, I didn’t just feel the blues—I felt the chill of a soul reaching across time.

    I was deep in a Delta blues rabbit hole, thinking I knew the sound: raw guitar, growling voice, hard truths. Then I found “Devil Got My Woman.” I still remember it: late night, headphones on, lights off. That eerie, high-pitched voice floated out of the speakers like a ghost. The guitar—played in that open D-minor tuning—didn’t accompany the song so much as haunt it.

    I had goosebumps by the second verse.

    That night, Skip James became more than an artist to me—he became a presence.

    A Bluesman Like No Other

    Born Nehemiah Curtis “Skip” James in 1902 in Bentonia, Mississippi, Skip didn’t sound like anyone else from the Delta. Not Robert Johnson. Not Son House. Not Charley Patton. He carved his own path—a dark, lonesome one—and it’s what makes his music so unforgettable.

    His guitar playing is haunting, full of minor-key tension and eerie dissonance. He used open D-minor tuning, which gave his songs a mournful, shadowy atmosphere. Add his eerie falsetto on top, and you’ve got something that doesn’t sound like any other blues—it sounds like it came from another world.

    The 1931 Sessions: Lightning in a Bottle

    Skip recorded a handful of sides for Paramount Records in 1931. They didn’t sell well—maybe because they were too intense, too raw, too honest. But those recordings? They’re now legendary. Songs like:

    • 🕯️ “Devil Got My Woman” – Pure, lonesome anguish. Still gives me chills.
    • 🐍 “Hard Time Killin’ Floor Blues” – Stark, timely, devastatingly relevant.
    • 💔 “I’m So Glad” – Covered by Cream decades later, but Skip’s original is otherworldly.
    • 🙏 “Jesus Is a Mighty Good Leader” – A gospel song full of tension and trembling faith.

    That first batch of recordings is one of the most powerful single-session legacies in blues history. Then, for decades… nothing. Skip vanished.

    The Blues Revival and a Second Act

    By the time the ’60s blues revival rolled around, most folks assumed Skip was long gone. But in 1964, blues enthusiasts found him in a hospital in Mississippi—broke, sick, but still alive. And when they gave him a guitar, he hadn’t lost a step. He played like he never left, his voice even more worn but just as haunting.

    Skip went on to play folk festivals, record new material, and introduce his dark, hypnotic style to a new generation of blues lovers. I’ve watched old footage of him at Newport, wearing a fedora, sitting still, eyes far away—and even just watching through a screen, you feel the gravity of his presence.

    Why Skip James Matters to Me

    Skip James didn’t sing about hard times. He embodied them. His music isn’t about catharsis or celebration—it’s about confrontation. It forces you to sit with sorrow, to hear the quiet desperation in every note, and to understand that the blues isn’t always loud or wild. Sometimes it’s a whisper in the dark.

    I return to his music when I need truth. When life feels too polished or packaged, I put on “Hard Time Killin’ Floor Blues,” close my eyes, and let that ghostly voice remind me: the pain is real—but so is the beauty in enduring it.

    Where to Start

    If you’re new to Skip James, don’t expect an easy listen. Expect a deep one. Here’s where to begin:

    • 🖤 1931 Sessions (found on The Complete Early Recordings) – Raw, essential, unforgettable.
    • 🎙️ Today! (1966) – A stunning comeback, filled with heartbreak and power.
    • 📀 Devil Got My Woman – A compilation that gathers his defining songs.
    • 🎞️ You See Me Laughin’ (Documentary) – Includes rare footage and context for Skip’s haunting style.

    Final Thoughts

    Skip James didn’t just play the blues—he sang from the shadowy places most of us try to avoid. His music isn’t always comforting. But it’s honest, beautiful, and unforgettable. He reminds us that sometimes the quietest voice carries the deepest truth.

    And that’s why, after all these years, Skip James still echoes in my soul.

    Thank You

    We appreciate your time and dedication to reading our article. For more of the finest blues guitar music, make sure to follow our Facebook page, “I Love Blues Guitar”. We share exceptional selections every day. Thank you once again for your continued support and readership.

  • Coco Montoya – People Just Let Me Cry

    Coco Montoya – People Just Let Me Cry

    The Fiery Soul of the Blues: My Journey with Coco Montoya

    You know that moment when you hear a guitarist for the first time and just know they’re the real deal? That was me, sometime in the late ’90s, flipping through CDs at a record shop (remember those?), when the guy behind the counter slipped on Just Let Go. A few notes in—bam. That big, fat Strat tone, full of fire and feeling, came pouring out of the speakers. Then came that voice—gravelly, soulful, lived-in. I looked up and said, Who the hell is this?

    The guy grinned. “Coco Montoya,” he said. “You’re about to become a fan.”

    And man, was he right.

    A Bluesman’s Bluesman

    Coco Montoya didn’t stumble into the blues—he earned his stripes. Born in California in 1951, he started off as a drummer, believe it or not. But fate had bigger plans.

    He got his first major break playing drums behind none other than Albert Collins, the Master of the Telecaster himself. And get this—Albert didn’t just mentor Coco, he taught him how to play guitar, too. Not with books or scales, but the way blues should be taught—by feel, by fire, and by watching and learning night after night.

    After paying his dues with Collins, Coco spent a decade playing with the legendary John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers. That’s the same band that launched Clapton, Peter Green, and Mick Taylor—and Coco picked up the torch with style.

    A Lefty with a Right Hook

    Let’s get one thing straight: Coco’s playing is anything but polite. He’s a left-handed guitarist who plays a right-handed guitar flipped upside down—strings and all. That unorthodox setup gives him a wild, unpredictable sound full of bends, wails, and stinging leads that go places you don’t expect.

    His solos are emotional explosions—not technical exercises. When he lets loose on a slow blues, you feel like you’re standing in the middle of a thunderstorm. And when he turns up the heat? Forget about it. You’ll be grinning through the flames.

    That Voice? It Hurts So Good

    Coco’s voice doesn’t get enough love, in my opinion. It’s raw. Raspy. A little rough around the edges—and that’s exactly what makes it perfect. You can hear the miles in it. He sings like a man who’s loved hard, lost harder, and lived to tell the tale.

    Whether he’s growling through a slow burner or cutting loose on a roadhouse rocker, there’s honesty in every note. It’s not slick. It’s soulful. And it hits home.

    Albums That Made Me a Believer

    Coco’s catalog is deep, and there’s not a dud in the bunch. But here are the albums that hooked me—and still knock me out today:

    • 🔥 Just Let Go (1997) – The first one I heard, and still one of the best. A killer mix of slow blues, funk, and fire.
    • 🎸 Can’t Look Back (2002) – Loaded with emotion, with some of Coco’s finest vocals and guitar work.
    • 🎤 Songs from the Road (2014) – A live album that captures the real Coco: passionate, powerful, and raw.
    • 💥 Hard Truth (2017) – Blues for grown folks. Mature, tight, and full of heart.
    • 🕶️ Writing on the Wall (2023) – His most recent release, and one of his strongest yet. Proof that Coco’s still growing, still evolving.

    Seeing Coco Montoya Live? Buckle Up.

    I’ve seen Coco live a few times over the years, and each show felt like a house party where the walls might collapse from joy and volume. He’s electric on stage—grinning, sweating, shredding, testifying. He tells stories between songs, cracks jokes, and then turns around and plays a solo so full of pain you forget how to breathe.

    One show, he launched into “I Want It All Back,” and you could feel the room change. People stopped talking. They leaned in. The man wasn’t just singing—he was confessing. That’s what blues is supposed to be.

    Why Coco Still Burns Bright

    Coco Montoya is one of the few blues players who bridges the classic and the modern. He’s got deep roots—Albert Collins, John Mayall—but he’s not stuck in the past. He plays with urgency, with now-energy. Every album feels fresh, like he’s still chasing the truth with every note.

    He doesn’t get the same headlines as some other blues guitar heroes, but among those who know—he’s royalty. And to me, he’s one of the most honest musicians working today.

    Where to Begin

    New to Coco? Here’s your starter kit:

    • 🎧 Just Let Go – The classic.
    • 🎶 Hard Truth – A modern masterpiece.
    • 🎤 Songs from the Road – To hear the fire in real time.
    • 💿 Writing on the Wall – His most recent, and still climbing.

    And above all—go see him live if you get the chance. You’ll leave with sore feet, a full heart, and a new favorite bluesman.

    More info at cocomontoyaband.com.

    Coco Montoya plays the blues like he’s got nothing to prove—just everything to give. And after decades of soul, sweat, and scorching solos, he’s still out there lighting up stages and hearts alike. Long live the fire.

    Thank You

    We appreciate your time and dedication to reading our article. For more of the finest blues guitar music, make sure to follow our Facebook page, “I Love Blues Guitar”. We share exceptional selections every day. Thank you once again for your continued support and readership.

  • Joe Louis Walker – One Time Around

    Joe Louis Walker – One Time Around

    Joe Louis Walker: The Bluesman Who Blew the Doors Off My Expectations

    Some artists you like. Some you admire. And then there are those rare few who floor you the minute they hit a note. That’s what Joe Louis Walker did to me.

    I first stumbled on Joe in the early ‘90s—late night, cheap whiskey, FM radio crackling out of a half-broken speaker. The song was “I Didn’t Know,” and the second his voice cut through the static—rich, sharp, gospel-soaked—I sat straight up. Then came the guitar: funky, fiery, furious. I thought, Who is this guy?

    That night began a long, beautiful dive into the world of Joe Louis Walker—a bluesman who refuses to be boxed in, and who still, after all these years, plays like he’s got something to prove.

    A Bay Area Blues Force

    Joe was born in San Francisco in 1949, and you can hear that mix of grit and cosmopolitan swagger in everything he does. He came up fast—sharing stages as a teenager with legends like Lightnin’ Hopkins, Buddy Miles, and even Jimi Hendrix. But what separates Joe isn’t just who he’s played with—it’s what he brings.

    He’s a guitarist, yes. A fierce one. But he’s also a vocalist, a songwriter, and a master of crossing boundaries without ever losing the soul of the blues.

    He can slide into soul, gospel, rock, funk, even a touch of jazz—and yet it all feels of a piece. It’s all Joe.

    Albums That Changed My Understanding of Modern Blues

    If you think modern blues is just tired 12-bar loops, Walker will shake that belief right out of your head. Albums like:

    • 🔥 Blues Survivor (1993) – This one sealed the deal for me. The title track is like a punch to the gut.
    • 🧨 JLW (1994) – Raw, tough, funky, and full of blistering guitar work. One of his most versatile albums.
    • 🎤 Everybody Wants a Piece (2015) – Proof he’s still on top of his game, decades later. Nominated for a Grammy, and deservedly so.

    He’s also done amazing collaborative work—just check out Eclectic Electric or his guest appearances on albums by other blues giants. The man never phones it in.

    Seeing Joe Live: A Baptism by Fire

    Seeing Joe Louis Walker live is like stepping into a revival tent run by a guitar preacher. He doesn’t just play—he testifies. He paces the stage, eyes closed, wringing every ounce of emotion out of his axe. Then he steps to the mic and preaches—not with words, but with a voice so full of soul and grit it could raise the dead.

    I saw him once at a blues fest in the mid-2000s. Sun beating down, crowd half-asleep from the heat—until Joe took the stage. Within two songs, people were up dancing. By the end, strangers were hugging, sweating, laughing. That’s the Joe effect. He brings the church to the blues.

    Why Joe Louis Walker Still Matters

    Joe doesn’t get the mainstream credit he deserves, but talk to any real blues fan—or any serious player—and his name comes up fast. He’s that rare artist who can hold tradition in one hand and innovation in the other. He’s not afraid to experiment, to push the genre forward without ever losing respect for where it came from.

    He’s also a proud, vocal Black artist in a genre that too often sidelines the very people who built it. Joe brings that awareness to his music without preaching—he embodies it. He lives it.

    Where to Start

    If you’re new to Joe Louis Walker, welcome to the deep end. Here’s your essential starter pack:

    • 🎸 JLW – Start here. A monster album full of groove, grit, and soul.
    • 💥 Blues Survivor – One of his most emotionally powerful albums.
    • 🔊 Hellfire (2012) – Produced by Tom Hambridge. Intense, bold, and electric.
    • 🏆 Everybody Wants a Piece – Grammy-nominated and fully loaded.
    • 🎙️ Weight of the World (2023) – Proof the fire still burns hot.

    Joe Louis Walker isn’t just keeping the blues alive—he’s making sure it stays dangerous, soulful, and fully charged. If the blues had a modern prophet, it’d be this man right here. And believe me, you want to hear what he’s preaching.

    Thank You

    We appreciate your time and dedication to reading our article. For more of the finest blues guitar music, make sure to follow our Facebook page, “I Love Blues Guitar”. We share exceptional selections every day. Thank you once again for your continued support and readership.

  • Big Jack Johnson – Daddy, When is Mama Comin’ Home?

    Big Jack Johnson – Daddy, When is Mama Comin’ Home?

    The Oil Man of the Blues: Why Big Jack Johnson Still Lights My Fire

    Some blues hit you in the bones, some in the soul—and then there’s Big Jack Johnson, who hits you in both, and leaves your feet moving and your heart wide open. The first time I heard him, I was driving late at night, flipping through radio static when “Daddy, When Is Mama Comin’ Home?” came on. I had to pull over. That deep, rumbling voice, that sweet, stinging guitar—it was like hearing the Delta speak directly to me.

    Since then, Big Jack Johnson has never left my rotation—and never left my heart.

    Clarksdale’s Own Blues Powerhouse

    Big Jack Johnson came from Clarksdale, Mississippi, the cradle of the Delta blues. He didn’t just grow up in the blues—he lived it. Born in 1940, he worked as a truck driver and oil delivery man (hence his nickname, The Oil Man), hauling fuel by day and playing music by night. That kind of life doesn’t just give you stories—it becomes the story in your music.

    And let me tell you: Big Jack’s music is full of real-life grit, struggle, love, and joy. You can hear the work boots in his rhythm, the Mississippi heat in his solos, and the weight of generations in his voice.

    More Than Tradition—A Blues Innovator

    What blew me away about Big Jack was how he took the traditional Delta sound and supercharged it. He brought fire to it, fun to it, and funk to it. While other bluesmen might stick to the 12-bar form, Jack would throw in soul grooves, rock ‘n’ roll crunch, even a little country flavor when he felt like it.

    He could go from a slow burner like “Mama Talk to Your Daughter” to an all-out jam like “We Got to Stop This Killin’” without missing a beat. And through it all, his guitar sang in that unmistakable style—fat, funky, sharp as a razor.

    He wasn’t afraid to say something either. Jack often tackled real issues—poverty, violence, family, injustice. His 2002 album The Memphis Barbecue Sessions has a track called “Katrina” that still makes the hair stand up on my neck.

    The Jelly Roll Kings and Beyond

    Big Jack first made waves in the ‘70s as a founding member of The Jelly Roll Kings, alongside Frank Frost and Sam Carr. That trio was straight-up Delta fire. Their record Rockin’ the Juke Joint Down is still one of my favorites to this day—it’s greasy, it’s joyful, it’s got that juke joint magic you can feel in your bones.

    But Jack wasn’t content to stay in the background. His solo career took off in the ‘90s with albums like The Oil Man (1990), We Got to Stop This Killin’ (1996), and All the Way Back (2000). Every one of those records is a blues lover’s goldmine—raw, heartfelt, and 100% Jack.

    The Live Show I’ll Never Forget

    I saw Big Jack Johnson live once, in a small Mississippi club that felt like someone’s living room. He walked in with a big grin, shook hands with half the crowd, and then picked up his guitar like it was no big deal. But when he started playing—man—the place lit up like the Fourth of July.

    He didn’t just perform. He communicated. He laughed, he preached, he wailed. He’d hold a note on the guitar like it was hanging by a thread, then snap it back to life and get the crowd hollering. I remember thinking, this is what the blues is all about. Not perfection. Not polish. Power. Personality. Truth.

    Why Big Jack Still Matters

    In a blues world full of imitators, Big Jack Johnson was the real deal. He honored the Delta tradition but wasn’t bound by it. He kept it alive by evolving it—bringing in new sounds, new topics, and new energy.

    He passed away in 2011, but his influence runs deep. When I listen to young blues players today who blend soul, funk, and grit, I hear Big Jack in there. He paved that road. He hauled the oil and lit the flame.

    Where to Start if You’re New

    Here’s your crash course in the Oil Man’s blues:

    • 🔥 The Oil Man (1990) – The essential solo debut. Tough, funky, emotional.
    • 🥁 We Got to Stop This Killin’ (1996) – Blues with a message and a heartbeat.
    • 🎸 All the Way Back (2000) – Soulful and sharp, a modern blues masterclass.
    • 🎶 The Jelly Roll Kings – Rockin’ the Juke Joint Down (1979) – Raw trio magic.

    You can also check out Live in Chicago, which captures his stage energy beautifully.

    Big Jack Johnson didn’t just keep the Delta blues alive—he electrified it, funked it up, and gave it a new soul. If you like your blues real, raw, and ready to groove, the Oil Man is your guy. And once he grabs you, he won’t let go.

    Thank You

    We appreciate your time and dedication to reading our article. For more of the finest blues guitar music, make sure to follow our Facebook page, “I Love Blues Guitar”. We share exceptional selections every day. Thank you once again for your continued support and readership.

  • Otis Rush – It’s My Own Fault, Baby

    Otis Rush – It’s My Own Fault, Baby

    The Soul of the West Side: How Otis Rush Shaped My Blues Journey

    Some blues hit you in the hips. Some hit you in the gut.
    Otis Rush? He hit you straight in the heart.

    The first time I heard his voice—that voice—I was floored. I was digging through a friend’s vinyl collection when he dropped the needle on “Double Trouble.” And there it was: slow, stinging guitar and a pleading, aching vocal that sounded like heartbreak itself had taken human form. It was heavy. Soulful. Real. I just sat there in stunned silence.

    That was my introduction to Otis Rush, and I’ve been under his spell ever since.

    West Side Sound, Deep Soul Feel

    Otis wasn’t from Chicago originally—he was born in Mississippi in 1934—but when he plugged in his guitar and stepped onto the stage of West Side clubs in the ’50s, he rewrote the rules. He brought a fiery emotional depth to electric blues that stood apart from the raw Delta sound and even from the better-known South Side Chicago scene.

    He didn’t just play notes—he cried them out through his guitar. He made his Fender Stratocaster weep.

    Alongside fellow left-handers like Albert King, Otis helped forge what became known as the West Side sound: deeply expressive, drenched in feeling, laced with jazz and soul, and led by guitar phrasing that stopped you cold. You could always tell when Otis was playing. Nobody bent notes like him.

    That Voice—Raw and Regal

    I can’t talk about Otis Rush without talking about his voice. You know how some singers feel like they’ve lived every word? Otis sounded like he had bled every word. His high, wounded tenor on songs like “My Love Will Never Die” and “All Your Love (I Miss Loving)” didn’t just tug at your heartstrings—they tore them out.

    To this day, if someone tells me blues is just about licks and lyrics, I tell them to go listen to Otis sing “I Can’t Quit You Baby.” If that doesn’t change them, nothing will.

    Live in the Flesh

    I was lucky enough to see Otis perform in the ’90s, after his comeback from a long hiatus. I remember watching him walk slowly onto the stage—modest, quiet—and then pick up that guitar like it was part of his body. From the first note, the room changed. He wasn’t flashy. He wasn’t loud. But man, he was powerful.

    During “Right Place, Wrong Time,” he played a solo that felt like it stopped time. You could see people wiping their eyes, completely caught off guard by how deep he went. I left that night changed. I still say it was one of the most emotional performances I’ve ever seen—blues or otherwise.

    Albums That Shaped Me

    There are a few Otis Rush records I consider essential blues education.
    Start with “Cobra Sessions (1956–1958)”—raw, groundbreaking, and way ahead of its time. These are the sides that made people like Eric Clapton, Peter Green, and Stevie Ray Vaughan take notes.

    Then there’s Right Place, Wrong Time (1976). To me, it’s his masterpiece. It’s not just a great blues album—it’s a soul album. The guitar playing is restrained, tasteful, devastating. The title track alone? Whew. That song hurts—in the best way.

    Finally, Live in Europe is an incredible document of a legend giving everything he’s got to a room full of believers. If you never got to see him live, this is the next best thing.

    Why Otis Rush Still Matters

    Otis Rush taught me that the blues isn’t about how many notes you play—it’s about how much pain and truth you can pack into just one. He didn’t play the fastest, or the loudest, or with the most flash. He just played real. And that’s why so many of the greats—from Clapton to Hendrix to SRV—called him a hero.

    He passed in 2018, but his spirit lives in every soulful bend, every slow-burning solo, every tear-soaked lyric. If you’ve ever felt broken, Otis is the kind of blues that puts you back together—not by ignoring your pain, but by making you feel seen.

    Where to Begin

    New to Otis Rush? Here’s your starter kit:

    • 🎸 Cobra Sessions – The beginning of West Side blues. Essential.
    • 🎤 Right Place, Wrong Time – Pure emotion on vinyl.
    • 🎶 Mourning in the Morning – Funky, experimental, underrated.
    • 🔥 Live in Europe – Raw and beautiful.

    And if you find yourself needing a reminder of how deep the blues can go, just put on “Double Trouble,” close your eyes, and feel it.

    Otis Rush didn’t just play the blues—he gave it a soul. And that soul still echoes in every heartbreak, every slow jam, every bend that aches just a little too long.

    Thank You

    We appreciate your time and dedication to reading our article. For more of the finest blues guitar music, make sure to follow our Facebook page, “I Love Blues Guitar”. We share exceptional selections every day. Thank you once again for your continued support and readership.

  • Elvin Bishop – My Dog

    Elvin Bishop – My Dog

    Getting Funky with Elvin Bishop: My Rockin’ Road Through the Blues

    There’s a moment I’ll never forget: I was in the back of a smoky bar sometime in the late ’70s, cheap beer in hand, when Elvin Bishop and his band kicked into “Travelin’ Shoes.” That first riff hit like a jolt, and by the time the horns came in and Elvin let out one of his goofy grins, I knew I was in for the ride of my life. Funky, loose, loud, and real—Elvin Bishop didn’t play the blues by the book. He made his own book, scribbled all over the margins, and turned every show into a party.

    And I’ve been riding that groove ever since.

    From Tulsa to the Fillmore: The Making of a Bluesman

    Elvin Bishop wasn’t born in the Delta—he came from Tulsa, Oklahoma—but that didn’t stop him from soaking up the blues like a sponge. He made his way to Chicago in the early ’60s and plugged himself straight into the heart of the electric blues scene. While most of us were fumbling through college, Elvin was playing with Little Walter and Howlin’ Wolf—and oh yeah, he just happened to end up in the Butterfield Blues Band alongside Mike Bloomfield.

    That lineup changed American music. Period.

    The Butterfield band was my introduction to Elvin. He wasn’t the flashiest player on those records, but there was something about his style—loose, rhythmic, joyful. He didn’t play like he was trying to prove something. He played like he loved it.

    When He Took the Lead—and Took Off

    When Elvin struck out on his own in the early ’70s, that’s when things really got cooking. His solo work was more playful, more Southern-fried, more him. Songs like “Stealin’ Watermelons,” “Sure Feels Good,” and “Travelin’ Shoes” became staples in my house—and still are. It wasn’t just blues. It was swampy, funky, soulful joy.

    And then, of course, there’s that song.

    In 1976, Elvin released “Fooled Around and Fell in Love,” with Mickey Thomas on vocals, and suddenly the whole world was listening. That tune still gets airplay to this day—and yeah, it’s smoother than most of his catalog, but that’s the magic of Elvin. He could do heartache just as well as humor. It was all part of the same human story.

    Seeing Elvin Live: The Church of the Groove

    If you’ve never seen Elvin Bishop live, do yourself a favor and fix that. I’ve seen him more times than I can count, and each show feels like a backyard barbecue where everybody’s invited. He comes out with that big ol’ red Gibson, cracks a few jokes, kicks into a groove, and suddenly you’re part of the band.

    He doesn’t just play for the crowd—he plays with the crowd. Between songs, he tells stories. Half the time you’re laughing so hard you almost forget he’s about to melt your face with a slide solo. And when he does let it rip, it’s all feel. No ego, no flash—just straight-from-the-heart blues.

    Elvin Bishop’s Big Fun Trio: The Second Wind

    Just when you think a guy might slow down, Elvin pulls out something like Elvin Bishop’s Big Fun Trio. Launched in the late 2010s with Bob Welsh and Willy Jordan, this stripped-down combo brought all the groove, grit, and humor of Elvin’s early days—but tighter and deeper.

    Songs like “Can’t Even Do Wrong Right” and “Southside Slide” are instant classics. And the trio’s chemistry? Off the charts. I caught them at a small venue a few years ago, and it felt like a masterclass in keeping the blues fresh without ever selling it out.

    Why Elvin Still Matters

    Some blues guys play with fire. Some play with pain. Elvin Bishop plays with life. He makes the blues fun without ever watering it down. He can make you laugh, dance, cry, and reflect—all within the same set. He’s never needed to chase trends or act like a guitar god. He just is who he is. And that authenticity shines through every note.

    He respects the blues tradition but refuses to be boxed in by it. That’s why Elvin Bishop still matters—and always will.

    Where to Start If You’re New

    Start with Struttin’ My Stuff (1975)—you’ll get the hits and the vibe. Then dig into Big Fun and Don’t Let the Bossman Get You Down!. If you’re in the mood for the raw stuff, go back to those Butterfield Blues Band records (East-West is a classic). And don’t miss anything from the Big Fun Trio—they’re living proof that you can age and evolve in the blues.

    More on Elvin’s current tours and music can be found at elvinbishopmusic.com.

    Elvin Bishop once said, “The blues is the truth.” And the truth is—nobody serves it up with more joy, grit, and personality than he does. Long live the groove.

    Thank you

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  • Son House – Grinnin in Your Face

    Son House – Grinnin in Your Face

    Meeting the Blues at the Crossroads: My Lifelong Love for Son House

    Somewhere in the middle of a scratchy old record, I met a voice that felt like it came from the earth itself—raw, ragged, full of thunder and sorrow. That voice belonged to Son House. And nothing in my musical life has ever been the same since.

    I didn’t find Son House through radio or recommendation. I found him digging through an old blues compilation in the corner of a record shop—the kind of place where the lights are dim and the dust carries stories. I picked up Father of the Delta Blues: The Complete 1965 Sessions because I’d heard the name before in reverent tones. I didn’t know I was about to get hit in the chest by something realer than anything I’d ever heard.

    The First Note That Broke Me

    When I dropped the needle on “Death Letter,” my knees damn near gave out.

    That slide guitar—gritty, wild, unpredictable—sounded like it had been dragged across broken glass and soaked in Mississippi mud. And then his voice. Oh man, that voice. It didn’t sing so much as testify. It shouted from the edge of a life full of pain, regret, God, and redemption. It was a sermon. It was a confession. It was the blues in its purest, most human form.

    That one song told me more about life, loss, and spiritual survival than years of school or sermons ever could.

    A Preacher, A Drifter, A Survivor

    Son House wasn’t just a musician—he was a preacher who couldn’t shake the devil’s music. That contradiction fueled everything he did. Born Eddie James House Jr. in 1902 in Mississippi, he started as a Baptist minister. But the pull of the blues—those steel strings and that slide—was too strong to resist.

    And that tension never left him. You can hear it in every track. Songs like “Preachin’ Blues” and “John the Revelator” aren’t just about religion or music—they’re about wrestling with the soul. The man didn’t play for your ears—he played for your truth.

    He recorded a few sides for Paramount in the 1930s, then disappeared—like so many Delta musicians of that era. And that might’ve been the end of the story if not for one of the greatest rediscoveries in music history.

    The 1960s: Son Rises Again

    When the blues revival hit in the ’60s, Son House was dragged back into the spotlight—literally. Alan Wilson (who would go on to form Canned Heat), along with a few blues historians, tracked him down in Rochester, New York, in 1964. The man hadn’t played in years. They put a guitar back in his hands—and the fire came roaring back.

    His 1965 Columbia sessions are the stuff of legend. To me, that’s where the real Son House lives. Older, slower, but deeper. When he sings “Grinnin’ in Your Face,” it’s just his voice and his hands. No guitar. No backup. Just him, clapping and warning us: “Don’t you mind people grinnin’ in your face.” If there’s a more direct line from artist to listener, I haven’t heard it.

    Seeing Him in Old Footage

    I never saw Son House live—he passed in 1988, and I came to him too late. But I’ve watched every grainy clip I could find. In those black-and-white frames, you see something sacred. His eyes close. His body shakes. His slide hand moves like he’s possessed. It’s not performance. It’s release. Like he’s purging demons in real time.

    Even when he could barely play due to age or arthritis, his presence filled the room. The guitar might stutter, but the truth never did.

    Why He Still Matters

    In a world of overproduction and overthinking, Son House is a thunderclap of authenticity. No polish. No perfection. Just the raw sound of a man searching for God and wrestling with the world through a beat-up steel guitar.

    He taught me that music doesn’t need to be pretty. It needs to be honest. That the crack in the voice is where the feeling lives. And that sometimes, the heaviest sound comes from a single voice and six strings.

    For the New Listener

    Start with Death Letter. You have to. Then go straight to John the Revelator and Preachin’ Blues. After that, dive into the 1965 Columbia recordings—every track a masterclass in grit and gospel. If you want to go deeper, find those early 1930s Paramount sides—low fidelity, but higher truth.

    If you’re really serious, hunt down some video footage on YouTube or in old documentaries like The Blues According to Lightnin’ Hopkins. Seeing Son House in motion changes everything.

    Son House didn’t just sing the blues. He became the blues. And once you’ve heard that sound, you carry it with you. Like a scar. Like a gift. Like a reminder that even in sorrow, there’s something sacred worth shouting about.

    Thank You

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  • Peter Green – Fleetwood Mac – Need Your Love So Bad

    Peter Green – Fleetwood Mac – Need Your Love So Bad

    The Haunted Beauty of Peter Green: A Fan’s Tribute to a Bluesman Like No Other

    Some guitarists impress you with speed. Others with flash.
    Peter Green? He broke your heart—with one note.

    I’ll never forget the first time I heard “Albatross.” I was 16, lying on the floor with a borrowed pair of headphones and a stack of vinyl from my older cousin. When that slow, shimmering guitar washed over me, I didn’t even know what to call it. It wasn’t a song—it was a feeling. I lay there, completely still, thinking: Who plays like this?

    That was the beginning of my love affair with Peter Green—and the start of a lifelong journey through the blues, the cosmos, and the quiet ache of the human soul.

    The Heart of Fleetwood Mac—Before the Pop Years

    Long before Fleetwood Mac became a stadium-filling pop-rock machine, it was a dirty, raw blues band led by a soft-spoken, shy genius named Peter Green. He formed the band in 1967 after a short but unforgettable stint with John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers—where he had the impossible task of following Eric Clapton.

    And somehow, he did. In fact, he didn’t just fill Clapton’s shoes—he made people forget they were ever there.

    Peter’s tone was warmer. Sadder. Wiser. There was no ego in it—just soul. Whether it was the mournful “Need Your Love So Bad” or the snarling “Oh Well,” you could hear the vulnerability, the hurt, the humanity. He wasn’t just playing the blues—he was the blues.

    A Guitarist Who Spoke Without Words

    People always talk about Peter’s 1959 Les Paul—“Greeny”—with its reversed pickup magnet, that signature out-of-phase tone. Sure, gearheads can get lost in that stuff. But the truth is, Peter could’ve played a broomstick with strings and still broken your heart.

    The way he phrased his solos—it was like he was having a quiet conversation with himself. Like he was searching for something he’d never find, but couldn’t stop reaching for. That vulnerability is what makes his music eternal.

    You want proof? Listen to “Man of the World.” It’s not just a song—it’s a soul laid bare. That lyric—“I just wish that I’d never been born”—cuts deeper than any guitar solo ever could. And yet, his guitar somehow says the same thing… without words.

    The Tragedy of Genius

    Peter’s story isn’t an easy one. At the height of Fleetwood Mac’s early success—with hits like “Black Magic Woman,” “The Green Manalishi,” and “Albatross”—he walked away. Fame, money, pressure… it all became too much. His battle with mental illness took him to dark places. For years, he disappeared from music entirely.

    I used to wonder what might’ve been—how high he could have flown if he’d stayed. But over time, I realized: what he gave us was enough. Maybe even more powerful because of the pain behind it.

    He didn’t burn out chasing fame. He gave us a few brief years of brilliance, and then faded into legend.

    The Comeback: Quiet, Humble, Powerful

    When Peter Green resurfaced in the late ’90s with the Splinter Group, I bought every album without hesitation. Was it the same Peter Green from Then Play On? No. But it was honest. Gentle. Grateful. It felt like watching a wounded bird find flight again—wings a little bent, but still soaring.

    I saw him live once during that period. He stood quietly off to the side, playing softly, letting the band do the heavy lifting. But every now and then, that old magic would flicker through his fingers. And when it did, you could hear the crowd hold their breath. We weren’t there to see a “comeback.” We were there to say thank you.

    Why Peter Green Still Haunts Me

    There are a lot of “greats” in the blues world. But Peter Green? He was something rarer: pure. He never chased trends. He didn’t need to scream to be heard. He whispered—and we leaned in.

    In a world full of shredders and showmen, Peter Green reminds me that the real power lies in restraint, in feel, in silence between the notes.

    He passed in 2020, and I still get choked up thinking about it. But when I put on Then Play On or The End of the Game, he’s still here with me. Still asking questions we’re all too afraid to say out loud.

    For the New Listener

    If you’re new to Peter Green, start with Bluesbreakers with Eric Clapton to see where he started. Then go straight to Fleetwood Mac’s early albums: Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac, Mr. Wonderful, Then Play On. Don’t miss “Man of the World,” “Love That Burns,” or “The Supernatural.” Then dive into the Splinter Group years.

    Every phase of his career has something to teach you—about music, about emotion, about being human.

    Peter Green didn’t just play the blues. He felt it so deeply, he bled it into every note. And that’s why, all these years later, we still hear him calling from somewhere far away… and we still listen.

    Thank You

    We appreciate your time and dedication to reading our article. For more of the finest blues guitar music, make sure to follow our Facebook page, “I Love Blues Guitar”. We share exceptional selections every day. Thank you once again for your continued support and readership.