Blues Music

Zen Buddhism has been my practice, and coupled with psychological work has aided in my establishment of a sober life. But to deal with the shit Wolf expressed, it may be useful to invoke the Vajrayana masters.

By Henry Blanke

 

It could be a spoonful of diamonds. It could be a spoonful of gold.

I first heard these lyrics as a teenager sung by Eric Clapton with Cream.

But when later I heard them sung—no growled—by Chicago bluesman Howlin Wolf it was a whole other thing. “Men lies about that. Men cries about that.”

At 23 I was going through a bad breakup with the first woman I ever loved and when he sang, Just a spoonful of your precious love would satisfy my soul, I felt that I understood. A decade later I heard the menace: But one spoonful of lead from my .45 will save you from another man.

Gangsta rap had not hit the scene yet, but I was not unfamiliar with Black musical representations of obsessive love and violence—two tropes of the blues. And when, years later I was battling my own substance abuse issues I understood that Wolf’s Spoonful (written by bassist Willie Dixon) also referred to heroin.

For the devastating impact of the piece listen to the recording.

Wolf’s voice is some kind of primal sandpaper growl which occasionally breaks into a weird yodel. Hubert Sumlin’s spidery guitar lines subtly  insinuate themselves around the immense vocals, and Willie Dixon’s greasy bass anchors it all.

That music, serious as a cardiac and almost resigned to anguish, is an archetypal expression of unquenchable desire and attachment which the Buddha saw as the cause of the dissatisfaction and suffering endemic to human life. He spoke of the existential suffering of illness, aging and death. But there is also social dukkha resulting from inequality, poverty, racism and injustice. Those wanting to understand the latter can do no better than to explore Black American music.

Chester Arthur Burnett was born into dire poverty and a violent home near the Mississippi Delta.

The year was 1910, a time when blues music was emerging. As a young musician his mentor was Charlie Patton and he imbibed the expressive power of Blind Lemon Jefferson, Sonny Boy Williamson and other Delta bluesmen. After murdering the violent boyfriend of a female friend Burnett was forced to flee the area making it to Memphis where he was signed by Leonard Chess’ Chicago record label.

It was there that he adopted the moniker Howling Wolf (a name befitting his ferocious voice and imposing statue) and joined Muddy Waters, Little Walter and the progenitors of electric Chicago Blues. It was this music that captivated a generation of aspiring rock and rollers. (The Rolling Stones took their name from one of Muddy Waters’ songs).

Contrary to what many believe, the blues is not woe-is-me music. It is about transcending life’s vicissitudes with style and elegant expression. Wolf survived the unimaginable tribulations of being a Black man in the rural South to become one of the most important and influential musicians of the 20th century.

Certainly Shakyamuni had in mind the desire for and clinging to material wealth, sexuality and other transient gratifications (“spoonful of diamonds … gold … precious love”), but could not have anticipated the kind of desperate craving for opiates which destroys lives. Addiction is no mere attachment. It is a demonic, all consuming need which the song makes palpable.

Wolf knew well the ravages of heroin addiction in the Chicago ghetto and probably often witnessed spoonfulls of dope being cooked.

For his friend Little Walter, the greatest urban harmonica (blues harp) player who ever lived, it was alcohol which ruined his career and cost his life. For Black artists in an anti-Black, anti-art society the consolations of addiction must have been that much more irresistible. But Spoonful’s artistic force and clarity carry the seed of transcendence.

Zen Buddhism has been my practice, and coupled with psychological work has aided in my establishment of a sober life. But to deal with the shit Wolf expressed, it may be useful to invoke the Vajrayana masters.

I am thinking of the famed “crazy wisdom” and Tantric technics of Marpa, Milarepa, Gampopa and their successors. These esoteric practices are employed to engage and conquer the things which people lose their (non) souls to. The power and allure of intoxication and taboo practices are harnessed and directed toward a spiritual goal.

But where is the affirmation—the “spirituality”—if any, in Howlin Wolf’s music?

I would suggest starting with two of his classic songs: Shake For Me and Wang Dang Doodle. These  are raucous, celebratory tunes. It is Saturday night party music for people who have been worked near to death all week. It is meant to revive flagging spirits and sustain a people.

Now in my later years, I am hearing this music, which I have been listening to for 40 years, as both cautionary and joyous sources of wisdom. Again, if you wish to gain insight into suffering, pain, obsessive attachment and their transcendence in the 20th century open yourself to Howlin Wolf and the other blues masters.

 

 

Henry Blanke is a long time Soto Zen Buddhist and enjoys writing poetry and essays, jazz music and cooking Italian food for friends and lovers. He lives like a monk in Queens, NY.

 

 

 

Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

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