Here’s a cosmic riddle for you: A blind man and a mod walk into a bar…. Is it a coffee bar, with a make-shift stage on a corner platform, attended by the beatnik intelligentsia?, or is it a sweaty discotheque packed with beautiful people unabashedly swinging their hips? It’s definitely a transmogrifying chamber where the musical output of a sharecropper or convict from the work farm can be turned into sexy jazzbo stylings through the sleight of hand of some nifty cultural appropriation and syncopated finesse.

There are many manifestations of the “blues” and here we have two vastly different - practically unrecognizable from each other - masters - Sleepy John Estes (1899-1977), and George Fame (born 1943) - existing across the pond, across generations, and across many layers of lived experience, but bonded by their singular love of this primitive music that started in the Mississippi delta, and went on to conquer the world.

SLEEPY JOHN ESTES

Everybody thought that Sleepy John Estes was dead because Big Bill Broonzy said so. Blind in one eye, folks called him “sleepy” because of a low blood pressure disorder, or some believed he had narcolepsy. He started recording in the 20’s with Hammie Nixon on harp, made some records, went basically “radio silent” throughout the 40s and 50s until Sam Charters rediscovered him in 1962, blind and frail, and kick-started his late in life fame. “Rats in my Kitchen” was recorded at Sun Studios in 1952, but it wasn’t until 10 years later that his recording career gained traction, fueled by those he was influencing across the pond, like Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin. Sleepy John always wrote about his life, and this record has an almost journalistic authenticity.

GEORGIE FAME

What can one say about Georgie Fame? The man has style for days, and it was thus from the very beginning - in shark skin suits, tab collars, and skinny ties. Born in 1943 as Clive Powell, Georgie Fame and his Blue Flames made their bones swinging his Hammond organ in the mod clubs of the early 60s, and had big commercial hits with Yeh Yeh, and The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde. Recently, he’s name checked all over the place, and has done notable collaborations with Van Morrison and others.

In Parchman Farm you can hear the undeniable influence of the coolest of the cool white blues men, Mose Allison, and the organ of Booker T and the MGs’ Green Onions - a persuasive combination. I’m sure that Bukka White, who wrote this bottle neck Delta blues shouter in 1940 had no inkling that his experience in the Mississippi State Pen would become such a sexy signature tune. You never can tell….

"In 1960s New York City lived a blind, often homeless man with a long, flowing beard, who dressed as a Viking and stood sentinel at the corner of West 54th Street and Sixth Avenue in midtown Manhattan. He sold his poetry and performed on custom-built percussion. His recordings are considered legendary pieces of original sound emanating from a unique artist who continues to be misunderstood and under appreciated."

"Nico was used to being treated as a physical spectacle. At the Dom, Leonard Cohen was a regular guest, and he began writing songs in hopes of seducing her. Her improbable bone structure, and her role in “La Dolce Vita,” intrigued prominent rock managers like Albert Grossman, who worked with Bob Dylan. But her songs were less appealing, and the Dom’s clientele often laughed through her set. She was eventually accompanied on guitar by Tim Buckley, and then by Jackson Browne, who had just arrived in New York. Browne became enamored with Nico, and before they fell out—she accused him of harassing her with obscene phone calls—he gave her two songs: “The Fairest of the Seasons” and “These Days,” both of which appeared on her 1967 début, “Chelsea Girl.”-

Here are a couple of ladies who span generations and genres. They can rock, swing, and croon like nobody’s business, and are renown for their independence. Wanda Jackson is a founding mother of Rockabilly and still partying at 88; She started recording in 1954, and just recently retired. Although she forged the magical fusion elixir that we call Rockabilly, she has also scored hits in the Gospel and Country genres.

Sarah Jarosz, 50+ years younger, studied at the New England Conservatory of Music, but remains pure Texas, like Nanci Griffith or Lyle Lovett - indie Americana artists who fuse country with jazz in an irresistible freshness. She has stated that she relishes expansion, collaboration, and experimentation, with a goal toward “honoring the song” and bringing it to life in the most exciting way possible.

Both women are accomplished songwriters as well as vocal interpreters, but today we feature them in the latter position - Wanda, from 1962, keens the vertiginous “Whirlpool”, by Fred Burch and Marijohn Wilken, and Sarah crushes Tom Wait’s “Come on Up to the House” with a funky mandolin.

SARAH JAROSZ

I first heard Sarah Jarosz about 10 years ago on Garrison Keillor’s radio show, and was smitten immediately. Her tender, and at the same time fluid voice and funky mandolin charms completely - reminding me of the great John Hartford and how he transformed bluegrass to Newgrass. She continued after Garrison left with successor Chris Thile, teaming up with Sarah Watkins, another star from that ensemble, and Aoife O’Donovan to form the trio I’m With Her. At 34, no longer a prodigy, she has become a contemporary bluegrass goddess, who keeps expanding her range. Here she essays Tom Wait’s Come on up to the House, in which she manages to combine spirituality with sex appeal - brilliant.

WANDA JACKSON

Whirlpool is like a psychedelic Torch Song. Uncharacteristically, Wanda takes the role of a vulnerable, love damaged damsel instead of the Take No Prisoners, kick-ass Rocker she usually projects. Released on Capitol Records and produced by their A&R exec, Ken Nelson, this cut obviously is swinging for the bleachers of commercial Country appeal, but its weirdness kept it from charting. However, it remains a monument to her range and dramatic power.