Issue
MAY, JUNE, JULY
2009
Legendary New Orleans guitarist Snooks Eaglin died of a heart attack at Ochsner Medical Center in the Crescent City this past February 18. He also had been battling advanced prostate cancer since September of 2008. He was 73.
Although not a household name outside of the “Big Easy” because he eschewed traveling, he was held in the highest esteem by not only his peers but also his promoters. Quint Davis, one of the founders of the annual New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, remarked at his passing that “his death is like losing a Dizzy Gillespie, a Professor Longhair, Johnny Adams, or a Gatemouth Brown. He’s one of those unique giants of New Orleans music.”
And John Blancher, another close friend and manager of the venue, Mid-City Lanes Rock ‘N’ Bowl, wherein Snooks was a monthly fixture up until recently (July), added that “more celebrities came to see Snooks than anybody else. His reputation was as big as anyone’s.” Artists such as Eric Clapton, Robert Plant, and Bonnie Raitt often sought him out to pay homage.
He was a familiar figure around town in uptown clubs like the Maple Leaf or Muddy Waters’ or even in the French Quarter at Storyville or upstairs at the House of Blues. Invariably attired in shades and sitting hunched over while playing, this slight but sinewy performer had a knack for engaging in easy repartee with especially the tourists and, much to the chagrin of his sidemen, like British expatriate pianist Jon Cleary or bassist George Porter (of Meters fame), took all manner of requests from the audience. In fact, he was billed as the “human jukebox” and boasted to have mastered an enormous repertoire of over 2,500 selections, a claim evidently no one cared (or dared) to refute. During a set he was just as likely to play a funky version of “Malaguena” (a personal favorite learned from a disk by Flamenco guitarist Carlos Montoya) as well as a down home gut bucket, bawdy blues number like “Meet Me With Your Black Drawers On.” In this respect, he was very similar to another equally prolific, frequent visitor, guitarist and fiddle player Gatemouth Brown, who, in order to appeal to a wider market, would even pair two widely dissimilar tunes on one 45 rpm release, like “Ain’t That Dandy” and Kurt Weill’s “September Song”(Peacock 1662). Nevertheless, Eaglin’s versatility served him in good stead; so much so, that he never wanted for gigs or special assignments, however diverse or even abstruse.
As most musicians, including Allen Toussaint, point out, he developed a unique heavy handed approach to the guitar. While singing, he would forcefully flail at the strings in unison using his thumbnail (no picks) and during the solos really bend them to their limit and, more often than not, beyond. Chuck Badie, renowned studio bassist who backed him in the 60s, described his method as “attacking” the instrument. Undoubtedly, this was an unorthodox technique he perfected as a street player in order to be heard over the ambient noise; just as in the case of a shouter like Big Joe Turner who had to learn to project his voice over the din of the club when amplification was not available.
Although sightless, the young boy soon became a handful--a playful rascal, or an “enfant terrible;” so much so, that the father bestowed upon him the colorful moniker, “Snooks,” after the troublemaking radio character of the 40s, Baby Snooks. And it was probably of some relief to the father, at the earliest opportunity, to have dispatched him up river to the Louisiana School for the Blind in Baton Rouge sixty miles away. Nonetheless, his close associates remarked how he continued to be the devilish, rowdy prankster throughout his life, a glimpse of which was often manifested in his unpredictable stage show, wherein he would often play with the guitar over his head or behind his back or while even sprawled out on the floor. Also, as a weaver of outrageous and outlandish “blues stories” to regale his comrades, he was second to none or at least in the same league as Hubert Sumlin, former longtime lead guitarist for Howlin’ Wolf. One example—bragging of driving his inebriated band mates home from a late night gig, using only the gravel shoulders of the road as a guide. Another was swearing (and complaining) that he was kept awake all night in Bearsville (Woodstock, NY) by snowflakes falling on the studio’s roof (during one of his few forays outside of Louisiana).
In 1952 at sixteen and back in New Orleans, Snooks was recruited along with drummer James Jackson and singer, Ernie K-Doe, by the then fourteen-year-old pianist Allen Toussaint, who was forming a seven-piece horn driven R&B group, the Flamingos (not to be confused with the storied do-whop quartet who recorded for Chance, Parrot, Checker, and End) which would play high school dances and social events. Later they would compete for gigs around town with the equally precocious Hawketts, with another pianist, Art Neville, also at the helm. His reputation was already such that not only was he handling the guitar chores for the Flamingos but also was being frequently called upon to back other outfits. One remarkable session was the November, 1953, séance at Cosimo Matassa’s old J&M studio at Dumaine and Rampart which yielded “Jock-O-Mo” (Checker 787, by pianist/vocalist James “Sugarboy” Crawford). This mambo with its infectious second line beat would soon become a staple of Mardi Gras and eventually would evolve into the popular “Iko Iko” by the Dixie Cups and later Dr. John.
Toward the end of the decade after the departure of Toussaint, the Flamingos disbanded and Snooks, himself, gathered a few musicians together forming an R&B combo and advertised himself as “Little Ray Charles,” a singer he both admired and from whom he appropriated more than a few vocal idiosyncrasies, especially the spontaneous exclamations. When club work became scarce or studio obligations declined, he took to the streets in the French Quarter as a one-man band busking for tips. It was in the Jackson Square vicinity in 1958 that he was first spotted by folklorist and musicologist, Harry Oster.
Oster (1923-2001) who spent the bulk of his career (1964-1994) in the same capacity for the University of Iowa, College of Liberal Arts and Science, then was stationed at Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, his alma mater, and had already distinguished himself with A Sampler of Louisiana Folksongs and would go on to record the magnificent Angola Prisoners’ Blues (including Robert Pete Williams). In short, Oster was mesmerized by not only Eaglin’s extensive play list but also his prowess with the guitar and, after winning his confidence, persuaded him into recording a prodigious amount of material, which included a mixed bag of folk, current R&B tunes, traditional blues, and some country numbers. The first was a solo undertaking, Snooks Eaglin: New Orleans Street Singer, which, since he had no label as yet, he leased to Moe Asch’s Folkways (FA 2476). This vinyl album, long out of print, was reissued in the CD format in 1994 by Smithsonian Folkways (SFW-CD40165). In addition, Oster also licensed this same compilation to Storyville records, a Danish concern conceived in 1950 and operated by jazz and blues enthusiast, Karl Emil Knudsen (d.2003), who first issued it in 1964 as Storyville #119 with the same title.
A second project followed closely on the heels of the original but was a collaboration between Snooks and a couple of chums, Percy Randolph on harmonica and Lucius Bridges on rubboard---New Orleans Washboard Blues (FL LP 107, I)--on Oster’s newly inaugurated Folk-Lyric logo. Shortly thereafter, this second platter was abridged, reissued, and renamed after its first track, Possum Up A Simmon Tree (FL LP 107, II). In 1971 Chris Strachwitz of Arhoolie bought the Folk-Lyric catalogue from Oster, including this latter venture. He reissued it under his own aegis, retaining the same title (LP 2014). It, too, has been augmented and re-released as an Arhoolie CD, Country Boy in New Orleans (CD 348) and is currently in stock.
But Oster was far from finished with his “important find.” During yet a second session in 1959, Oster recorded That’s All Right by Blind Snooks Eaglin (this time tackling at times the 12-string guitar) which was distributed in 1961 by Bluesville (1046), a Prestige subsidiary, and reissued as CD 568-2 in 1994. By 1960, it was back to the studio with another host of solo recordings which made their way to Aussie Tony Standish’s Heritage label as Snooks Eaglin: Message from New Orleans (1002), evidently only released in the United Kingdom (also as an EP 301). And from this 1960 session also came two1964 projects which were originally leased to Storyville, Snooks Eaglin: Blues from New Orleans Vol. 1(SLP 140) from which an EP was extracted and Snooks Eaglin: Portraits in Blues Vol. I. (SLP 146). Selected cuts from these two latter Storyville albums, as well as the previously mentioned #119, have since 1994 been combined into one CD, New Orleans Street Singer (STCD 8023).
As a result of all this activity, Snooks soon caught the ear of Dave Bartholomew, trumpeter, producer, and de facto A&R man for Lew Chudd’s Los Angeles-based Imperial records. Over the years, Bartholomew not only supervised and participated in nearly all the studio sessions of Fats Domino but also had a hand in either scouting out or overseeing the recordings of nearly all the Imperial artists of the Crescent City—Bobby Charles, the Spiders, Bobby Mitchell, Smiley Lewis, the Barons, Roy Brown, Chris Kenner, etc. And Snooks himself was happy to shed the image of a lone “country” performer in favor of being supported with a sophisticated, big band treatment. For the most part, especially the latter recordings, this orchestra consisted of Fats Domino’s band with Bartholomew on trumpet, Meyer Kennedy on alto, Clarence Hall and Warren Payne on tenors, Clarence Ford on baritone, James Booker on piano, Frank Fields on bass, and Robert French or Smokey Johnson on drums. From the period 1960-1963, Snooks (as Ford Eaglin) issued a total of nine singles culled from five separate sessions. And although many of the numbers were penned by Bartholomew (including the first, “Yours Truly,” first attempted by Pee Wee Clayton), none really achieved the desired commercial results. By the way, the whole output of Eaglin’s Imperial tenure, 26 different tracks in all, can be obtained in the CD format as The Complete Imperial Recordings on Capitol, reissued in 1995.
Unfortunately for Snooks, to use Dr. John’s expression, “he was in the right place but it must have been the wrong time,” joining Imperial as a “Johnny come lately,” not during its golden age of the 50s. By the end of Eaglin’s Imperial contract, the British Invasion was already on the horizon and New Orleans-style R&B was well on the wane. Even Fats wasn’t selling like before and had moved on to ABC-Paramount. Lew Chudd’s other “bread and butter” act, teen idol Ricky Nelson (not a New Orleans artist), also had jumped ship to Decca. At that juncture, Chudd was looking, not to promote his dwindling stable of artists, but to unload his label, which he did to Liberty records in 1964.
During this period, Snooks Eaglin was more renowned abroad (many glowing testimonials like British band leader Alexis Korner abound) than even at home in the Big Easy and just after he parted ways with Imperial, a Swedish recording team came to call and taped a solo effort in his own home which first aired over the Swedish Broadcasting System and then was released as an LP, I Blueskvarter Vol. 3. But by the middle to late 60s, urban blues had fallen out of disfavor and Snooks had to find work catch-as-catch-can in the clubs lining Rampart Street and also served a three year stint as a member of the house band of the local Playboy Club, situated on Iberville between Bourbon and Royal in the Vieux Carre.
If the late 60s represented a lull in Snooks Eaglin’s career, the 70s would signal a professional resurrection. And two key figures were instrumental in his return to the public arena—the late R&B pianist Willie Tee Turbinton of “Teasin’ You” (Atlantic #2273, 1965) fame and Quint Davis. After leaving Capitol in 1970, Willie commenced his own label, Gatur, which would be the vehicle for publicizing his own group, the Gaturs, which included brother Earl on sax and stalwart guitarist Snooks. During one of the Gaturs first concerts at Tulane University in 1970, then opening for the Wild Magnolias, an Indian aggregate which featured a battery of percussion, they were overheard by Quint Davis. Davis at the time was involved in student government at the college and this soon to be impresario of JazzFest suggested that Willie’s ensemble temporarily join forces with the Mardi Gras outfit and cut a record. What transpired was a fruitful collaboration which would eventually lead to yet another carnival standard, “Handa Wanda” (Crescent City #25). Overseen by Davis (pseudonym Cosmic Q), the artist is credited as (Big Chief) Bo Dollis & the Wild Magnolia Mardi Gras Indian Band. Intrigued by the enthusiastic reception of this platter, French talent scout, Philippe Rault of Barclay, commissioned Willie to personally direct an album intended for European audiences. This 1974 LP, Wild Magnolias, recorded in Bogalusa and released on Barclay was hugely accepted abroad. In fact, Willie’s combo (now called the New Orleans Project) was invited to promote the album in such exotic and opulent locales as Monte Carlo, Cannes, Antibes, and Montreux. But despite this tantalizing offer, Snooks Eaglin declined, being replaced on the tour by Erving Charles, and remained at home. After such an unexpected monetary bonanza overseas, Polydor saw fit to release the project domestically, as well as one of Willie Tee’s crowd pleasing compositions from the same package, “Smoke My Peace Pipe” (PD 14242), as a single, which reached #74 on the Billboard R&B chart. Eaglin would also contribute to a follow up album in 1975, They Call Us Wild, also on Barclay which eventually surfaced in the U.S. in 1990 as I’m Back …at Carnival Time on Rounder. In 2007, both Barclay LPs were reissued as a double CD on the independent, Manhattan-headquartered Sunnyside logo (SSC3068).
But Quint Davis, even before his Wild Magnolia experiment, was so impressed with the talent of Snooks that he decided to pair him with another “discovery”---rumba playing pianist, Professor Longhair (Henry Roeland Byrd)---who was then toiling in obscurity as a janitor in the French Quarter. And it turned out to be a stroke of genius, as the duo made a triumphant appearance at the second installment of JazzFest in 1971 then held in Beauregard Square (now Louis Armstrong Park). It was to be the first of many return engagements at this annual jamboree for both “Fess” and his new partner.
Davis was eager to record the twosome later that same year but began by producing a solo session in June for Eaglin. Although extremely enthusiastic about the undertaking, Davis could find no domestic takers to distribute it; but a Swedish concern, Sonet, mostly a jazz oriented label founded in 1956 by Sven Lindholm and Gunnar Bergstrom, stepped up to market it as an export---Legacy of the Blues, Vol. 2 which is now a 2005 Verve CD (80006275), Sonet Blues Story: Snooks Eaglin Vol. I. In 1978, Davis’s associate and former longtime Crescent City resident, Samuel Charters, also supervised another Snooks Eaglin endeavor in which he executed some classic New Orleans tunes in the company of pianist Ellis Marsallis, tenor Clarence Ford, and drummer Robert French---Down Yonder: Snooks Eaglin Today!—the masters of which were procured stateside by GNP Crescendo. Since Charters had by then relocated to Sweden to protest the Vietnam War, he sought to obtain the disk for Sonet in his newly adopted homeland. It, too, has been reissued on a Verve CD in 2005 as the Sonet Blues Story: Snooks Eaglin Vol. II.
In the fall of 1971, Quint Davis secured a studio in Baton Rouge for a session involving Professor Longhair, Snooks Eaglin, bassist George Davis (and writer of Aaron Neville’s “Tell It Like It Is”), and Joseph “Zigaboo” Modeliste, longtime Meters percussionist. From the outset, the chemistry between these seasoned veterans was quite apparent, as they created a slew of spirited, rollicking New Orleans style demos, replete with shouts and hollers. The next year in Memphis, many of this same cast of characters, including Snooks Eaglin, added more samples to this body of work. According to Karl Bremer in an article in Blues Access, Jerry Wexler, one of the principals of independent Atlantic records, somehow came to hear the acetates of the sessions and became intrigued as to their marketability. The recently late Wexler himself had conducted the 1953 Atlantic recordings of the legendary keyboardist which appeared as Professor Longhair: New Orleans Piano. Bremer goes on to report that Wexler contacted friend and super agent, Albert Grossman (Simon & Garfunkel, Bob Dylan, The Band, and Janis Joplin), who during that era ran perhaps the most state-of-the-art recording facility in America in Bearsville, NY, and inquired whether Grossman could arrange for some studio time there for these individuals. And, in short, the producer welcomed the musicians, with the addition of Earl Turbinton on sax, to his headquarters in upstate New York. But amazingly the material of all three or more of these sessions lay moldering in their respective vaults until Rounder records finally came to the rescue and unearthed them in 1987, a good seven years after the death of Professor Longhair. House Party New Orleans: The Lost Sessions 1971-72 reissued in 1990 as a double CD remains for posterity the most definitive of any Professor Longhair collection and also amply demonstrates the incredible virtuosity of his lead guitarist.
By the dawn of the 80s, the climate for blues music had again become more favorable, prompting brothers, Hammond and the late Nauman Scott, to try their luck with a New Orleans-based blues label, Black Top. To take advantage of this new resurgence in popularity, they spared no expense (probably against their better instincts), including hiring the best sidemen available in the New Orleans community (some from Antone’s house band in Austin, like tenor Kaz Kazanoff) and engaging the best Big Easy recording facility, Ultrasonic (with great engineer David Farrell at the console), in order to present their hand picked artists in the best light. Being blues aficionados, they weren’t about to let a local treasure like Snooks Eaglin slip through their fingers, and, in fact accorded him with no less than five albums among their 100 plus releases before Black Top went belly up in 1999.
By 1987, the Hammond brothers, after a considerable bit of coaxing, contracted Snooks Eaglin for Black Top and issued his initial effort, Baby You Can Get Your Gun (BT 1037), in which he is joined by Crescent City all pros David Lastie on sax, Erving Charles on bass, and Smokey Johnson on drums. Described as an “earthly delight” by music critic, Bill Dahl, in the AMG All Music Guide to the Blues, it is in fact a blueprint of the albums to follow, a mélange which mirrors his stage show. As usual there are a few nods to the nuggets of natives, like Tommy Ridgley’ s “Lavinia” and Earl King’s title track. And typically there is that odd instrumental thrown in like the Ventures’ “Profidia” (sic) and a long forgotten do-whop gem from the early 50s, “Mary Jo,” by the Four Blazes (perhaps the only time anyone’s bothered to redo the song). On his next album on Black Top in 1989, Out of Nowhere (BT 1046), he utilizes Texas born guitarist Anson Funderburgh’s band (another superb Black Top artist) and not only ably executes several Big Easy classics by Benny Spellman, Smiley Lewis, and again Tommy Ridgley but also adds a 50s R&B chestnut by the recently late shouter Nappy Brown “Wella Wella Baby-La,” a late 60s funk gem, “It’s Your Thing” by the Isley Brothers, and a solo version of the 50s pop standard, “Kiss of Fire.” His third project for Black Top in 1992, Teasin’ You (BT 1072), has been universally acclaimed as his best not only for his gospel flavored covers of New Orleans favorites by Lloyd Price, Willie Tee, Earl King, and Professor Longhair but also for his choice of a rhythm section with George Porter Jr. on bass and Herman Earnest III on drums, who added quite a wallop to the proceedings. Not wanting to change the formula of success, the Scott brothers again paired Snooks with the same rhythm section in his fourth and last studio trial for Black Top in 1995, Soul’s Edge (BT 1112), wherein he again leads the listener all over the R&B map spanning several decades—Joe Simon’s powerful “Nine Pound Hammer,” the Midnighters’ “Let’s Go, Let’s Go, Let’s Go,” the Four Keys’ novelty, “Ling Ting Tong,” and even Bill Haley’s “Skinnie Minnie.” Finally his fifth and final undertaking for Black Top, Live in Japan (BT 1137), was culled from two nights of performances at the Park Tower Hall in Tokyo in December, 1995. And according to reviewer Cub Koda, “this album clearly illustrates what an astonishing breadth and depth there is to the music Snooks Eaglin chooses to interpret” and “puts him in the forefront along side any new breed innovators you’d care to name.” In commenting upon how Snooks, by turning it inside out, could transform a common New Orleans composition into another entity altogether, Koda had only one regret--“this one [concert] makes you wish you had been there.” Originally issued in Japan on P-Vine in 1996 as Soul Train from Nawlins: Live at Park Tower Blues Festival, it was released in the States in 1997.
Not only did Snooks Eaglin author his own productions on Black Top but also he aided other label mates along the way in theirs, including the late guitarist Earl King and pianists Henry Butler (a former classmate of Snooks’ in Baton Rouge) and Tommy Ridgley. Although Black Top officially folded in 1999, the Scott brothers undertook one last enterprise involving Snooks in 2002 (the year of Nauman’s death), The Way It Is on Money Pit records, an appropriate designation for the label, considering how much the brothers had invested while promoting the blues for nearly a quarter century. It would be Snooks’ last venture in the studio.
In 2006, the aforementioned P-Vine records of Japan acquired the worldwide rights to all five of Snooks Eaglin’s Black Top albums and the rest of Black Top’s roster and, since then, has been methodically reissuing selective CDs. Most recently, Hep Cat Records at Collector’s Choice Music has been engaged in the same pursuit, but with items intended for domestic consumption.
On Friday, February 27, practically the whole New Orleans music community, fans, close friends, and former managers and handlers, like Quint Davis and John Blancher, gathered at the Howlin’ Wolf club at 907 S. Peters Street in the Warehouse District to pay their last respects to one of their own heroes, Snooks Eaglin, who was laid out there from 9 a.m. until noon at one of his favorite haunts. It was Irma Thomas who first took to the podium to sing the spiritual, “There’s Room at the Cross for You.” Thereafter, from a large pool of artists, an impromptu all star band was assembled to accompany hymns and play musical tributes, including Allen Toussaint on piano, Michael White on clarinet, Deacon John on guitar, Rockin’ Dopsie Jr. on tambourine, Preservation Hall’s Ben Jaffe on tuba, Reggie Hall (of the Clowns) on organ, and vocalists Charmaine Neville and Clarence “Frogman” Henry. Finally, after the obsequies concluded indoors, the procession stepped outside and in behind the Hot 8 Brass Band, who commenced the jazz funeral with the dirge, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” He was later buried that day at Providence Park Cemetery at 8200 Airline Drive. Surviving him are a daughter, two stepsons, and his loyal wife of over four decades, Dorthea “Dee” Eaglin.
During my many trips to New Orleans over the years, I have probably never met a more eccentric or enigmatic a musician as Snooks. From our first encounter, I always recognized his singular talent and made every effort thereafter to catch his act. Being a blues fan and a writer, I’d often ask him for an interview during his break, a request that was never granted. So, in fact, I had to cobble this obituary from a variety of second-hand sources; one of the few I’ve ever attempted without going straight to the horse’s mouth, so to speak. And, evidently, he had rebuffed more than quite a few scribes and reporters during his lifetime, who also share my frustration. Nonetheless, I felt compelled to relate his accomplishments to the world, even if he didn’t share them with me; so much was I taken with his genius.
But not only was he stubborn, reclusive, and elusive when not performing—he kept to his wife and a small circle of intimates (especially Blancher) in west New Orleans in St. Rose but also, to the detriment of a career, he supposedly harbored deep religious convictions as well. According to Black Top staff pianist Ron Levy, who backed Eaglin on his first album, he was a strict Seventh Day Adventist and this particular faith precluded him from entertaining from Friday night until dusk on Saturday—in other words, he observed the Old Testament Sabbath as well as all the normal Christian holidays. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever saw him on a Friday. But how “devout” could he have been when he drank during each performance, each of which had its risqué or downright raunchy interludes? How he could reconcile these two dissimilar character traits had always been a mystery to his confidants.
Memorial Jam Session and Second Line
at Snooks Eaglin Funeral Service
www.youtube.com/watch?v=fN5oObnGK7Y
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ik9vYKqul4recorded on 2009-2-27th at Howlin Wolf
and on the streets of New Orleans
with Charmaine Neville, Clarence "Frogman" Henry, Jason Jackson, Reggie Hall, Rockin' Dopsie Jr., Allen Toussaint, Dr. Michael White, Deacon John,
Preservation Hall's Ben Jaffe
video © by Beate Sandor 2009
www.beatesandor.com
------ Larry Benicewicz, Baltimore Blues Society
Made with Macintosh
