“He pitches as though he’s double parked.”
-Pitcher Bob Gibson as described by announcer Vin Scully
***
Singer and guitarist Black Joe Lewis opens the show with the briefest of introductions:
“We’ve been playing like this for a while. Hope you like it. We’re not going to stop for a while.”
Moments later, he is torching the joint, soaring through an extended instrumental break, not fast or flashy, but somehow making it feel as if he’s propelled us to the middle of the set, skipping the warm up songs that bands and audiences use to acclimate, suss each other out. Lewis and his band, the Honeybears, get to the flow so quickly I lose track of conventional markers such as time and lyrics and song structures. Are they purposefully steering away from those elements in order to generate a different kind of energy? Or are they simply ready to roll, like Bob Gibson?
***
The club’s website listed Lewis and the Honeybears as the opening act but offered no bio. No links either. That’s common treatment for openers, but I think a musician named Black Joe Lewis merits more context, not less, especially at a club that primarily books classic rock (read: white) tribute bands. I checked out Black Joe Lewis online and two songs later I bought a ticket. It didn’t matter who the headliner was. Even through lousy laptop speakers those initial songs sparked immediately. Lewis’ vocals and guitar playing were striking, like the talents of Howlin’ Wolf and Hubert Sumlin in one person. Directed, undiluted, but also contemporary and pushing forward. I was ready to hear more.
***
I was also ready to learn more about his stage name. It reminded me of the nicknames foisted upon African Americans who find themselves the only Black person in an otherwise all white scene—Black Vanessa or Black Rob—racist names thinly veiled behind empty claims of “Just kidding!” or “What? It’s true, isn’t it?” I was fortunate to find the following by Mira Kaplan writing for World Cafe:
“Lewis’ stage name, Black Joe, is a reference to ‘Old Black Joe,’ a song penned by the controversial American songwriter Stephen Foster. His songs were known for evoking slave narratives and plantation music. On a friend’s suggestion, Lewis decided to take the name ‘Black Joe’ in order to reclaim the blues and center blackness.”
***
In some ways, Lewis presents a low key approach to that reclamation and centering. He minimizes banter. He sits throughout the show, wearing jeans and a blue button-up shirt, wrinkle free. Either so much contrast with his powerful performance or perfectly consistent with his style of pyrotechnics; engineers and demolition workers don’t dress like Lady Gaga when they blow shit up, right? Regardless, Lewis blazes, pushes so much energy into the room. He plays with his thumb and forefinger, no pick, and blasts through a surprisingly small, sidekick amp with a sticker that reads, “Shoot your local pedophile.” Dude is definitely from Texas. Lewis can surf long vamps and hypnotize like RL Boyce. Other times he opts for a one person call and response—posing and answering his own questions—in ways that brush up against Cedric Burnside. Then again Boyce and Burnside hail from Mississippi, two states east.
Later when the band kicks into an upbeat number, there’s a touch of Jimmy Nolen, those highwire guitar sounds that slice through the mix before Lewis and the Honeybears rendezvous to stomp through another chorus. Theirs is blues in the broadest and best sense, blending so much of what emanates from the blues—funk, punk, garage, soul, R&B, all the best stuff. But the point is not to roll call subgenres. Those are merely landmarks across a stunningly rich topography, well-suited for finding or losing yourself as you see fit. As Lewis sings on “Come to My Party,” “I got all the good jams…and we don’t talk about politics and woe/The answers to life is on the dance floor!”
***
“ROCK N’ ROLL
IS
BLACK MUSIC
ROCK N’ ROLL
IS
AUTHENTICALLY
BLACK
NO ONE
WILL
ERASE US
FROM
ROCK N’ ROLL”
-Kyle Ozero, Black Punk Now
***
Album spotlight #1: Electric Slave
As Lewis weaves one beautiful tapestry after another and the songs fade into the night, I know I’m going to want to hear them again. His set is too provocative for any sort of “one and done.” But whereas the headliner has an entire merch “superstore” spread across two tables, there are no Black Joe Lewis records for sale tonight so I start tracking them down after the show. The first one I find is Electric Slave, a scorching, hip-shaking hit parade. Lewis modifies the stock ideas with a slew of aftermarket modifications, especially the thick coats of distortion that push the guitars, bass, and even vocals into the red. There’s plenty of buzz to go around and all with that Bob Gibson urgency. On track after track Lewis’ riffs crunch and the horn section punches, sometimes in the side car, punctuating choruses, other times spilling over into verses, co-piloting with Lewis.
***
Lewis’ skills on the mic might be even stronger than his formidable fretboard work. He’s a remarkable singer, a shouter who could work a pulpit as easily as stir a mosh pit, projecting with such purpose and range. He clips and stretches syllables, sands and polishes the lyrics to fit the feel of the tunes. He keeps finding ways to maximize the dynamics, varying volume and pace. He’s like a strikeout pitcher throwing heat through seven or eight innings, then mixing in more off speed pitches late in the game. You think you have me pegged? Just know there’s more where that came from.
***
“ROCK N’ ROLL IS
BLACK MUSIC
THAT THE MUSIC
INDUSTRY
WHITEWASHED
OVERSATURATING
COVERAGE OF
WHITE AND WHITE PASSING
ARTISTS MAKES
REPRESENTATION
IMPOSSIBLE
BLACK MUSIC
IS MORE THAN
JUST HIP HOP
AND R&B
BLACK ROCK N’ ROLL
LIVES AND WE
WILL NOT BE
ERASED”
-Kyle Ozero, Black Punk Now
***
Examples of Black rock’n’roll are displayed throughout the club, including concert posters of Little Richard, Freddie King, and Little Milton behind the stage. But there are also Hall & Oates and Blues Brothers posters. Little Richard and the Blues Brothers side by side? Talk about oversaturated coverage, not to mention wishful, history distorting thinking. The stories implied by those posters are problematic and yet the posters are more mixed than the older, white, mostly male crowd. I want to see myself as different, removed from the cliches, but I’m part of that scenery, too, so I have to check my judgy impulses.
***
Album spotlight #2: Backlash
Lewis turns down the heat on Backlash—a string section here, a flute there—but melts those elements into the mix, while the guitar and horn conversations continue at crowded bar room intensity, complementing not competing, listening in ways dudes seldom do, not bro-ing out. There’s generally less distortion across the record, but there’s also “Shadow People,” which could fit in the Black Sabbath songbook. But Lewis is no chameleon, changing from setting to setting. He exerts such a strong gravitational pull, bends elements to him. It all goes back to the blues.
***
“This is the first show of the tour. We’ve been driving for three days. Texas ain’t close.”
As memorable as the show is, it’s also opening night as an opening band in a small town following a marathon drive halfway across the country. It’s quite possible what I’m reveling in isn’t even peak Lewis, which speaks volumes. Likewise for his band, the Honeybears—bassist Bill Stevenson and drummer Rene Lopez—who are with him each step of the way, maintaining the home base while Lewis explores.
Stevenson’s bass booms with a fuzziness reminiscent of Jefferson Airplane’s Jack Casady. He hangs back on stage, behind and to the side of Lewis, but he’s also a longtime collaborator, credited on several albums as a co-producer and co-writer. Meanwhile, drummer Rene Lopez stays in the pocket, keeps the beats in place, tames those beasts. The middles of his drumsticks are shredded from countless strikes against the rim of the snare drum. Worn guitars are cool and receive ample attention. Weathered sticks don’t get their due. They’re usually tossed aside, seldom kept in rotation yet alone celebrated.
***
Album spotlight #3: The Difference Between You and Me
Lewis dials down the energy another notch but to even greater effect, refining and redirecting more than reducing. There’s less distortion and the horns step to the periphery, which opens more space for Lewis. The tracks breathe differently. Some are stripped down, others stretched out. The slide guitar is more prominent. The guitar and bass interplay is more evident. And check out the sublime coda on “No Rhyme or Reason,” a dip into Jimi Hendrix circa Electric Ladyland with a subtle sax riff, a hint of Joe McPhee, if you lean in close. As the heat shifts Lewis’ emotions and perspectives move to the forefront. The narrators seem disillusioned, like they’re trying to reign things in, secure things topside before the next inevitable storm be it internal or external. They’re questioning where to put their trust and faith in the face of uncertainty. The Difference Between You and Me is the closest I’ve heard to Lewis’s live show, especially the scope and sequence of side two, and the best of his albums I’ve heard.
***
The headliners play a strong set, including a terrific Hound Dog Taylor cover. They’ve mastered their mentors’ moves, checked all the boxes. I dig it. But there’s also an air of nostalgia, giving us what we know, like those posters, reflecting the familiar. Lewis starts with familiar forms, but treats them less like altars and more as building blocks, opening windows into a different experience. His take on the blues is so expansive and he doesn’t need to cop anyone else’s moves; exploration without exploitation. He’s aware of the maps that lay out what’s come before, but he’s seeking different terrain, striving to reach some place new, or if not a different destination, a unique journey that’s grown more compelling over time.
Photos: Paul Toscano
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