Noting that Slack has added the first of Joe Pullum's Document CDs to the Juke I thought a bit of background wouldn't go amiss as provided by Tony Russell (Jazz Monthly, January 1971) in his attempt to get Pullum out of the "boring/bit of a joke" category in which blues critics and collector's had placed him. It didn't do much good, 15 years were to pass before an entire LP was released.
Talking Blues 2
Edited by TONY RUSSELL
THE FIRST thing you will hear on Mance Lipscomb's new LP (reviewed on another page) is this:
Black gal, black gal,
what makes your doggone head
so hard? (x2)
I would come to see you, black
woman, but your good man
keep me barred.
Mance is looking back a long way?how far one can't be sure, but probably to the mid?'30s, when the first recording of this distinctive blues sold widely in black communities: Black gal what makes your head so hard? (Bluebird B-5459), by Joe Pullum. Lipscomb's recreation is the latest in a long line; the song has been recorded by Lightnin' Hopkins (in 1961), by pianist Robert Shaw (1963) and by the zydeco accordion-player Clifton Chenier (1966); also, on several occasions, by Victoria Spivey. It is among the best remembered blues of its period; but who remembers Joe Pullum? Hardly anyone, it seems. Yet for a while Black gal was hot property; after Pullum recorded it in April 1934 it was covered by Vocalion by Leroy Carr, for Decca by Mary Johnson and Jimmie Gordon (under the pseudonym of Joe Bullum!), and for the dime-store labels by Josh White?all within ten months. Why was it so successful? First, it introduced a new singing style; Pullum's voice was pitched very high and clear, yet it always sounded relaxed, and his timing was impeccable. The effect?plaintive, appealing, penetrating?was like that of a muted trumpet solo, piercing its way through the blues, occasionally soaring in sudden leaps. More dramatic than Carr or Tampa Red or Walter Davis, Pullum cannot have failed to make an impression; certainly his manner was copied by well established blues-singers, Bumble Bee Slim for one.
IT WAS NOT only his style that gave Pullum success; it was also the nature of Black gal as a blues. Its opening stanza (substantially the same as Mance Lipscomb's above) described a situation?the subject of the song had lost his woman to another man?and the succeeding five stanzas all amplified or developed it. Such textural coherence had not been common in blues before this?at any rate, not in the popular country blues of the late '20s and early '30s, the singers of which had aimed for a different, more fragmented effect. Pullum's compositional approach associates him less with these men than with artists like Lonnie Johnson, who were broadening the vocabulary, grammar and syntax of the blues. Black gal is supposed to have been a traditional Texas theme, but Victoria Spivey calls Pullum's "the original one", and indeed has stated that she 'was there in his house in the bloody 5th Ward in Houston, Texas when Joe was making up the words'. That was 'about 1925', yet neither Victoria nor Bernice Edwards, both members of 'a clique that played West Texas from Galveston to Houston' with Pullum and others, chose to record the song at their sessions in the '20s.
SUCH WAS THE impact of the first Black gal that PuIlum brought out three more variations; they seem to have been his most popular numbers. Miss Spivey says of Robert Shaw's version that he 'must have really improvised the lyrics as it is very different from the original one', but in fact Shaw's seven stanza performance is almost all Pullum; four verses come from the first Black gal; two are the introductory stanza of the second, repeated; and one is from Black gal No.3:
I'm goin' to the asylum, I'm goin'
to the asylum, to see if I have
losed my mind, (x2)
Because I keeps on thinkin' and
worryin' 'bout that black gal
all the time.
Such vivid phraseology is typical of Pullum's work. In Mississippi flood blues (late on the market, surely, in 1935?) he sings
I'm coming to you, baby,
if through twenty feet of water I'll wade (x2)
For I can't stand to see my baby fill a watery grave
And Joe Louis is the man?quoted in full in Paul Oliver's Screening the blues (151-2)?is a charming composition. So too is the Fosteresque Dixie my home? like Joe Louis, and I can't control myself, and others, a departure from conventional blues structures. Pullum was usually very happy with this material, though perhaps the emotional quality of his voice was not always matched by the content of the lyrics.
DIXIE MY HOME is also attractive in its accompaniment: a romping, effervescent performance by pianist Andy Boy (the second best keyboard man on the circuit, according to Victoria Spivey). The piano-playing behind Pullum is always satisfying stuff, whether the work of Andy Boy (who was on the third and longest session) or that of Robert Cooper (on the other three). Cooper's delectable slow Blues with class and his strong support on Cows, see that train comin'?melodically the same as Robert Shaw's Here I come with my dirty, dirty duckins on?mark him as one of the finest southern pianists of the '30s. It is true of him and Andy Boy as of most Texan players, that, having learned their trade on the cut-throat barrelhouse circuit, they brought gaiety, zest and originality to every performance.
IT APPEARS that Houston was Pullum's base. It is a tough city today, as Juke Boy Bonner informs us on his latest album, and was at least as bad in the '30s, as Big Boy Knox testified:
There's towns in Texas
any poor man can live,
But if you hang around Houston,
partner, I swear you'll sure get killed.
Violence permeated the Black gal song. The first version ended
I'm goin' to hunt her,
mmm, with my smokin' forty-four,
And when I find that black gal,
Lord, her nap-knotty head
won't be hard no more
And in the second part Pullum answered the title question with
You've got a head just like
some two-by-four in some
lumber yard,
alluding both to Texas's chief industry and to one of the most common instruments of impromptu violence. This dark streak is lightened by occasional flashes of wit and allusive humour. Perhaps commenting on the terms he was offered by Victor, Pullum sings, in Some day:
My pockets are empty
and I haven't got a dime,
But I haven't signed a contract,
woman, to stay broke all the
time.
Was he badly managed? Four sessions in less than two years produced seventeen releases (some of them with different artists on their reverse sides), yet few sold very well; possibly because he refused to confine himself to the Black gal tune, or indeed to blues as such. His last Bluebird session was strong in blues, accompanied, for a change, by trumpet (Chester Boone) guitar (Melvin Martin) and piano (Cooper). Only Hattie Green stands out, a brisk eight-bar blues about a brothel-owner, who, in Victoria Spivey's words, 'had a "Meeting house" where all races could get together'?not that Pullum's version brings all that out.
PROBABLY Joe Pullum moved westwards to the coast during the '40s, like many Texas musicians. He cut his last record there, a rather tired two part My woman, for Swing Time in 1948, and he is said to have died in L.A. about six years ago. A tribute of a kind appeared in 1950: Mac Willis's debut recording on Elko, Pretty woman. It used the old Black gal tune and some of its lines, delivered in the same eerie, high-flying voice.
IGNORED BY most reissue-compilers, neglected or treated as a joke by collectors, Joe Pullum is among the most obscure of the '30s' blues masters. Yet he brought to the music a voice of unusual sensitivity, and, whether or not he composed it, popularised a blues which singers are evidently reluctant to forget.
Talking Blues 2
Edited by TONY RUSSELL
THE FIRST thing you will hear on Mance Lipscomb's new LP (reviewed on another page) is this:
Black gal, black gal,
what makes your doggone head
so hard? (x2)
I would come to see you, black
woman, but your good man
keep me barred.
Mance is looking back a long way?how far one can't be sure, but probably to the mid?'30s, when the first recording of this distinctive blues sold widely in black communities: Black gal what makes your head so hard? (Bluebird B-5459), by Joe Pullum. Lipscomb's recreation is the latest in a long line; the song has been recorded by Lightnin' Hopkins (in 1961), by pianist Robert Shaw (1963) and by the zydeco accordion-player Clifton Chenier (1966); also, on several occasions, by Victoria Spivey. It is among the best remembered blues of its period; but who remembers Joe Pullum? Hardly anyone, it seems. Yet for a while Black gal was hot property; after Pullum recorded it in April 1934 it was covered by Vocalion by Leroy Carr, for Decca by Mary Johnson and Jimmie Gordon (under the pseudonym of Joe Bullum!), and for the dime-store labels by Josh White?all within ten months. Why was it so successful? First, it introduced a new singing style; Pullum's voice was pitched very high and clear, yet it always sounded relaxed, and his timing was impeccable. The effect?plaintive, appealing, penetrating?was like that of a muted trumpet solo, piercing its way through the blues, occasionally soaring in sudden leaps. More dramatic than Carr or Tampa Red or Walter Davis, Pullum cannot have failed to make an impression; certainly his manner was copied by well established blues-singers, Bumble Bee Slim for one.
IT WAS NOT only his style that gave Pullum success; it was also the nature of Black gal as a blues. Its opening stanza (substantially the same as Mance Lipscomb's above) described a situation?the subject of the song had lost his woman to another man?and the succeeding five stanzas all amplified or developed it. Such textural coherence had not been common in blues before this?at any rate, not in the popular country blues of the late '20s and early '30s, the singers of which had aimed for a different, more fragmented effect. Pullum's compositional approach associates him less with these men than with artists like Lonnie Johnson, who were broadening the vocabulary, grammar and syntax of the blues. Black gal is supposed to have been a traditional Texas theme, but Victoria Spivey calls Pullum's "the original one", and indeed has stated that she 'was there in his house in the bloody 5th Ward in Houston, Texas when Joe was making up the words'. That was 'about 1925', yet neither Victoria nor Bernice Edwards, both members of 'a clique that played West Texas from Galveston to Houston' with Pullum and others, chose to record the song at their sessions in the '20s.
SUCH WAS THE impact of the first Black gal that PuIlum brought out three more variations; they seem to have been his most popular numbers. Miss Spivey says of Robert Shaw's version that he 'must have really improvised the lyrics as it is very different from the original one', but in fact Shaw's seven stanza performance is almost all Pullum; four verses come from the first Black gal; two are the introductory stanza of the second, repeated; and one is from Black gal No.3:
I'm goin' to the asylum, I'm goin'
to the asylum, to see if I have
losed my mind, (x2)
Because I keeps on thinkin' and
worryin' 'bout that black gal
all the time.
Such vivid phraseology is typical of Pullum's work. In Mississippi flood blues (late on the market, surely, in 1935?) he sings
I'm coming to you, baby,
if through twenty feet of water I'll wade (x2)
For I can't stand to see my baby fill a watery grave
And Joe Louis is the man?quoted in full in Paul Oliver's Screening the blues (151-2)?is a charming composition. So too is the Fosteresque Dixie my home? like Joe Louis, and I can't control myself, and others, a departure from conventional blues structures. Pullum was usually very happy with this material, though perhaps the emotional quality of his voice was not always matched by the content of the lyrics.
DIXIE MY HOME is also attractive in its accompaniment: a romping, effervescent performance by pianist Andy Boy (the second best keyboard man on the circuit, according to Victoria Spivey). The piano-playing behind Pullum is always satisfying stuff, whether the work of Andy Boy (who was on the third and longest session) or that of Robert Cooper (on the other three). Cooper's delectable slow Blues with class and his strong support on Cows, see that train comin'?melodically the same as Robert Shaw's Here I come with my dirty, dirty duckins on?mark him as one of the finest southern pianists of the '30s. It is true of him and Andy Boy as of most Texan players, that, having learned their trade on the cut-throat barrelhouse circuit, they brought gaiety, zest and originality to every performance.
IT APPEARS that Houston was Pullum's base. It is a tough city today, as Juke Boy Bonner informs us on his latest album, and was at least as bad in the '30s, as Big Boy Knox testified:
There's towns in Texas
any poor man can live,
But if you hang around Houston,
partner, I swear you'll sure get killed.
Violence permeated the Black gal song. The first version ended
I'm goin' to hunt her,
mmm, with my smokin' forty-four,
And when I find that black gal,
Lord, her nap-knotty head
won't be hard no more
And in the second part Pullum answered the title question with
You've got a head just like
some two-by-four in some
lumber yard,
alluding both to Texas's chief industry and to one of the most common instruments of impromptu violence. This dark streak is lightened by occasional flashes of wit and allusive humour. Perhaps commenting on the terms he was offered by Victor, Pullum sings, in Some day:
My pockets are empty
and I haven't got a dime,
But I haven't signed a contract,
woman, to stay broke all the
time.
Was he badly managed? Four sessions in less than two years produced seventeen releases (some of them with different artists on their reverse sides), yet few sold very well; possibly because he refused to confine himself to the Black gal tune, or indeed to blues as such. His last Bluebird session was strong in blues, accompanied, for a change, by trumpet (Chester Boone) guitar (Melvin Martin) and piano (Cooper). Only Hattie Green stands out, a brisk eight-bar blues about a brothel-owner, who, in Victoria Spivey's words, 'had a "Meeting house" where all races could get together'?not that Pullum's version brings all that out.
PROBABLY Joe Pullum moved westwards to the coast during the '40s, like many Texas musicians. He cut his last record there, a rather tired two part My woman, for Swing Time in 1948, and he is said to have died in L.A. about six years ago. A tribute of a kind appeared in 1950: Mac Willis's debut recording on Elko, Pretty woman. It used the old Black gal tune and some of its lines, delivered in the same eerie, high-flying voice.
IGNORED BY most reissue-compilers, neglected or treated as a joke by collectors, Joe Pullum is among the most obscure of the '30s' blues masters. Yet he brought to the music a voice of unusual sensitivity, and, whether or not he composed it, popularised a blues which singers are evidently reluctant to forget.