When the self-taught guitarist Joshua Barnes Howell played the
blues, it came from a place of multiple hardships and irregular pursuits. Born
in 1888 to a farming family in rural Georgia, Mr. Howell worked as a farmer himself
until an argument led his brother in-law to shoot him in the leg, forcing its
amputation, and generating the man’s unanticipated nickname. No longer able to labor
on the farm, “Peg Leg” Howell drifted to Atlanta in the early 1920s, where he
began busking and bootlegging. After a one-year stint in jail for a
moonshine-related offense, he was discovered playing some raucous licks with a
group of musicians on Decatur Street.
Columbia Records wound up recording Peg Leg Howell solo, as
well as in an ensemble known as Peg Leg Howell and His Gang. The latter
featured the bust-out greasy electricity of fiddler Eddie Anthony and the
steady second guitar of Henry Williams. In all, Howell cut about two-dozen
sides for Columbia between 1926 and 1929, and was noteworthy for being one of
the first African American country blues musicians to record his music. The
Great Depression deprived him of further recording opportunities but he
continued to play in Atlanta. When the fiddler Eddie Anthony passed away in the
mid-1930s, Howell retreated into obscurity, only to be rediscovered by a
folklorist about three decades later. By then, Howell was an impoverished double
amputee, owing to “sugar diabetes.” He recorded an album’s worth of material
(released on the Testament label) before passing away in 1966.
Howell’s first recording session in 1926 (solo vocals and guitar)
generated a song—“New Prison Blues”—that merits placement alongside the great
murder ballads, including Son House’s “Death Letter Blues” and Mississippi John
Hurt’s “Stack O’Lee Blues.” Howell and His Gang (together) conquered a variety
of idioms including string band, jazz, and dance numbers; the peppy 1927
“Beaver Slide Rag” might be just the song that’d make you reach for the corn
liquor. Springing-forth from that vein, but omitting guitarist Williams, we
present for your devotion the magnificent 1928 tune “Turkey Buzzard Blues,”
which thoroughly douses itself in suggestive language and never stops jumping. We
can only imagine how Eddie Anthony didn’t saw his fiddle in half during
the session that produced this gem.
Our Musicology Department has been working overtime on this
song and we’re proud to present the lyrics, below. “Turkey Buzzard Blues” may
borrow some floating verses from traditional sources and also refers to another
country song, “Sugar in the Gourd.” Moreover, it’s the only song not about
chinquapin hunting that mentions chinquapin hunting. I’ll save you the
trouble of looking the word up: the chinquapin is a “dwarf chestnut” tree or
shrubbery of the southern regions that provides fruit, shade, and cover to
people and animals alike. Indeed, someone (a cute little poor gal) could’ve
climbed into a chinquapin tree, fell down, and the other person—who happened to
be a peg-legged singer—could’ve seen “sump’in.” Go have a listen to Peg Leg and
Eddie swinging the dickens out of the universe.
“Turkey Buzzard Blues”
Peg Leg Howell and Eddie Anthony
Peg Leg Howell (guitar, vocals); Eddie Anthony (fiddle,
vocals)
Columbia Records 14382-D (Atlanta, Ga., 1928) 10-inch B-side
b/w “Banjo Blues”
Had a long gal, she was tall and thin
Had a long gal, she was tall and thin
Had a long gal, tall and thin
Every time she jigs (I said) “do it up again!”
If you got six bits (you) think you want to spend
Got six bits, think you want to spend
Got six bits, think you want to spend
Go around the corner and cop it till it win
Now me and my gal went chinquapin huntin’
Me and my gal went a-chinquapin huntin’
Me and my gal went a-chinquapin huntin’
She fell down and I saw sump’in!
Have you ever went fishing on a bright sunny day?
Standin’ on the bank, see the little fish play
Hands in your pockets, in your pockets, in your pants
See the little bitty fish do the hoochie coochie dance!
Had an old hen and had a peg leg
Fattest old hen that ever laid a egg
It laid more eggs than the hens around the barn
Another little drink wouldn’t do me no harm
There’s sugar in the gourd, can’t get it out
Sugar in the gourd, can’t get it out
Sugar in the gourd, can’t get it out
Now the way to get sugar, gotta roll it all about
sources of information
AllMusic Guide biography for
Peg Leg Howell
Charters, Samuel Barclay. Country
Blues. (Da Capo Press, 1975).
DAHR discography
for Peg Leg Howell
Early Blues article about “Beaver Slide Rag”
Oakley, Giles. The Devil's Music. (Da Capo Press,
1997).
Oliver, Paul. Songsters
and Saints. (Cambridge University Press, 1984).
Old Time Blues article on early recordings of Peg Leg Howell
Oliver, Paul. The story
of the blues. (Chilton, 1969).
WayBack Machine article on Peg Leg Howell
Wikipedia article on
Castanea Pumila (Chinquapin tree)
Wikipedia article on Peg Leg
Howell
WIRZ discography
for Peg Leg Howell
12 comments:
Great stuff!
what is chinquapin huntin?
Wow -- thanks for opening another window on our musical provenance!
(sounded a little bit like "Turkey in the Straw" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turkey_in_the_Straw)
tpw, many thanks for the kind thoughts and for taking a gander at this piece. all best wishes to you!
------------------ba
dear anonymous: is that you, casey? well, if it is or if it isn't, i believe that chinquapin hunting is when one seeks the fruit of the chinquapin. it does appear however that one goes with one's sweetie pie to do this and that it's possible that you'll see "sump'in" during the excursion. but i say this strictly as an armchair chinquapin hunter myself. thanks for the question. ----------------------b.a.
Hi Ted: thanks for taking a look and for drawing the parallel with "Turkey in the Straw." I hope that all's well with you, sir. ------B.A.
Thank you Dan for this great presentation and context.
Hi Jesse,
Thanks for taking a look and for your kind words! They are much appreciated. Lots of hardship in Howell's life and lots of stunning music, too.
--B.A. (Dan)
Dancing the old country dances (many variations on "Turkey in the Straw," yes) back in the old countryside, we little kids - white, black, Native American all together, mostly leveled by class, geography & aspiration - had no idea there were lyrics, and lyrics so laden with meaning that would have been lurid at the time, but now quaint, which makes me markedly antiquated. There were whoops & hollers, but lyrics were for church, a sad silo indeed - and perhaps this is why the melodies remain archetypal. Yr post, Mr. Blood and Gutstein, is a fine piece of cultural synthesis & revelation but also a space for undistracted pondering during highly distracting (dangerous) times. Can you imagine a smartphone at this square dance? Highwaters wd be more welcome.
hthr,
thanks for taking a gander at this here ruckus. the lyrics do establish some saltiness but it's mostly from another era, and in fact, they're pretty downright fun in the end. chinquapin hunting? why yes. well, you've got every right to ponder whatever you wish during these dangerous times as you've been helping many other people battle covid in a hospital ward and if we made a little piece here that was helpful for your reflections, well, it's just a little thing set against the valiant effort you've been making since the covid wards began filling up.
as for high waters, they may come back in style, seeing as the polar ice caps are a-melting. we are grateful for your kind words to grace this post. xo ---b.a.
this is the greatest f****** blog in the world. thank you!
babsy
babsy! okay.
are you: (1) babs by birth and babsy by nickname? are you: (2) babsy by birth and have a completely different nickname?
we know but one babsy and you are she. we can't imagine anything like your name is jennifer jones but somehow you are babsy.
trust no other babsies! only a genuine babsy can be babsy.
if you've survived this reaction thus far, and we hope you have, then you are truly a friend of blood and gutstein. we welcome you and we thank you for your f starstarstarstarstar appraisal. we are much obliged. may this note find you well.
b.a.
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