Tag: Furry Lewis

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RIP Zeke Johnson: Performer and Teacher Extraordinaire

Last week, Memphis lost its most famous unknown blues legend, hippie folk singer, Zeke Johnson. To many who saw Zeke perform at clubs and coffeehouses around town, and to the young musicians he tutored in blues and folk music, he embodied all things Memphis. Looking timelessly old, but with the eyes of a teenager, he had a photographic memory, a mischievous sense of humor, and the refined manners of a Southern gentleman.

Born in 1943 in Mississippi, his family moved to Midtown Memphis when he was 11 years old. After a brief time at Ole Miss, Zeke enrolled in then-Memphis State University, leading to a storied teaching career. From 1971 to 2008, he taught English, theater, history, and humanities at Bishop Byrne High School, Lincoln Junior High School, East and Colonial High Schools, and Lausanne Collegiate School. He was married to the love of his life, Mary Donovan Long Johnson, for 41 years, until her death in 2012.

Cindy McMillion, Courtesy Connecting Memphis

Zeke Johnson

As a child, Zeke sang in the church choir. But his musical life really ignited when he saw Elvis play in 1956, and even more so in 1963, when “Professor” Jim Dickinson turned him on to the blues. In 1965, he heard great Memphis blues legend Furry Lewis perform at the Bitter Lemon as the opening act for folk singer Henry Moore.

As Zeke once recalled, “I had no idea who Furry was, but the minute I heard him play ‘John Henry’ I said, ‘I got to know how to do that.'” During a break in the set, Zeke asked Furry to strum the chords a few times so he could secure the progression in his memory. Upon returning home, he immediately retuned his guitar to Vestapol (open D) tuning and began to duplicate what he had heard. By 1974, Zeke was performing as one of Furry Lewis’ regular second guitarists. He was also Furry’s devoted pupil.

Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, Zeke was part of a group of young white artists and intellectuals, including musicians Jim Dickinson, Lee Baker, Sid Selvidge, and Jimmy Crosthwait, who fiercely opposed racism and celebrated the blues. During this time, he played with Booker “Bukka” White, Fred McDowell, John Estes, and Jesse Mae Hemphill.

Though his participation in the local music scene had waned somewhat through the years, his musical life was revived in 2010 when his longtime friend Mary Burns offered to give him a monthly gig at Java Cabana. Burns, the owner of Java Cabana, also passed away recently.

Zeke then became a regular performer at Earnestine and Hazel’s, The Cove, and many more venues around the Mid-South. He also headed the Blues Legends Birthday Series at the Center for Southern Folklore, a monthly celebration of his favorite blues musicians. And he became an avid user of social media with an international following, posting more than 170 video blogs featuring the history and anecdotes of Mississippi Delta and Memphis roots music.

In the last years of his life, he lived with all his heart, writing and recording at least 70 original songs, as well as several tribute albums, including his album, Me and Furry and Them. Since 2014, he recorded and performed with many Memphians, young and old. His playing was crazy and powerful, sounding like a three-piece band, a manic stride piano, and a slide guitar all in one.

Zeke loved all the attention he received in his final role as troubadour sage. As he introduced every song with a story, he would often declare that if his late wife Donovan were there, she would be telling him to shut up and sing. He captivated and intrigued his audiences with a voice that was loud and deep and beautifully clear. As one local player, Kyle A. Carmon, says, “Zeke’s personality was so huge, it really seemed to me like he was gonna live forever.”

The First Congregational Church of Memphis will host a memorial for Zeke Johnson on Saturday, November 23rd, 1:30-4 p.m.

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Music Music Features

The Sound and the Furry at Indie Memphis

Indie Memphis’ ties to this city, and all the musical history that comes with it, give music a place of honor in what is ostensibly a festival of film. Many documentaries on local music have premiered here, from Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me to Antenna, which memorialized the local club that hosted so much post-punk rock-and-roll. This year is no different, with perhaps more musically oriented content being offered than ever before.

Speaking of Big Star, Thank You, Friends: Big Star’s Third Live … and More (already released on DVD) documents a unique assemblage of A-list musicians who come together periodically to celebrate the band’s music, especially its enigmatic and haunting third album, first released in 1978. Those who frequent the concert series at the Levitt Shell will recall the 2014 performance of Big Star’s Third, complete with members of the Memphis Symphony Orchestra, where the band’s drummer Jody Stephens was joined by Mitch Easter, Chris Stamey, Ken Stringfellow, and others in a re-creation of Big Star’s sound.

The ever-shifting group reached its apotheosis last year at the Alex Theatre in Los Angeles, where the ensemble was filled out by Jeff Tweedy and Pat Sansone of Wilco and Robyn Hitchcock, to name a few. It’s breathtaking to see and hear the songs gain new life in a live setting, yet some of the material leaves one longing for a bit more of the anarchy that always lurked behind even their most polished recordings. The music does take flight in a more chaotic way as the band leans into the latter day material. One only wishes the guitars were louder.

Meanwhile, another kind of Memphis beat is honored in Mr. Handy’s Blues, a new documentary about W.C. Handy by hometowner and longtime television producer/director Joanne Fish. Ten years in the making, it explores the intriguing combination of insider/outsider status Handy embodied, being well-versed in orchestral music even as he turned a sympathetic ear to that then-obscure folk form known as the blues. Woven into his roller coaster of a life story are testimonials from musical heavyweights on Handy’s impact on American music. Especially compelling is the footage of current-day big bands playing his arrangements, captured with the clarity of high fidelity techniques.

Another hometown documentary overlaps with Handy’s influence. Furry Lewis & The Bottleneck Guitar Story is a musicological appreciation that dips briefly into Lewis’ life story. This is a labor of love by local director David Brian Guinle, as he guides us through the crucial historical details suggesting that Lewis was the first to record and popularize the sound of bottleneck guitar.

Starting with the parallel influences of U.S. soldiers bringing slide guitar techniques to the mainland from Hawaii, and W.C. Handy’s embrace of the blues, the film picks up Lewis’ story when he finds his first broken guitar. “It was time for him to be set in his place,” says Guinle. “Not just put a note on the street. Because he played a more important part in our music.”

Guinle’s story ultimately settles into the director’s 1977 footage of jazz saxophonist Fred Ford interviewing Lewis and setting up several performances by the guitarist in his last years. It is here, and in footage of Lewis and young Lee Baker playing together, where the film really shines. Lewis plays his unique electric Martin GT-70 with aplomb and Ford chimes in with brief, learned observations. Unlike so many music documentaries which offer mere samples of live performances, this one lets Lewis’ playing go on for the bulk of the film, and it’s a treasure.

Beyond these histories of local visionaries and their performances, there’s a lot more music to be found. The documentary Sidemen focuses on the players behind the distinctive ensemble sounds of Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf. Another, A Life in Waves, tells the story of synthesizer pioneer Suzanne Ciani. Beyond documentaries, the narrative features Barracuda, Flock of Four, and The Golden Age all spin dramatic tales around musical performers and their circles. And there will be special screenings dedicated only to music videos, including outdoor screenings at the Indie Memphis block party. Dozens of local bands will be featured.


But it will be the ultimate local band — Booker T. and the MG’s — that will shine out above the others, in a screening not even listed under the festival’s music-related fare. Up Tight! was an obscure offering in the early days of what some call “blaxploitation” film. A dramatic political allegory in its own right, it is especially notable for the soundtrack, composed by Booker T. Jones and performed by the MG’s. Unlike classic MG’s fare, it goes beyond funky instrumentals for more introspective and moody gospel flavors, including “Johnny, I Love You,” sung by Jones himself. And of course, the centerpiece is an extended version of their masterpiece, “Time Is Tight.”

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Music Music Features

We Prefer The Blues


Various Artists – Beale Street Saturday Night (Omnivore)

Originally released in 1978, Beale Street Saturday Night was produced by Jim Dickinson in an attempt to take back the reputation of the downtown street as the place where both the blues and rock-and-roll originated. Dickinson gathered up past and present Beale Street legends for the recordings, and everyone from Furry Lewis and Teenie Hodges to Sid Selvidge and Mud Boy and the Neutrons (Dickinson’s own group) got in on the action.

Recorded in artists’ homes, Ardent Studios, and even the Orpheum Theatre, Beale Street Saturday Night was originally created as a fund-raiser for the Memphis Development Foundation to help restore the Orpheum. This reissue serves a similar purpose, as a portion of the proceeds will go to the Beale Street Caravan radio program.

The reissue of Beale Street Saturday Night was approved by the Dickinson family and features a cover photo by William Eggleston, plus all new liner notes from producer Jim Lancaster who worked on the original release. In his new notes, Lancaster recalls what the Furry Lewis recording session was like:

“It was bitter and cold in 1977 when we went into the Orpheum on Main and Beale with our trusted group of soldiers. In 1890, the Grand Opera Palace was built on this site, the classiest joint outside of New York City! Vaudeville shows were the main attraction there until it burned down in 1923. The building we are in now was built in 1928 with the addition of the mighty Wurlitzer pipe organ. It had been sitting empty overlooking the decay and decline, but today we went to record Furry Lewis for the Beale Street Saturday Night project. Furry had performed in this building, on this stage in the 1930s. The Orpheum, just recently purchased by the Memphis Development Foundation, had no heat either. Poor ole Furry in his 70s was cold, sipping on a pint, and explaining that you couldn’t hardly tune a guitar when it was cold. When he exhaled, you could see and feel his breath. Furry had worked out a way to sip whiskey and smoke a cigarette while playing “Furry’s Blues” and keep a running joke all the while.”

That’s just one of many amazing stories inside the first official reissue of Beale Street Saturday Night, out April 14th on Omnivore records. A limited version on clear vinyl will also be for sale.

Leo Bud Welch – I don’t Prefer No Blues (Big Legal Mess)

I Don’t Prefer No Blues is the follow-up to last year’s Sabougla Voices, a gospel album that marked Welch’s debut as both a recording artist and a songwriter. “I don’t prefer no blues” is apparently what the preacher at Welch’s church said when he found out the 82-year-old guitarist was making a blues album. Up until last year, Welch had only performed in church and at big tent spirituals, but after signing with Big Legal Mess and releasing the acclaimed Sabougla Voices, Welch has performed all over the United States and ventured into Europe. He’s also playing this year’s Beale Street Music Fest.

When label owner Bruce Watson first signed Welch, the two agreed that the first album they made together would be a gospel album and the second would be a blues album. While it certainly is a blues record, there’s more than a little bit of rock-and-roll going on in I Don’t Prefer No Blues. From the opening track “Poor Boy” (produced by Jimbo Mathus) to the buzz saw riffs on “Too Much Wine,” it’s evident that Welch’s time in church sure didn’t spoil his ability to drag a song through the Mississippi mud.

By not recording his first album until he was over 80 years old, the Sabougla, Mississippi, native still has plenty of stories left to tell on I Don’t Prefer No Blues. Welch’s long history as a blue collar worker (he worked as a farmer and a logger for 35 years) is recalled on “So Many Turnrows,” a song about plowing behind a mule in the hot Mississippi sun. Even when he’s doing blues classics like “Sweet Black Angel” and “Cadillac Baby,” Welch has a way of playing them as if his listeners were hearing the songs for the first time. I Dont Prefer No Blues is available now.

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Music Music Features

Furry and Sid

CREDIT: Courtesy Steve Selvidge

Furry Lewis’ birthday was March 6th. On March 11th, Omnivore Records will release Sid Selvidge’s album The Cold of the Morning — originally released in 1976 on his Peabody label. Selvidge’s son Steve recalls growing up with Lewis and his father’s admiration for Furry and his music.

Furry Lewis was a country blues legend. I almost killed him. Well, sort of, but we’ll get to that.

Born March 6, 1893, Walter “Furry” Lewis is a towering figure of the country blues world. Raised here in Memphis, he performed on Beale Street in its heyday. He played with W.C. Handy. He recorded crucial blues classics such as “Cassie Jones,” “John Henry,” “Billy Lyons and Stack-O-Lee,” and “Judge Harsh Blues” (also known as “Judge Bouché”). Furry had a finger picking style that was exquisite, complex, and downright funky. His slide playing was otherworldly; at times it would take over the vocal and sing for him. Years playing in medicine shows (where snake oil salesmen and the like would hawk their wares) gave him the chops of a vaudeville entertainer.

Furry’s recording career was over

by the 1930s. He took a job with the city of Memphis, working as a street sweeper. He did all this on a prosthetic leg. Years later, shortly after he retired from his street-sweeping job, he was one of the first of his generation of bluesmen to be “rediscovered” by young, white musicians caught up in the emerging folk scene of the early-mid 1960s.

Around this time is when my family enters the picture.

My dad, Sid Selvidge, first encountered Furry around 1964 at The Bitter Lemon in Memphis. Located on the corner of Humes and Poplar, The Bitter Lemon was the epicenter of the burgeoning folk/blues/coffee-house scene in town. Owned and operated by John McIntire, one of the city’s original beatnik artists, this was also where my dad, Jim Dickinson, Lee Baker, and Jimmy Crosthwait began to form their musical relationships.

It was in this environment that they found themselves in the unique position to learn firsthand from the masters of the music they were just discovering. Baker became a student of Furry’s, eventually backing him up on gigs. My dad, in addition to learning all his music, developed a bond with Furry that meant more to him than just the music and the scene.

While not exactly a father figure (my dad’s father died when my dad was a kid), Furry Lewis was one of the most significant men in his life. A graduate of Southwestern at Memphis (now Rhodes), my dad came from the typically homogeneous background of a white child who grew up in the Mississippi Delta. Furry opened his eyes and gave him a more graceful introduction into the integration that was happening all around him. Dad had many funny stories about Furry’s escapades and sayings. But behind all of that was a deep respect and an even deeper gratitude for helping him into a musical world that was more raceless than what he had known before. From then on, Furry loomed large in our house.

Furry’s music is some of the first I can remember. “Cassie Jones” in particular ­— hearing my dad, Baker, and Dickinson playing and singing that song. They would trade verse after verse, with Jimmy Crosthwait always behind the washboard, everyone showing what they learned from Furry. But even prior to that, I remember being really little, maybe two or three years old, and going over to just hang out at Furry’s house. He kept a couple of gerbils or hamsters; I forget which. We would bring cabbage for them and a pint of Ten High bourbon for Furry. I loved going over there. The whole atmosphere just seemed really laid back and fun, and he was always really nice to me.

My clearest memory of hanging out there started pretty much the same as any of our other visits. When he was home, Furry would leave his prosthetic leg off and just keep to his bed. So we came in, fed the gerbils (or hamsters), and gave Furry his Ten High, and I crawled up onto his bed to sit next to him like I always did. He kept a little cigar box on his bedside table that held his cigarettes and lighter. Next to that was a small glass for his whiskey. He would keep it covered when he was drinking for fear that a spider might drop in. But the first thing that I noticed when I sat on his bed that day was a pistol on that same bedside table. I don’t know if it was always there and I just hadn’t noticed it before, or if he had accidently left it there this time, but it definitely caught my eye.

I can clearly remember thinking that it would be funny to pick up that pistol and point it at Furry’s temple. Keep in mind; I’m of a generation brought up on Looney Tunes reruns: Bugs Bunny, Wile E. Coyote, and such. This kind of joke seemed like fair play to me. So, my dad looked up to see his youngest son holding a gun to his good friend’s head.

Now, I doubt that I was big enough to really physically pull the trigger, but nonetheless, my dad was smart in that he didn’t shout or jump to me in any kind of panicked manner. He just calmly got up and asked if I would let him hold Furry’s pistol. So I did. Blues crisis averted.

Years later, Furry’s house caught fire, and he was pretty badly injured. He was hospitalized but quickly started to show signs of improvement. The last time my dad saw Furry, he was in the hospital room along with Lee Baker. Furry was in great spirits, laughing and clowning around. The three of them were going back and forth making up their own verses to “You Gonna Look Just Like a Monkey When You Get Old.” Dad said goodbye and left. Later that night Furry developed pneumonia. He died the next day. Dad recorded a version of “The Monkey Song” on his final album I Should Be Blue in 2010. The credits are listed as (W. Lewis, S. Selvidge, L. Baker).

These days, Furry Lewis means so many things to me. He’s a familiar voice that always puts me at ease. Musically, he’s a continuing inspiration to me, as well as a centering force. I guess most of all now, he just helps to keep me close to my dad’s memory. He was an important man in his life, and he influenced my dad and all of his close musical friends in a way that will continue to provide me with musical guidance and inspiration.

I always smile when I see or hear Furry Lewis. And I’m glad I didn’t kill him.