A few facts about the life of legendary Delta bluesman Robert Johnson are more or less universally accepted. He was born in Hazlehurst, Mississippi, on May 8, 1911. With the help of Don Law of the American Record Company, he recorded for ARC subsidiary Vocalion in San Antonio and Dallas in 1936 and ’37, respectively, cutting 29 songs in total—his entire studio output. He died on August 16, 1938, at age 27, and decades later he would become one of the most influential artists in the history of American popular music.
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In this centennial year of Johnson’s birth, the album 100 Years of Robert Johnson (Ryko/Big), due out March 1, celebrates his myth, music, and legacy. It consists of ten re-creations of Johnson’s songs by Colorado rock band Big Head Todd & the Monsters—guitarist and vocalist Todd Park Mohr, bassist Rob Squires, drummer Brian Nevin, and keyboardist Jeremy Lawton—with crucial help from three generations of blues artists. Joined on the album by B.B. King, Hubert Sumlin, David “Honeyboy” Edwards, Charlie Musselwhite, Ruthie Foster, Cedric Burnside, and Lightnin’ Malcolm, Mohr’s band became the Big Head Blues Club.
King, Musselwhite, and Foster aren’t traveling with the Big Head Blues Club on its 21-city tour, which stops at Symphony Center on Friday. But the lineup is impressive even without them. Burnside and Lightnin’ Malcolm, both in their 30s, bring a modern blues sensibility to the project; Sumlin, 79, is best known for playing guitar in Howlin’ Wolf’s band for more than 20 years; and Honeyboy, a 95-year-old Delta blues icon and a Chicagoan since the 1950s, knew Johnson personally. Mohr and the four bluesmen shared stories they’d heard about Johnson—and, in Honeyboy’s case, memories of him—and unsurprisingly came to little consensus on the details of his life. Everyone seemed sure, though, that the legends are true when it comes to what Honeyboy names as Johnson’s twin obsessions: “whiskey and women.”
Lightnin’ Malcolm: I kinda believed it when I first heard it. When you talk about the crossroads, I always tell people you’re at the crossroads every day of your life. You can do right or do evil. Even in my life growing up—I grew up in the culture of the church in the 90s, and they still believe the blues to be the devil’s music. So a guy like Robert Johnson, he loved the blues but he wanted to do what the church expects you to do, so I think he took on that persona—”I’m working for the devil, then.” That was hype at the time: Somebody say they saw him playing the blues and really pulling the spirit out of himself, and they couldn’t understand that power if they didn’t see it in church. If they saw that power in a juke joint where people are drinking, they thought he had to sell himself to the devil to tap into that imagery.
Lightnin’ Malcolm: He was trying to play the guitar and couldn’t play it good. Then he went away for a short time and came back and was a whole different guy. That’s why they say he sold his soul—’cause he got so good so quick. Guys like [Delta blues guitarist] Willie Brown couldn’t believe he got so good and improved like that. I think he was just determined to play music for a living. Rather than selling his soul to the devil, he just dedicated it to music and worked on it.
Burnside: The poisoned whiskey? I heard a little about that, about the night he died. I know it has happened in the past. I’ve heard from guys getting a little bit tore up with the liquor, mostly moonshine, you know? It poisons your body pretty good. I also heard he was flirting with one of his coworker’s wife and one of his coworkers poisoned him.
Mohr: Yeah, barking, I’ve heard he was barking. That one, I do believe it.
Fri 2/11, 8 PM, Symphony Center, 220 S. Michigan, 312-294-3000, $15-$55, all-ages.
