By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
By Karli Evans
By Jose D. Duran
By Pablo Chacon Alvarez
Buddy Guy has been waiting, frustrated yet determined, since the days when record stores carried only vinyl. Waiting for the day he can switch on the radio and hear his voice -- his guitar, too -- on a mainstream, big-city station. Before midnight, preferably.
That radio airplay has eluded the blues legend over several decades of an otherwise stellar career is nothing if not mysterious, especially to the man himself. That may all be changing, however. And the person who may bring about that change isn't some wizened radio station music director or influential disc jockey. It's Jonny Lang, a seventeen-year-old guitar-playing blues prodigy turned pop phenomenon. By the simple act of guest-starring on "Midnight Train" from Guy's brand new CD, Heavy Love, as well as by hooking up with him for a summer shed tour that should bring both players arenas full of new fans (though not in South Florida, the tour doesn't visit these parts), Lang may be able to pull off what no one else has: taking Buddy Guy beyond his loyal following and delivering him to the masses.
Lang isn't the first one to attempt this. Guy owes the resurrection of his once-sputtering career to the efforts of people such as Eric Clapton, the Rolling Stones, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Jeff Beck, all of whom have emphatically and repeatedly championed him over the years. In fact, Guy's successful deal with Silvertone Records -- so successful that he won Grammys for his last three studio albums and earned a fourth nomination for his 1996 live album, The Real Deal -- can be traced almost directly to Clapton's campaigning on his behalf.
None of that help should have been necessary. For 40 years Guy, now age 62, has been not only a consummate musician, but one hell of an exciting performer; his lengthy concert solos are inventive and full of energy. Virtually nuclear, in fact, such as when he melts down with a blistering four- or five-minute instrumental rampage on Vaughan's "Cold Shot" or on his own classic "Damn Right, I've Got the Blues."
Unfortunately, despite his and his disciples' best efforts and the short-lived (especially for those who don't score an appearance during the annual television extravaganza) attention bestowed on Grammy winners, a whole lot of people outside the ranks of devoted blues fans still don't know Buddy Guy, or his mentors and former recording partners. The very people who laid the groundwork for all that's happened in popular music -- everything from the Beatles to Bush -- linger in the shadows, so to speak. Guy would like to turn on the lights.
"I've dedicated my life to this music, following Muddy Waters and those guys who dedicated their lives to the music," Guy said during a phone interview from his suburban Chicago home. "My main goal now is that hopefully we'll be recognized as a part of this thing. I'm not going to sit here and tell you I want to be as rich as some of these people. I'd feel just as happy if the music gets known. Keep the money -- just recognize us as a part of this industry that has something to do with all these billions and billions of dollars of music that everybody loves so well."
And that's where Lang comes in. It's not that Heavy Love needed beautifying by any fresh-faced kid. Hardly. Guy has simply churned out another winner. The funky, slippery title track, brought to the table by producer David Z (former Prince protege and mastermind of both Lang's and blues wunderkind Kenny Wayne Shepherd's debut albums), is all but guaranteed to have 'em dancin' in the aisles. Likewise for Guy's up-tempo cover of Waters's "I Just Want to Make Love to You." His rendition of Tony Joe White's "Did Someone Make a Fool Outta You," meanwhile, is achingly emotional. He even throws in covers of ZZ Top ("Need You Tonight") and Forties swing-jazz star Louis Jordan ("Saturday Night Fish Fry"), the man Guy and fellow blues luminary Robert Jr. Lockwood decided some years back, on the eve of a Cleveland, Ohio, performance, is the true inventor of rock and roll. But it's the duet with Lang, lively and modern, with its gritty vocals and overdriven bass riffs, that might just land Guy his first Top 40 hit, a feat that has thus far escaped him. That some hotshot kid might turn a spotlight on the under-appreciated guitar hero's career is actually quite ironic: Guy was once the hotshot kid.
Born in 1936 to sharecropper parents, he grew up working farms in Louisiana. He didn't know electricity until the age of fourteen; he rode horses for transportation, long before ever slipping behind the wheel of an automobile. Guy picked up the guitar at a young age after hearing regional recording stars such as Roscoe Gardner and Smiley Lewis; he decided that picking the blues beat picking cotton hands down. By his teens he was playing roadhouses from Lettsworth, his hometown, to Baton Rouge, the nearest big city.
With an eye on grander accomplishments, the ambitious young man moved to Chicago in September 1957 and immediately set out to make a name for himself. That didn't take long. Weekly guitar battles against established Chicago players such as Otis Rush and Magic Sam, with a bottle of whiskey at stake, introduced everyone to the new kid in town. Using showmanship tricks he learned watching Guitar Slim, like plugging in a 150-foot cord and beginning his solo in a car outside the club, Guy energized an otherwise sedate scene. "When I first came to Chicago, most of 'em would sit down," he recalls. "They were playing blues kind of quiet and had chairs on the stage. And when I saw that I said, 'I'll win this bottle of whiskey.' And I won it every Sunday for quite a while."