(Awright, y'all, just making sure we understand: some of these folks that I review have seen better days and some are no longer with us--but they played with their heart and soul as instruments. Dig 'em!)
When Delaney Bramlett told me Albert King was a friend and inspiration, I was caught off guard. That only took 10 CDs of Albert King material to correct! Worth every penny and minute of effort, too. It’s too bad that Albert never learned to read—I wish he could have seen this. Farewell, Stevie Ray. We lost you too soon.)
Albert King with Stevie Ray Vaughn
In Session (Stax)
The old saying is true: when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. In the case of Stevie Ray, his apprenticeship reached a new peak on December 6, 1983, when he was asked to share a stage with the legendary Albert King for an independent television station gig in the Canadian province of Ontario. This was not their first meeting: Albert had been observing Stevie’s career burn like a bonfire when the veteran guitar player caught an introductory 1973 show at the Coliseum Club in Austin. The skinny Texan with the gravelly voice and blazing hands left a lasting impression on the big man with the arrow-shaped guitar, and Albert acknowledged that he stayed back without revealing his personal interest in order to better watch the fiery youngster perform.
Stevie had earned Albert’s curiosity the hard way: he had paid his dues by studying the tone, the string-bending, and the blues-drenched statements that made King famous. This album, just released in 1999, simultaneously captures the two-fisted sledgehammer power of both men’s hands and fingers—but also demonstrates the delicate caresses on their instruments with which they lavished their love for the blues. More importantly, the fondness and adoration of the master for his pupil (and vice versa) is clearly heard throughout the running comments and patter throughout this set. Albert confidently encourages, coaxes, praises, and blesses his protégée. In return, Stevie’s worshipful delight and authentic “aw, shucks” simple appreciation literally shines like a beacon from a lamp with faithful friendship. The two men were perfectly at ease with each other; both locked in synchronicity.
Joined by Gus Thornton on bass and the Llorens brothers (Tony on piano and organ; Michael on drums), the set ran for 105 minutes, but an hour’s worth is preserved here as a musical documentary. “Call it Stormy Monday” lays down a tutorial in driving nails with guitar strings as hammers, with Albert cutting a path on first solo, then gleefully urging his partner throughout the blistering reply. Both men pass verbal snapshots of nostalgia after the song is finished, and it’s obvious that they totally enjoyed this opportunity and the craftsmanship that it produced.
Albert then beckons Stevie to do “that fast thing—that rap thing—that had a heckuva groove to it!”—and Stevie muscles his way into “Pride and Joy,” much to King’s radiant delight. The rhythm section hauls their heavy load like a big trucker’s rig, and Stevie’s coarse-grit sandpaper voice and jack-hammer fingers work on the Strat’s jumbo strings like a pneumatic drill on concrete. King then asks Vaughn if he would help out on “Ask Me No Questions” (a song covered by B.B. King), and they pack a front-and-back galloping display of firepower pulls and pushes as Tony Llorens nimbly dances over the piano keys. There’s a verbal celebration on the sidelines when the song ends, and the electricity between these two is crackling with excitement and potential.
Albert handed out some meaty praise to Stevie when he asked him to fill the shoes of the late Jimi Hendrix (no surprises there!) on “Blues at Sunrise.” King bends his intro notes and solo with blowtorch heat on his Flying Vee (they say Albert bent strings that stayed bent!) and instructs his student to come on in just like Jimi did. Vaughn takes the task with concentration and deliberation, laying off the volume control to keep things at a savage hum.
With that, Albert calls for new strings and says it’s time to sit back and watch the younger generation call the plays at quarterback. The signal is for “Overall Junction,” and Stevie and Tony L. make the most of the double-reverse play. One can only imagine that Albert looked back and contemplated the horizons that beckoned to his young scholar. “Put this on your next album,” he mentors, and “Match Box Blues” is laid out for Stevie’s infusion. Pumped with vitality, “Don’t Lie to Me” lets King crush his strings beneath those immense hands (that’s why he couldn’t hold a pick, right?), and Vaughn steam-rolls a reply, flagged on by his proud coach. The rhythm section has their cross-traffic patterns locked, and this magnificent encounter closes with both men in a musical arm-wrestling match.
God bless them both for giving us such a treasured fruit of their labor. And dear Lord, we miss them dearly. Play the blues, everyone, for Albert and Stevie Ray! They’re playing together again, you can bet on that. So, today’s assignment is to get your copy of this disc. Albert King wouldn’t have it any other way—and anyone with a sense of self-preservation knew not to upset him. And Stevie would just as quickly bull-whip you with a song—so follow in their footsteps and party hearty!
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