BOBBY JONES Source: Barrelhouse Blues Date: 10/2010 Writer: Bob Stannard

Interview with Bobby Jones

DTB: I’ve been singing that song (Down Home Blues) for twenty-five years.  You know how I got the words to that song…

BJ:  You ain’t got the words <laughing>. You screwed it up bad.

DTB:  It’s August 22nd and I’m sitting here with Bobby Jones, lead singer with the Mannish Boys.  We’re talking about a song that I’ve fucked up called Down Home Blues and apparently I’ve been fuckin’ it up for twenty-five years <laughing>

I got those lyrics by picking the needle up and placing it on an LP; then picking it up again and again, trying to figure out what’s being said.  I got ‘em from James Cotton.  You ever talked with James?  He’s a little tough to understand sometimes.

BJ:  You tellin’ me…

DTB:  It’s tough if you’re an ol’ white boy from Vermont trying to understand him…

BJ:  I’ve known James a long time.  It ain’t easy for an ol’ black man from Louisiana to understand him either.  We all got the same problem <laughing>

DTB: the first 20 times I heard the licks it sounded like “I cansheurpottiesumpin..ah…er”

BJ:  That’s what it sounds like to everybody <laughing>.  It goes like this: I see your party’s jumping and everybody’s having a good time.  You know what’s going through MY mind.  Do you mind if I get comfortable and kick off my shoes.  While you’re fixing me a drink play me some of that Down Home Blues.

DTB:  There you go.  I’m writing this down.  I had no idea that this interview was going to provide me with the opportunity to finally have a signature tune that I do…uh.

BJ: ….cleared up <laughing>

DTB:  ….and by one of the best in the business <Laughing>.  I want to begin this interview by saying that your show last night at the North River Blues Festival…my god what a great show.

BJ:  Thank you.

DTB: You’ve been doing this a long time.

BJ: Fifty-one years.

DTB: How did you get hooked up with the Mannish Boys?

BJ: A guy named Leon Blue; he played piano and was with Delta Groove Records.  We worked together in Los Vegas.  We did a killer session in the club and he said, “Man you’re just too good to let go to waste.  I’m taking you down to Delta Groove so you can meet some folks there”.   He takes me to Delta Groove and I sing a couple of verses for Randy and Randy says, “Stop.  Stop.  You don’t need to sing no more.  I’m going to get you a contract right now.”

DTB:  How ‘bout that.  Now for the folks out there, Randy is Randy Chortkoff; the president of Delta Groove Records and also the harp player for the Mannish Boys.

BJ:  That’s right.

DTB: Now, isn’t it somewhat unique that an individual who would own a record company would also be a player in a band that he’s signed?

BJ:  It’s a little rare, but he’s got that love for music.  He came up in it.

DTB:  You told me last night that his dad…

BJ: …gave him a harmonica when he was six.

DTB: But was his dad also in the record business?

BJ: I don’t remember what his dad did, but his dad was a lover of music.

DTB: So Randy’s dad didn’t start Delta Groove.

BJ:  No, that’s all Randy’s kick.

DTB: Randy’s got some great talent signed, including yourself.

BJ: Yeah, he does.  You know he’s got three labels going on.  Eclecto Groove Records and some others; hell I can’t remember.  He’s got a lot goin’ on <laughing>

DTB: Maybe that’s not even it…

BJ: Yeah, they read this and say, man those boys needed another drink <laughing>

DTB: Anyway, you’ve been with this band for how long?

BJ: Three years.

DTB: Now there’s another person, a singer, who’s in this band but couldn’t be here last night, is that right?

BJ: Finis Tasby

DTB: One “n” or two?

BJ: Put one in; take one out, but don’t leave two in.  That’s what she said.  <laughing>  Oh man it’s too early in the morning for me to be doing an interview with you <laughing>

DTB: So it’s only been three years out of fifty.  Let’s go back a ways.  I regret that I didn’t have this recorder going last when you and Carl (Weathersby) and Michael (Dotson) and I were hanging out in the club.  God that was fun sitting there reminiscing with you guys.  You could tell that you guys are all good friends.

BJ: that we are

DTB: Now are you born in Chicago?

BJ: No, I’m a Louisiana boy.  Born and raised in Farmerville.  That’s between Monroe and Shreveport Louisiana and El Dorado, Arkansas.  It all joins there.

DTB:  How’d you get into music?

BJ: Singin’ in the cotton fields.  Ever since they heard me singing in the fields people would say to me, “You gonna be a singer.  You gonna be a singer”.  I grew up and moved to Chicago.

DTB:  How old were you?

BJ:  I think about 20 years old

DTB: Decided that there wasn’t much of a career in pickin’ cotton?

BJ: <Hearty laughing> You tellin’ me?

DTB: I mean there could’ve been if maybe you’d a just stayed focused…<laughing>

BJ: <Laughing> That’s my problem right there.  I was never really focused on it <laughing>

DTB: You got that singing thing goin’ on and it was takin’ your attention away from the more important job of pickin’ cotton.

BJ: Yeah, that was it <laughing> You got to be focused and unfortunately I was never focused on pickin’ cotton.  Nor chopping cotton <laughing>

DTB: Well, thank god for the rest of the world that you decided not to make a career of pickin’ cotton.  So, you’re 20 years old and decided to move to Chicago.  What’d your parents think of that?  Did you go to college?

BJ: Heavens no.  I had to work in the fields.  I didn’t go to school that much.  My edumacation came from the streets.  I’m a ninth grader. Instead of passing on into the 10th grade I moved on.  It was too much of the same thing over and over.  Being told what to do all the damn time <laughing>

DTB: Kinda like pickin’ cotton…

BJ: It was the same situation

DTB: So were your parents supportive of your move to Chicago

BJ: What you don’t understand is that my parents were never there.  They were never married.  When I was a kid, my dad was flipping around.  My dad left home.  Ya see, my grandparents raised me.   My mother had me in a cotton house.  She was a cotton picker, too, see?  That cotton pickin’ thing was catchin’ <laughing>

DTB: It’s a hard cycle to break.

BJ: Yes it is but I broke it, thank God.  My mother had me in a cotton house.  The cotton house had no floor in it.  She was in the fields working when she had me.  After three months of trying to take care of me she decided it was too much for her and she gave me away to some white folks.  I was raised by the white family until I was about seven years old.  Then my grandparents found out that I was their grandson and they came and got me.  They took me home with them, which was a disaster.  I never did like black people, ya know what I mean <laughing>.

DTB: Funny, I’ve always got along with ‘em pretty well <laughing>.  But I started off white and raised by white people.  Maybe that’s the difference <laughing>.  I didn’t have that leg up that you did.

BJ: Yeah, you got an even start.  So they brought me back to their home and I thought, “Yeah, these people are just what I thought they was”.

DTB: I mean, we’re joking about this but at the time this was a pretty hard gig here.

BJ: Oh yeah.  I can laugh about it now, but when it was happening it was no fun.  My grandmother put her arms around me with love and affection, but my granddaddy was real mean and evil.  Very abusive.  Knock you out, man.  Break you down.  Hit you with anything.  But my grandmother kept a love thing for me.  She kept me focused on making progress.  She always told me that if I could just live through this (living with them) that one of these days you’re going to be big enough to do what you want to do.  You understand I wanted to kill this guy and she would talk me out of it.

DTB: This is not a unique story of people like you in this time and place.

BJ:  She said if you kill this guy, he’s your daddy’s daddy.  He’s your uncle’s brother.  And unfortunately he’s my husband.  So let’s let him live and you just stay out of his way.  She said before you know it he’ll be an old man and you’ll be a young man doing your own thing.

DTB: That’s real vision on her part.  You owe her big

BJ: Oh yeah.  She was some kind of precious. She lived to be 99.  God gave her a good life.  So, at 15, I couldn’t take it no more so I left.  We lived way out in the country.  I moved down to Farmerville and did all kind of jobs.  Construction.  Whatever.  I met this girl and fell in love.  I got a job as a delivery boy delivering groceries. I wasn’t thinking of going back to school.  I was through with all that.

When I was sixteen; almost seventeen, I went into the army and got myself protected.  I still get medical benefits.  I volunteered for the draft.  There’s a difference between volunteering for the draft and volunteering.  If you volunteer you got three years.  If you volunteered for the draft you only got two. They drafted me that same day.  Guess they wanted me out of town.

DTB: They saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself <laughing>

BJ: I knew what they saw…

DTB: You were only 15 yrs old but you said you were 20?  What year was this?

BJ: I was 16; maybe 16 and a half years old.  It was still in the early ‘50’s.

DTB:  Were we in a war at this point?

BJ: I didn’t even leave the state.  I was blessed.  My grandmother prayed for me.  I went in to Fort Bliss, Texas, then to New York and then to New Jersey, so I guess I did leave the state, but not for long.  Got a little exposure to the outside world.  Got some distance from my granddaddy, too.

So what happened was we were having a USO dance one night and the lead singer didn’t show up.  Kinda like Finis last night.  Might have been Finis’s brother <laughing>.  This big orchestra was playing but they didn’t have no singer.  The guy on the microphone says, “Are there any singers in the house?”  I said, well hell, I’m a singer; at least to me I am.  The guy on stage says, “You sing??” and I said, “Sure you know me don’t ya”.  Of course he had no idea who I was <laughing>.

DTB: Maybe he thought you were the golf course guy…

BJ: I get that all the time <laughing>

DTB: So you got up and sang at a USO dance…

BJ: {Breaks into song} “First you say you do; then you don’t.  Then you say  you will; but then you won’t.  You haven’t decided now, so what are you going to do?”

I was raised up on those songs; Dinah Shore and Sinatra.  I came up on that stuff.  And country.  I knew country.  I came up in Shreveport and it was all about country music then.

DTB:  You’re talking really country music; not the stuff we’re hearing today.

BJ: It was the real stuff played by people like Hank Williams.  Ya know, I drove for Hank Williams.

DTB: You told this story last night and I thought I was going to pee my pants.  He was a hot ticket.

BJ: He was the biggest star in the world at that time.  He saw me at a Dairy Delight.  Back then the blacks had to be on one side and the whites on the other.  Hank would always come and sit with the black people.

I was sitting there eatin’ a foot long hot dog; a chili dog; man the best chili dog I ever had was at the Dairy Delight.

DTB: Is that like a Dairy Queen?

BJ: Hey now don’t be mixing up my Dairy Delight, because I’m really in love with Dairy Delight.

DTB: That’s why I record these sessions <laughing>  

BJ: They all gone now. 

DTB: So Hank came over and sat down.

BJ: Yeah.  I didn’t know who the hell he was.  When my friends told me who he was, well, I knew every one of his songs, but I didn’t know the man.  {Breaks into song} “Hey good lookin’.  What’s ya got cookin’?  How’s about cooking something up with me?”

I said, “Man, you mean to tell me you’re Hank Williams?”  I said, “You’re kidding me”.  He said, “You want me to sing something for you?”  He was a funny guy.  He looked at me and said, “What you doing right now?”  I said, “I’m eating a hot dog”.  He said, “I’ll buy you a lot of them.  Can you drive a car?”  I said, “Yeah, but I ain’t got no driver’s license.”  He said, “That’s alright.  You don’t need no driver’s license to drive for me.  Come on”.

He had this nice Cadillac.  He said, “Mr. Jones, can you drive this Cadillac” and I said, “Yeah, sure.”  <laughing>  I couldn’t drive worth a shit but I figured I could drive better’n him.  I took him to Monroe to his concert.

DTB:  How long did you drive for him?

BJ: about six months, because I went into the service.

DTB: What a hoot!!!!

BJ: Man, that’s exactly right.  You wanna talk about a fun man.  He would get pissy drunk.  I mean, he had a drinkin’ habit and I’d have to make sure that I could find someone at the desk who could help me get him out of the car and keep that to himself.  I had to get him into his room and get off his clothes and his boots; get him ready for a show.  What a man.  What a man.

DTB: Were you able to stay in touch with him after you went into the service?

BJ: Actually, Hank died not long after that.  He got killed in a car accident.  That grieved me, man.

DTB: What an unbelievable experience.  So, then you go into the service.

BJ: After Hank; that’s when I got the job delivering groceries.  The man I was working for; his brother-in-law was the sheriff, so they were able to pull some strings and get me a chauffeur’s license; so I’d be legal.  So now when I’m in the service I got a record of having been a chauffeur, so I became the chauffeur for the Colonel.  Drive the Colonel…ya know what I’m saying <laughing>.  I’m tellin’ ya man…

DTB: What an amazing bunch of coincidences…

BJ: I never really had to do anything hard.  I had it made.  Should’ve stayed there twenty years <laughing> Should of!  Hell I wasn’t doin’ nothing.  Stay twenty years; why not?  But I couldn’t wait to get home.  I had a girl friend. I was in love.  I couldn’t wait to get home.  I got home and she was in bed with another guy.  I actually saw them in bed together; but they didn’t see me. 

That took me way back.  I had the rings.  I had ten thousand dollars in my sock and I was going to get married to this girl.  And of course, seeing my grandmother.  Well, I married her anyway.  It was a big mistake, but I did it anyway.  We moved to Chicago and you know what the rest of that story is, boy.

I met up with Dave and Louis Myers and Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf and all the great Blues singers of that day at a place called Pepper’s Lounge; 43rd and Vincennes.  That was the spot.  Man, listen when they told me that I could sing, for real, I didn’t care nothing about no girlfriend; no wife; no nothin’.  That’s what I wanted to do and that’s what I did.  I sent her home back to Louisiana; back to her daddy.

DTB: She probably wasn’t real happy about that..

BJ: It didn’t really matter because I married her because of my grandmother.  My grandmother loved her so.  She said to me, “Boy, that’s the best woman for you.  You need to marry that woman.  She’s been so good to us since you been gone.”   I couldn’t tell my grandmother that I saw her in bed with another man.  I never told my wife either. I loved her so much, but I just couldn’t tell her I knew.

I kept this all to myself until about six years ago.  I told her that I saw her that day.  She never could figure out what happened to the marriage; why it didn’t click.  We met about six  years ago and I told her that she probably was wondering what happened and that probably it was the city that happened to me.  But I said, “You happened.  I saw you and the guy getting it on”.

Oh she cried and stuff and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?  I could’ve helped you with your burden.”  I did alright with it.  It made me sing the Blues.

DTB: Can I ask when this was?

BJ: We got to Chicago January 1, 1959.  All through the ‘60’s I was kickin’ up dust.  ‘60’s and ‘70’s I was kickin’ up dust.  In the ‘80’s things kinda kiltered down a little…

DTB: Disco.  It ruined everything…

 BJ: That’s right. It kicked butt.

DTB: Many guys had to go to Europe then.  Did you go?

BJ:  No, I didn’t have the connections back then.  What’s been a problem for me; other singers saw me as a threat to them, so they didn’t help me.  They let me go blindly through it all.  The good lord took care of me.

DTB: But you still worked, right?

BJ: Oh yeah.  I worked Florida, Chicago; I was even up here sometimes; Boston.

DTB: Did you have your own band?

BJ: No, I would just go in a place and take it; just take it over.  That’s why they didn’t like me much.

DTB: Sounds like a military maneuver <laughing>

BJ: Exactly.  Sometimes someone would say, I hear you sing.  You want to come up and sing? And I’d say sure.

DTB: It’s like inviting a vampire into your house…

BJ: That’s right <laughing>

DTB: Once you sing one song it’s now your band; your club, “I got this”

BJ: That’s it.  I got this.  I got this <laughing> You (the former lead singer) go get some breakfast.  I got this <laughing>.  So they’d say, “Oh lord, here comes this guy.  We might as well go home.  Once he starts all the focus will be on him”.

DTB: All this without playing an instrument

BJ: Ya know, it’s so stupid.  I had an uncle who played guitar and tried to show me how to play it.  He was real good, too.  I just wasn’t interested.  I wasn’t focused.

DTB: You were focused on pickin’ cotton.

BJ: <laughing> Yeah, that was it.  My uncle was very intelligent.  He was say, “Boy, you gotta come here and let me show you this”, but I didn’t.  He played like Pop Staples; you know how he played?  It was the greatest guitar playin’.

DTB: You never took to it?

BJ: Nope.  Too busy.  But I’m getting ready to take piano.  A friend of mine is going to teach me theory.  I need this so I can write better songs.  You know I got a country album out; you know that?  I got about 15 albums out on the market.

DTB: You have someone work with you to score your songs?

BJ: Yeah, always have.  Be nice to be able to do it on my own.  I can write a song in 10 minutes.  It’d be nice to be able to do it on my own.

DTB:  I can see why.  That’s the way you’ve always done it.

BJ: Yeah man.

DTB: I want to close out this interview by asking you the same question that I’ve asked many great Bluesman of today and that is whether or not you think the genre of Blues is here to stay or if it’s dying out.

BJ:  White people took it.

DTB: Say again?

BJ: White people took over the Blues and corporations don’t die easy.  I’m talking big companies like WalMart; that kind of Blues.  They got it.  Once they found out that there was big money to be made they took it over, so it’s not going anywhere now.  It’ll be around a long time because many young white kids are into it.  I’m sorry to say that not many black kids are into it, because they into Hip Hop.

DTB: That was the point of my question.  It does seem as though the black culture is moving away from Blues

BJ: Blues is the slow money for blacks.  Hip Hop is the fast money.

DTB: It did seem like in the ‘80’s the blacks turned away from Blues and didn’t really want to be associated with it.  At least that’s how it seemed.

BJ: There was some trickery going on then. The Hip Hop scene, became slobs.  Not sure where that came from.  What a mess that is.

DTB: Isn’t it a revolt from the younger kids.  Kinda like me growing my hair long in the ‘60’s not that you could tell by looking at me today.

BJ: Yeah, you’re right.  It’s a way for them to separate and distinguish themselves from those going before them.  They can say that they’re doing it this way, because now they makin’ all the money, but they ain’t makin’ as much as you think.  They ain’t makin’ as much as THEY think.  It’s all a front.  Like I say, there was a trick in there and they didn’t catch it.  A deterrent.  White America put up a deterrent so they had to go to the woodshed and study.  You know what that means?  It means you gotta play, practice until you get this stuff right.  If it comes too easy it ain’t gonna last.  The Blues will last because it ain’t ever come easy.

And that’s the way it’s supposed to be.