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Such was the power of Muddy Waters, the rollin' stone from Rolling Fork, Mississippi, whose stark, raw songs transformed popular culture. Robert Gordon, who comes from Memphis, an hour or two north of where Waters grew up, has written the first extended biography that captures the elusive character of this hugely influential man. Waters' life was changed when self-aggrandising musicologist Alan Lomax drove up the dirt road, parked outside the shack in the middle of cotton fields, and asked for a guitar player he'd heard about. (Lomax leaves his black assistant out of his biography; Gordon restores his place in history.) Waters - already nearly 30, but still ploughing fields - sang some tunes for Lomax, and hearing his voice on an acetate showed him the possibilities that lay beyond the wide, wide horizon of the Delta.
Muddy Waters was illiterate, so Gordon - author of It Came From Memphis, a splendid social and musical history which manages to leave out Elvis - had to reconstruct his life story from interviews with his band members (many just before they died), the Chess family, and his children, legitimate and illegitimate. There are many of the latter; Muddy didn't go far without a "road wife": "[he] went through several wives, and always had women on the side, and women on the other side too." Gordon doesn't shy from the irresponsible, self-absorbed side of Muddy, a man who'd cheat on his wife without conscience, but support a musician in trouble just as casually. This is often a dark story, full of guns, violence, hard liquor and loose living. Success brought fame but not wealth to Muddy, thanks to his umbilical, exploitative relationship with Chess Records, a continuation of the "furnish" support he got from his cotton farmer back in the Delta.
This is the work of a Southern storyteller, it's like sitting back on the porch listening to tales tall and true. Gordon evocatively describes the various scenes of Muddy's life: the cotton economy, the early electric blues of Chicago, the endless road trips, the magic of the Chess studios, and the highs and lows of a career that generated more respect than cash. In Chicago, Muddy's "South Side house stayed rocking. Phones ringing, meats frying, and greens boiling, the TV broadcasting a baseball game, a shoot-'em-up. Muddy, in black T-shirt and black boxers. And always there was music." In the basement, his ever-changing band practiced chords that never changed, but changed the world. Wasn't that a man. A full-grown man.