Sam Phillips once referred to Howlin' Wolf's voice as where the soul of man never dies. And Phillips, who worked with dozens of great Memphis talents, never changed his mind. Along with B.B. King and Muddy Waters, Wolf was one of the three greatest Postwar bluesmen. And with the release of his "Complete Chess" recordings, between 1951 and 1960, rock historian Ed Ward takes a listen to the evolution of a singular talent.


HOWLIN' WOLF MUSICIAN: (Singing) Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Yeah, somebody's knocking on my door.

ED WARD, BYLINE: When your father has worked a good piece of bottomland into producing crops that support the family and he dies young, if you're the oldest son you have to take over, no matter what. That's one theory of why Chester Arthur Burnett didn't make his first recording until he was 41 years old. Other bits of the story, which are still falling into place, have him learning music from Charley Patton, maybe spending some time in prison and having a bad...

...was 41 years old. Other bits of the story, which are still falling into place, have him learning music from Charley Patton, maybe spending some time in prison and having a bad time in the Army during the war. But by 1951, the farm was in safe hands, and Burnett, performing on the radio as Howlin' Wolf, caught the ear of Sam Phillips, who was running the Memphis Recording Service and talent-scouting for blues labels like Chess and Modern.

The early recordings were earthy, the quality which was the foundation of Wolf's style and his appeal. Chess had their first hit with in 1951, and it cracked the national Rhythm & Blues Top 10.


HOWLIN' WOLF: (Singing) How many more years have I got to let you dog me around? How many more years have I got to let you dog me around? I'd as soon rather be dead, sleeping six feet in the ground.

WARD: This was Wolf's regular Memphis band: Willie Johnson on guitar, Wolf on harmonica and Willie Steele on drums, with piano possibly by Ike Turner. Chess wanted him to move to Chicago so they could record him themselves and use some of their house band. So in 1953, he packed a Cadillac with his stuff and took off north. By March, he was in Chess Studios, letting everyone know he'd arrived.

WOLF: (Singing) You know I'm the wolf, baby. You know I stays in the woods. You know I'm the wolf, baby. You know I stays in the woods. Well, when you get in trouble, you call the wolf out of the woods.

WARD: Not his most compelling songwriting, but he had the A-team behind him - Otis Spann on piano and Willie Dixon on bass - and he was just getting warmed up.


WOLF: (Singing) I wore my .44 so long, I made my shoulder sore. I wore my .44 so long, I done made my shoulder sore. Well, I'm wondering, everybody, where baby go.

WARD: With the band now containing Hubert Sumlin, a very young guitarist Wolf called his adopted son and the musician who'd shape his sound and stick with him until Wolf died, he took to the road, barnstorming the South and then returning to Chicago's South Side clubs in triumph. He only recorded four sides in 1955, but started 1956 with one of the most enduring pieces of folk poetry ever written, "Smokestack Lightning."


WOLF: (Singing) Oh, smokestack lightning shining just like gold. Why don't you hear me crying? Whoo-hoo. Whoo-hoo. Whoo. Whoa, tell me, baby, what's the matter with you? Why don't you hear me cry? Whoo-hoo. Whoo-hoo. Whoo.

WARD: What is "Smokestack Lightning," anyway? What's going on in this song? Who knows? Who cares? The towering vocal delivery means that Wolf knows, and he passes that knowledge along, utterly bypassing the listener's intellect.

It just missed the Rhythm & Blues Top 10 in March, but it was competing with a lot of modern rock 'n' roll. Wolf wouldn't be rock 'n' roll until a few years later, when the Brits discovered him, but he was a law unto himself - and very few Chicago bluesmen except Muddy Waters dared challenge him.

The fact was, blues was fading as the audience for it was aging and younger men - and a couple of women - were updating its sound in Chicago. Wolf's records fell off the charts, but he continued to record and tour, and he was one of the few blues artists Chess put out albums by, confident that they could sell them.

One problem he faced, though, was that his songwriting didn't seem to be clicking with record buyers anymore, so in 1960, Chess put him in the studio with a trio of Willie Dixon's tunes: "Back Door Man," "Spoonful" and this song, which was a hit for Koko Taylor.


WOLF: (Singing) Tell automatic Slim, tell razor-toting Jim, tell butcher-knife toting Annie, tell fast talking Fanny that we gonna pitch a ball a down to that Union Hall. We going to romp and tromp till midnight. We're gonna fuss and fight till daylight. We gonna pitch a wang dang doodle all night long. All night long. All night long.

WARD: Howlin' Wolf still had a big chapter of his life to go, and he'd live until 1976. Some great records lay around the corner, as well as a revival of his career as the folkies and the rock crowd discovered him. I hope Universal sees fit to issue a second volume dedicated to post-1960 recording by the one and only Howlin' Wolf.

GROSS: Ed Ward reviewed "Howlin' Wolf Smokestack Lightning, the Complete Chess Masters 1951 to 1960." You can see a video of him singing "Smokestack Lightning" on our website freshair.npr.org. This is FRESH AIR.


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