Muddy Woters

The Chess Box does not contain all the great music Muddy Waters made. His talent and legacy are too large to be captured in a mere three discs, even one that spans from 1947 to 1972. This means, of course, that his legendary plantation recordings with Alan Lomax are not here, nor is his dynamic late-'70s comeback, Hard Again. But, truth be told, it doesn't feel like they're missing, since Waters' legend was built on the music that he made for Chess, and much of the greatest of that is here. Few box sets have chronicled an artist's best work as effectively as this; even the handful of rare, previously unreleased recordings sit perfectly next to the essential singles (this is particularly true of alternate takes of Fathers and Sons material). Sure, there are great Chess sides that aren't here, but those are great sides that the serious listener and aficionado need to seek out. For everybody else, this is a monumental chronicle of Waters at his best, illustrating his influence while providing rich, endlessly fascinating music.

At the time of his very first recordings in 1941, Muddy Waters was not yet called Muddy Waters, and he played acoustic guitar. It wasn't his guitar since he didn't own one, but one that was lent to him by Alan Lomax, the man who discovered him deep in Mississippi when he was a farmer and an amateur musician.

This album chronicles a 1959 Carnegie Hall bill shared between Muddy and Slim. In retrospect, it might be seen as something of a warm-up for Muddy, who would soon wow the world with the 1960 performance captured on his Newport album. Muddy's style was much more primal and sensual than the more urbane, slightly Charles Brown-like sound of Peter Chatman (AKA Memphis Slim), but the two blues giants accompany each other here with sensitivity and taste. Slim dominates the proceedings, with 13 cuts to Muddy's four, and his sophisticated vocal and piano stylings are a joy to the ear. Conversely, Muddy's tunes lack the punch his customary sidemen gave them (he's backed by Al Hall and Shep Sheppard). Nevertheless, the singer was in his prime at this time, and it was seemingly impossible for him to come across as anything less than commanding…

This is easily a "super super blues bust." Power trios, of course, were hip in the late '60s – even at down-home Chess Studios, where ad hoc "supergroups" were assembled for 1967's Super Blues and its sequel, Super Super Blues Band. (No one ever accused Chess Records of being subtle.) The band on Super Super Blues Band included two-thirds of the original Super Blues headliners – Muddy Waters and Bo Diddley – with Howlin' Wolf replacing Little Walter to round out the trio. Unlike Walter, who was willing to cede the spotlight to Diddley and Waters on Super Blues, Wolf adamantly refuses to back down from his rivals, resulting in a flood of contentious studio banter that turns out to be more entertaining than the otherwise unmemorable music from this stylistic train wreck.

At the time of his very first recordings in 1941, Muddy Waters was not yet called Muddy Waters, and he played acoustic guitar. It wasn't his guitar since he didn't own one, but one that was lent to him by Alan Lomax, the man who discovered him deep in Mississippi when he was a farmer and an amateur musician.

Of all the post-Fathers & Sons attempts at updating Muddy's sound in collaboration with younger white musicians, this album worked best because they let Muddy be himself, producing music that compared favorably to his concerts of the period, which were wonderful. His final album for Chess (recorded at Levon Helm's Woodstock studio, not in Chicago), with Helm and fellow Band-member Garth Hudson teaming up with Muddy's touring band, it was a rocking (in the bluesy sense) soulful swansong to the label where he got his start. Muddy covers some songs he knew back when (including Louis Jordan's "Caldonia" and "Let The Good Times Roll"), plays some slide, and generally has a great time on this Grammy-winning album. This record got lost in the shuffle between the collapse of Chess Records and the revival of Muddy's career under the auspices of Johnny Winter, and was forgotten until 1995. The CD contains one previously unreleased number, "Fox Squirrel".