Of the unfortunate dwindling number of 1960s and ’70s New Orleans R&B recording artists, thankfully we still have Wallace Johnson to appreciate. He never had much more than a handful of neighborhood hits, but his small clutch of singles – and one great CD – were some of the best local R&B of the era.

Johnson was born Oct. 8, 1937, in Napoleonville, La., 65 miles southwest of New Orleans on Bayou Lafourche.

“When I was 13, I saw Roy Brown at a little town called Bertrandville.” said Johnson in 1998. “I stood in the front row and focused on nothing but him. This was when he had (big) records out like ‘Cadillac Baby,’ ‘Brown Angel’ and ‘Good Rockin’ Tonight.’

“I went in the service in 1954. I was stationed in Fort Lewis, Washington. One day at the service club, a guy asked me if I sang. I didn’t, but the next thing I knew, we had a five-member group. This was during the doo-wop era. We performed at talent shows and usually won.”

Johnson got married while in the service. After being discharged, he and his growing family moved to New Orleans, where he had several relatives. Still interested in music, Johnson enrolled at Houston’s School of Music under the G.I. Bill. He unsuccessfully auditioned for Dave Bartholomew at Imperial Records and later for Harold Battiste at Specialty. Battiste expressed interest, but Johnson was told Specialty was winding down its New Orleans activities. However, Batiste revealed he had another project in the works.

“Harold was going to start his own label, AFO. He said it was time for New Orleans musicians that make the music to make the money – not out-of-town companies that came here to record. That’s how I wound up on AFO.”

Johnson debuted on AFO in 1962 with “Clap Your Hands” / “Peace of Mind.” It was a great release, but Johnson got caught in a record-business trick bag. AFO briefly had a national distrubutor, Sue Records, that helped catapult Barbara George’s “I Know” to the top of the charts. Sue and AFO had an bitter split – in a nutshell – over George’s contract and services. That meant Johnson’s single had only local distribution, which meant limited sales and promotion.

“We cut that session at a little studio built behind Ric Records office on Baronne Street,” said Johnson. “That was the first time I met Allen Toussaint, but he couldn’t play on the session because he had a contract with Minit Records. But the rest of the AFO combo played on the record. I cut the session and moved back to Napoleonville after I broke my ankle. Later I found out the label folded and the AFO cats moved out to the West Coast. Then I started seeing Harold on the ‘Sonny and Cher’ show every week.”

Johnson began working weekends at the clubs along Bayou Lafourche. His marquee gig was opening shows for national acts like Ile and Tina Turner and Bobby “Blue” Bland at the Sugar Bowl in Thibodaux. Johnson moved back to New Orleans in 1965 and ran into Toussaint again.

“Allen had just got out of the service and became partners with Marshall Sehorn. This was right after Allen produced Lee Dorsey’s ‘Ride Your Pony.’ I wound up doing several singles with Allen.”

Johnson’s initial Toussaint-produced single – “Something To Remember You By” / “If You Leave Me” – appeared on Sansu and was distributed by Bell. Though it begged to break nationally, it stayed a local record, largely overlooked by the sudden explosion of British music in America. The follow-up, “I’m Grown” / “Baby Go Head,” was also distinctive, but it met a similar fate.

“None of those records were cut live,” recalled Johnson. “Allen would have the musicians record a backing track and then I’d come in and do the vocals. I thought ‘Something to Remember You By’ was pretty good. ‘I’m Grown’ was pretty arrogant song that told a different story. The last single I did with Allen was on RCA (in 1973). ‘I Miss You Girl’ and ‘On My Way Back’ were cut in Atlanta.”

The RCA single didn’t do much, and Johnson returned to Napoleonville, where he drove trucks and worked in a lumber yard to support his family. After his wife died and children grew up, Johnson moved back to New Orleans and worked for company that laid sewer lines. In the mid-1990s, Johnson re-encountered Toussaint and saw a revival of his music career.

“At the time I used to go by Allen’s house to shoot pool,” Johnson said. “I asked him what he thought of me cutting a demo. He said, ‘Go ahead.’ He said, ‘Get the musicians and you can use the studio (Sea-Saint) anytime.’ I met some guys that played with Rockin’ Dopsie Jr., and we did four songs.

“Allen heard the demo and came by my house a couple weeks later. He said, ‘I have some friends in New York are interested in starting a label’ and would I be interested in being involved? Of course I was. I wound up doing a CD ‘Whoever’s Thrilling You’ that came out on NYNO in 1996.”

The release set off a brief firestorm of activity, but Johnson eventually returned to driving a truck for a living. NYNO fizzled, and in 2000, Johnson moved to Atlanta to live with his daughter. His appearance at the 2010 Ponderosa Stomp this Saturday night will mark his first return to New Orleans in a decade.

Wallace Johnson – Clap Your Hands

For even more on Wallace Johnson- see this excellent Home of the Groove post.

Sammy Ridgley. Though the last name is familiar to New Orleans R&B buffs, the first name might not well be. Separated by 18 years, Sammy Ridgley is the youngest brother of the late Tommy Ridgely and carries on the R&B tradition of his older brother. He still leads Tommy’s old band, the Untouchables, and hopefully his 2010 Ponderosa Stomp performance will lead to deservedly wider recognition.

Born Aug. 6, 1943, Sammy was raised on Andover Street in the Shrewsbury section of Jefferson Parish. “When I was growing up, Tommy had left home but was living around the corner,” recalled Ridgley in the fall of 1998. “I grew up singing gospel, and I was a good football player. I was an amateur boxer and won all but one fight. A policeman wanted to train me to box professionally, but my mother wouldn’t go for it.”

As an adolescent, Ridgley soon found out that there were certain perks to being the brother of a successful recording artist. “Every time my brother went out of town, he’d bring me back a shirt, a pair of shoes, or a new suit,” laughed Ridgley. “I had 20 pairs of shoes and 13 suits. Also, I could get into all the dances free by telling the guy at the door that I was Tommy Ridgley’s brother.”

As he grew older, Ridgley often traveled to nearby towns with his brother and helped handle the band’s equipment. As he grew older, Ridgley got to see the likes of Gatemouth Brown, Guitar Slim and Smiley Lewis when they performed at the Harlem Gym in Shrewsbury.

“I used to enjoy going to the Municipal Auditorium too and seeing the gospel shows. I remember seeing Aretha Franklin and Sam Cooke. I also remember seeing Archie Brown Lee and the Five Blind Boys – he was devastating.”

Eventually Joe Tex became Ridgley’s biggest influence. “Joe Tex played the Dew Drop in the late 1950s. This was before he had any hit records. It was the most exciting thing I ever saw. He did all those James Brown dance steps that became famous and he could really pop that mike stand. I remember leaving the Dew Drop one night thinking how great it would be to be a singer and be able to put on a show like that.”

In 1962, Ridgley got the chance. “Kelly Jones was a saxophonist in my neighborhood that played with O.W. Scott and the Magnificents,” said Ridgley. “He heard I could sing and invited me to join the band. We mostly played white frat gigs and made good money. I made more money in one night than an entire week at my day job (at a funeral parlor).”

Tommy arranged for his brother to record at Cosimo’s in 1965, but “The Hully Gully” never saw the light of day. Sammy also did a session with the Magnificents at WYLD’s studio on Tulane Avenue that also went unissued.

“The Magnificents did well until the Beatles came along,” said Ridgley. “Then we had to compete with all the Beatle and guitar bands. Guys kept dropping out of the group (the Magnificents) and finally it dissolved.

“Around 1968, I started my own band, Operation Plus. That was the best little boogie-woogie band I ever heard. That was my style – that uptempo sound. We had the same weekend gig at the Young Man’s Night Club on Causeway (Boulevard) for 24 years.”

In 1972, Ridgley signed on with Elijah Walker, who ran a production/promotion company with a parcel of very successful up-and-coming New Orleans R&B talent, including King Floyd, Jean Knight, and C. P. Love, to name a few. A largely overlooked figure in the overall history of local R&B, Walker was very much responsible for the brief resurgence of the New Orleans sound in the early 1970s. The former longshoreman knew the value of hard work, connections and especially money. “Walker didn’t get kicked in the ass – Walker did the ass kicking,” according to C.P. Love.

Walker produced Ridgley’s first single “I’ve Heard That Story Before” – a cover of his brother’s song – and “Shake A Shake Sue.” The single was arranged by Wardell Quezergue and released on King’s Row. The same team worked on “I’m Dreaming”/”Locked Up,” which started to make some noise in New Orleans.

“‘I’m Dreaming’ started to get some airplay on WBOK and WYLD, but it cost money to get a record played then,” said Ridgley. “I know because I put $250 in a jock’s hand. The jock told me that for another $250, he’d wear the label off the motherfucker.

“ABC-Paramount was interest in leasing ‘I’m Dreaming’ and doing an album. They offered $5,000, but Walker wanted $10,000. They thought that was too much and nothing happened.”

Walker’s unexpected death in 1973 stalled Ridgley’s recording career, but he stayed busy with Operation Plus and occasionally opening his brother’s shows with the Untouchables.

In the late 1990s, Ridgley was approached by guitarist/label owner Ernie Vincent – an association that resulted in the very good, but unfortunately out-of-print, “Midnight Rendezvous” CD.

After Tommy’s death in 1999, Sammy assumed the role of bandleader with the Untouchables. Sammy and the band mostly work private functions in Jefferson Parish. His appearance before the Ponderosa Stomp’s knowledgeable and appreciative audience will surely make many more people aware of his talent.

Sammy Ridgley – I Heard That Story Before

For many Ponderosa Stomp goers (including this scribe), the highlight of 2010′s event will be the appearance of the fabulous Young Jessie. Best known for the hit “Mary Lou,” Young Jessie epitomized the wild 1950s blend of West Coast R&B and rock and roll—and cut some of the best records of the era.

Born Obediah Donnell Jessie December 28, 1936 at Dallas, Texas, “Young” Jessie was introduced to music by his piano playing mother. When the War broke out, Jessie’s family moved to the West Coast so his father could find a better job. Jessie’s family moved back to Texas in 1950. Jessie however returned to Los Angeles shortly after where he attended Jefferson High, a school also attended by Etta James, Johnny “Guitar” Watson. and Richard Berry.

Berry—of “Louis, Louie” fame, but sadly, not fortune—encouraged Jessie to join his doo-wop group dubbed the Flairs. The group became very popular on the L. A. high school circuit in the early 1950s via dances and house parties. One day the group collectively skipped classes and auditioned for RPM Records—then one of the most successful R&B record labels on the West Coast. RPM owners Jules and Joe Bihari were impressed and set up a recording session for the 16-year-olds.

The group’s first effort “She Wants To Rock,” was produced by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, with Berry singing lead. A playful recording, Leiber and Stoller would later parlay the Flairs style into gold when they began working with the Robins and the Coasters at Atlantic. The Flairs cut four singles for RPM as well as several more using other group names. The group disbanded around 1955 and Jessie and Berry forged their own careers.

The Biharis brothers suggested the moniker “Young” Jessie and together they struck pay-dirt with “Mary Lou,” a song Jessie wrote about a wild aunt on his fathers side. “Mary Lou” sold especially well on the West Coast and in Texas and Jessie embarked on a series of tours with the likes of Guitar Slim, Bobby Bland and B. B. King. Other RPM masterpieces included “Hit, Git and Split” and “Oochie Coochie.” “Mary Lou” was eventually covered by Arkansas rockabilly Ronnie Hawkins and his version made the national charts in 1959.

Young Jessie – Mary Lou

Jessie briefly joined the Coasters—long enough to record “Searchin’” and “Youngblood”—before waxing the infectious “Shuffle In the Gravel” for Atco in 1957 with his old pals Leiber and Stoller producing. Next stop was Capitol—albeit a brief stop— where Jessie recorded the equally effective “The Wrong Door.”

In 1961, producer Bumps Blackwell got Jessie a deal with Mercury where he waxed the Coasters influenced “Teacher Gimme Back,” and the riotous “My Country Cousin.” Unfortunately, the public’s taste in music was “maturing” and Jessie’s 1950s rocking style wasn’t appreciated. He spent the rest of the 1960s recording great singles for small labels on the West Coast.

Young Jessie was more-or-less rediscovered in the early 1980s when his recording began being reissued in Europe. Since then, Young Jessie has made numerous overseas appearances where he has never failed to please. Eventually, America came on board.

Young Jessie – Hit, Git and Split

Note. Young Jessie should not be confused with a local artist, Jesse Thomas, that recorded under his own name and with Huey Smith and the Clowns in the 1960s. That Jessie often billed himself as Young Jessie in New Orleans. This Young Jessie is the real Mccoy.

Jeff Hannusch

C.P. Love performs today, September 16th at 6pm at Ogden After Hours. Writer Jeff Hannusch profiles Love here and will Interview him at the Ogden.

Vocalist C.P. Love might well be best known for a song he didn’t record, rather than one he did. Love had been offered “Groove Me” by King Floyd but passed on the song, feeling Floyd deserved to record it and would do a better job with it. While he could have recorded a major hit, Love still managed to notch a couple of regional successes and assembled a compact, but enjoyable resume of soul and R&B recordings.

Born Carleton Pierre Love in 1945, he was raised on the West Bank of New Orleans. At the age of 12, Love taught himself to play guitar and formed a four-piece band. He later switched to bass when he joined Little Benny and the Creoles, a group that sometimes featured Walter Washington. Originally, Love didn’t sing, but when the vocalist couldn’t learn new material, he began fronting the band on bass and vocals. Eventually, Love dropped the bass and concentrated on singing.

“I liked Sam Cooke, Elmore James, Danny White and Smiley Lewis,” recalled Love in 1999. “That’s what was on the radio. I started going by the Dew Drop and hanging out with Deacon John, Esquerita and Earl King.”

One of Love’s first marquee gigs was sharing the bill with Professor Longhair at Jessie’s Lounge in Marrero.

“I sang some Bobby Mitchell tunes and Fess backed me up,” recalled Love, “The band was just Fess and a drummer. All he had (the drummer) was a bass drum, snare and one cymbal. But when he played he sounded like two drummers. In the middle of the set a guy came in with a shovel and hit two guys over the head with it over a woman. All hell broke loose. Me and Fess grabbed his (electric) piano and carried it outside. He was driving an old limousine with the seats taken out of the back. We just slide the piano in and sat in the front seats. After the fight Jessie (the owner), came outside and asked us to start playing again. Fess said, ‘No, we’re going home.’ He was a quite guy and didn’t go for no humbug.”

In the mid-1960s, Love joined the Invaders, a band that played local club and Tulane’s frat row. One evening, Elijah Walker, a longshoreman turned music entrepreneur, caught the Invaders and liked what he heard.

“Mr. Walker booked dances and shows,” said Love. “He’d bring in whoever had a hot record and put a New Orleans band behind them. One of the bands Mr. Walker hired cancelled a date and he hired us to take their place. After the show, he asked us if we were interested in making a record with him. Naturally, I said ‘Yes.’ Mr. Walker learned the music business the hard way and he didn’t take any shit.”

Walker and Earl King had started a label, King Walk, and in 1968 had Love record “Plenty of Room For More”/”You Call the Shots” at a Conti Street studio located behind an auto body shop. “You Call the Shots” was penned by King and reminded listeners of Wilson Pickett. It did well in New Orleans and lead Love to another recording project. Walker brokered a deal with MGM Records to have Love record a “sound alike” album. Back then, it was common to find LPs and 45s in department store containing covers of current hits at a fraction of the price of the original release. Love recorded an album’s worth of covers by Otis Redding, James Brown and Wilson Pickett in Baton Rouge.

King Walk folded so Walker started a new partnership with arranger Wardell Quezergue dubbed Pelican Productions. Then along came King Floyd and “Groove Me.”

“I told Mr. Walker about King,” said Love. “King had just come back from California. He heard I had made a record and he offered me ‘Groove Me.’ I heard the song and immediately knew it had something. But I thought King had a really unique voice and that he should be the one to record it. We made a tape of King doing ‘Groove Me’ and brought it to Mr. Walker. That was the first time I met Wardell. Wardell heard ‘Groove Me’ and he said to Walker, ‘I believe we have something here.’”

In May of 1970, Love was scheduled to record a Joe Broussard song “I Found All These Things,” at Malaco’s Studio in Jackson, Mississippi. Instead, Love suggested to Walker that Floyd should take his place.

“Walker said, ‘Why do you want to look out for him all the time?’ I just thought it was a good song and King should record it. I never gave not recording the song a second thought.”

Later, Love did record the stupendous ballad “I Found All These Things,’ and like “Groove Me,” Atlantic picked it up to distribute. The song sold well locally, and might well have broken in other markets, had a tour with James Carr not fallen through.

But with “Groove Me” in the charts, Floyd returned Love’s favor by inviting him to open his shows. Love spent nine months touring with Floyd, and then several more with Candi Staton and Bobby Womack. By the mid 1970s, Love was back in New Orleans where the recording scene was pretty much stuck in park. Love survived by playing on Bourbon Street at several venues.

“I did Bourbon Street for 10 years,” said Love. ‘At first it was a job I looked forward to. Later it was a job I looked forward to getting away from. I started at the Sho Bar and later worked at La Strada. At La Strada we’d come on at 7:00 and play until 9:00 p.m. Then Frogman Henry would come on and play until 1:15. Then we’d do another set. I did that for two-and-a-half years. My job was to make the cash register ring and I was good at that. But when Bourbon Street went non-union, you had to take a big cut in pay. I couldn’t accept that.”

A change of scenery was in order and in 1986, Love moved to the Bay Area. Love made some good connections and he managed to stay busy working the club and festival circuit between Seattle and San Diego.. He also cut a four-track EP for Carlo Ditta’s Orleans label. Ditta had briefly relocated in California and managed to arrange a session withe ex-Meters Leo Nocentelli and George Porter. While many listeners were pleased with the effort, Love felt he was rushed and the results could have been better.

In 1999, Love returned to New Orleans to help take care of his ailing mother. Ironically, in 2003, Johnnie Taylor posthumously had a mild radio hit with his cover of “I Found All These Things.” Love continues to perform occasionally around New Orleans.

Jeff Hannusch

Congo Mombo concert series continues:at the Rock n Bowl: Chick WIllis “The Stoop Down Man,” Herman Hitson “Ain’t No Other Way” & Those Lonely Knights at the Rock N Bowl 8/21/2010, $10.

Chick Willis: The Stoop Down Man

“Stoop down baby,
Let your daddy see. (X2)
You got something down there baby worrying the hell out of me.

Two old maids, laying in the bed,
One turned over to the other and said.
Wake up old maid,
Don’t sleep so damn sound,
You know what you promised when you first laid down.”

I had the very good fortune to see to see Chick Willis and his “Stoop Down Revue” at the height of “Stoop Down Fever,” during the summer of 1973. An early issue of ‘Living Blues’ sparked my interest as it contained a feature on Willis, a colorful performer (who wore a turban!!!). Chick was related to the great Chuck Willis and had a record that was then tearing up the South—the said “Stoop Down Baby”—which no radio station could play. Jukebox’s were responsible for breaking that record.

On a record hunting trip to Detroit, I tracked down of a copy of the actual “Stoop Down” album which was issued on LaVal, a label out of Kalamazoo, Michigan. When I got home I dropped the needle on side one which contained a 21 minute plus version of “Stoop Down.” It took about 20 seconds to realize that if any radio station aired the record, their broadcast license would be revoked before the it finished playing. (I’ve since been reminded it was played on New Orleans radio, “Until we were sick of hearing it.”) Side two contained two songs by our own Guitar Slim—”The Story of My Life” and of course the timeless “The Things I Used To Do.” While I didn’t realize it at the time, to this day, Willis probably interpreted Slim’s material better than anyone else living-or-dead.

I had a month to kill before I enrolled in my first year of college and I talked my dad into lending me the family’s second car–a brand new Ford Maverick—to make my first trip to New Orleans. Being a possessed blues record collector, the plan was to head South (from Canada) and hit all the juke box dealers (jukebox dealers were a prime source for blues records then as they sold off their old 45s for as little as a dime), junk stores and thrift stores, after I crossed the Mason Dixon Line. Disdaining Inter State Highways, my travels took me to Greenville, Mississippi. Now a gambling destination, back then Greenville’s major industry was poverty and ginning cotton. First stop in decent sized town meant finding the yellow pages and finding out where the jukebox dealers were located. On this day, instead I stopped to inspect one of a plethora of neon colored posters that were seemingly stapled to every utility pole inside Greenville’s city limits. The posters announced “CHICK WILLIS & his Stoop Down Revue and Show—added attraction—stoop down contest with prizes. This is not a BYOB event. Admission $5.00.” As luck would have it, the show was that evening at the Greenville VFW Hall. My evening was planned.

Despite being a week night, the parking lot was jammed and I dare say, I had the only car in it with Ontario plates. The Greenville VFW’s major source of lighting seemed to be dim Christmas lights initially. Drink options were limited. Set ups—pint of whiskey, two cokes, ice and paper cups—and tepid quarts of Falstaff and Budweiser beer that sold for $2.00 each. I chose the latter and sat inauspiciously in a corner. When the stage lights came on, a local band, the Zodiacs no less, ran through a short set of current soul favorites. Then a small band took the stage and played a couple of instrumentals while they struggled with the sound system. Then a well dressed man—the promoter or a local deejay—got behind the microphone and asked the audience “Are you ready for the star of the show? Are you ready for the man of the hour?” The audiences response was was resounding “Yes!” The guy in the suit then proclaimed “Here he is, the stoop down man—Chick Willis!!!

On stage came a slight man toting a Gibson guitar and wearing a big smile. Well, if you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought a bomb went off. Every woman it the building went ass over tea kettle. A master showman, Willis worked that crowd like a world champion yo-yo player works a yo-yo. He played the guitar behind his head, between his legs, he dropped to his knees, he played the guitar with his tongue. The latter which inspired women to charge the stage and kept Willis’ valet busy peeling them off the edge of the stage. Musically, Willis was dead on even in the midst of a circus. I recalled he played one of his cousins songs, maybe “What Am I Living For,” “Dirty Muther Fuyer” (called “The Dozens” in these parts) and Guitar Slim’s “The Things I Used To Do,” which brought the house down. (In later, years I learned Slim was born and raised in nearby Hollandale.)

With the preliminaries dispensed, Willis lit into a 20 minute version of “Stoop Down Baby” that had everyone on their feet shaking their groove thing instantly. Well, except for me. Willis had a string of verses that seemingly had no end. Barn yard animals, little kids, the president—Willis managed to have everybody in the world stooping down except the Red Chinese and the USSR national hockey team. Soaked in sweat, he eventually retreated back stage. Then it was time for the much anticipated stoop down contest.

As one might assume, only “ladies” participated in the stoop down contest. At first, it reminded me of the limbo contests they had on American and Canadian Bandstand–Yes Virginia, there was a Canadian Bandstand, they filmed it in my home town—but, with no limbo stick. With the MC judging and “Stoop Down Baby” blasting over the sound system, scores of women in all shapes and sizes lined up for first prize. The object of the contest seemed to be, not just how low you could go, but how much drawers you could show. Naturally, the men in the audience howled in delight throughout. It was during the contest that an older black gentleman put his hand on my shoulder—quite obviously noting the look of disbelief on my face. He smiled and said, “Son, I bet you never saw anything like this before.” Obviously, he had a point. A rather well endowed woman took home first prize that night. I don’t remember what the award was, but I’m sure it wasn’t a gift certificate to Victoria Secret.

Willis then returned to the stage and pretty much reprised the first set, again concluding with you know what. He did however underline his genius by coming up with even more verses to “Stoop Down.” In later years, Willis would make several attempts to coat tail his hit–”Stoop Down Part 2,” “Stoop Down ’76,” “Don’t Let Me Catch You With Your Britches Down,” etc., but he couldn’t match the popularity of the original. However, that’s not to say he didn’t make anymore good records as even his most recent recordings have plenty to offer. Take it from some one who found out 37 years ago, an evening with Chick Willis won’t soon be forgotten.

Jeff Hannusch

Chick Willis- Stoop Down Baby

Since the late 1950s to the dawn of the new millennium, there have been well over 200 different independent labels operating in and around New Orleans — perhaps the most of any American city outside of Nashville and New York. In the early days the record business appealed to individuals of various backgrounds who shared an entrepreneurial streak. For an investment of just a few hundred dollars, you could record and press several hundred singles. With a little luck — and maybe a $20 bill or a fifth of whiskey given to the right jock or jukebox operator — you could recoup your investment or, better yet, score a bona-fide hit record. With the abundance of R&B talent in New Orleans, it would happen with mind-boggling frequency.

As one old-school label owner and producer pointed out, “If you threw 10 (singles) out there and one stuck, it would pay for the other nine, and you still made money. That’s how the business worked.” With that kind of playing field, the independent record business obviously attracted many interesting and fascinating characters — and none more so than Senator Jones.

Between the late 1960s and early 1980s, Jones recorded an enormous amount of local R&B talent and headed up several labels under the “Erica Productions,” umbrella, a business he ran out of a small, cluttered office in the Masonic building on St. Bernard Avenue. Johnny Adams, Charles Brimmer, Barbara George, Chris Kenner, Tommy Ridgley, Walter Washington and James Rivers were among the numerous New Orleans artists to record for “the Senator.” A street-smart hustler who knew the independent record business backwards and forwards, Jones discovered several artists, but perhaps more importantly, he also extended the careers of many veteran R&B performers.

Senator Nolan Jones was born on Nov. 9, 1934, in Jackson, Miss., and his family moved to New Orleans in 1951. Fond of the bright lights, Senator worked as a laborer but was drafted into the Army two years later. Eventually stationed at Fort Benning, Georgia, Jones sang with a vocal group called the Desperados, whose ranks included Oscar Toney Jr. and Jo Jo White. The Desperados occasionally opened shows for the Five Royals as well as Hank Ballard and the Midnighters at nearby clubs.

Jones was discharged in 1957 and returned to New Orleans, where he began sitting in at local clubs like the Dew Drop and Club Tijuana. Hooking up with Al Johnson, Jones helped write “You Done Me Wrong,” which Johnson recorded in 1958 for Ron Records. In the early 1960s, Jones began hanging out at Joe Assunto’s One Stop Record Shop on South Rampart Street along with the likes of Earl King, Johnny Adams, King Floyd, and Professor Longhair. Assunto was an important player in the local record business, as he was a retailer, a wholesaler, and a record-label owner. Befriending One Stop clerk Beryl “Whurley Burley” Eugene, Jones convinced Eugene that he might well profit from his connections with Assunto if he started his own record label. In 1963, the Whurley Burley label debuted with Jones’ truely dreadful “Call the Sheriff”/ “Let Yourself Go.”

Senator Jones – Call the Sheriff

The following year Jones cut “Sugar Dee” for Assunto’s Watch label and, later, “Einie, Meenie,Minee, Mo” for the International City label, which was owned by a local disc jockey, Bob Robbins. The latter single actually made some noise, and Jones got booked for some local sock hops. International City did another session on Jones that produced “Mini Skirt Dance,” which was leased to Bell. However, after four tries, Jones realized he wasn’t going to make it as a recording artist.

However, bitten by the record bug, he decided to start working on the other side of the studio board. “I could see that local artists weren’t getting as recorded as much as they should,” Jones said in 1985. “I saw New Orleans acts steal the shows from national acts with hit records. That’s when I started thinking about producing.”

In 1968, Jones founded his first label, Black Patch, named for the patch he wore for several years after losing his left eye in an accident, and recorded “The President of Soul,” guitarist and singer Rockie Charles from New Orleans’ West Bank. When Charles’ “Mr. Rickashay” failed to sell, he folded Black Patch and formed a new label, Shagg.

Rockie Charles – The President of Soul

“I recorded ‘Kid Stuff,’ by the Barons,” recalled Jones. “I put that record out on Shagg 711. Shagg was a nickname a lot of artists gave me. ‘Kid Stuff’ did pretty well. Cosimo Matassa leased it to Dover (distributors) during the session. He paid me $800, which paid off (arranger) Wardell Quezergue and the musicians.”

Needing some startup capital to get off the ground, Jones got financing from club and motel owner Ferdinand Prout as well as two All South Records salesmen, Elmo Sonnier and Whitney Picou. The second Shagg single was by Guitar Ray, a cousin of Earl King, who had earlier recorded for Hot Line. Now highly collectable, the coupling of the intense “You Gonna Wreck My Life” and “I’m Never Gonna Break His Rules” was one of the best blues records to come out of New Orleans in the 1960s.

After just two releases on Shagg, Jones decided to fold it and form several other labels, including Superdome, Erica, Jenmark, JB’s, and Hep’ Me. “As I got more and more artists, I didn’t want to go to the radio stations with seven records on the same label,” said Jones. “I knew the deejays would say, ‘I can’t play all these records; they’re all on the same label.’ So I started new labels and switched colors on the labels to make them look different.”

Eventually, most of Jones releases would come out on Hep’ Me, a label that got its name in a curious fashion in the late 1960s. “When John McKeithen (from north Louisiana) was running for governor, he would get on TV and say, ‘Won’t you please hep me.’ Well, it got him elected. I figured if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me too.”

In 1973, local keyboardist, Ray J. (Raymond Jones) had the first release on Hep’ Me with a cover of Dr. John’s “Right Place Wrong Time,” which sold well around New Orleans. Ray J., who doubled as a prep school music teacher, also began arranging sessions for Jones. One of his first sessions produced the 1974 Carnival hit “Second Line Pt. 1 & 2″ by Stop Inc., which appeared on JB’s.

“That group was led by two brothers from Baton Rouge, Clyde and Brian Tolivar,” said Jones, “Bill Sinigal had recorded the original for White Cliffs, but the master was lost and they couldn’t press any more records. It was still a popular Carnival song even though nobody could buy it. Alvin Thomas plays tenor sax on my record because no one in the group could get that second-line sound.”

That same year Jones also had a best-seller with Eddie Lang’s topical “Food Stamp Blues,” which was released on Superdome. A veteran blues guitarist from the north shore, Lang had earlier recorded for RPM and Ron. “Food Stamp Blues” eventually was leased by Jewel Records and became a modest Southern hit.

Jones’ next taste of success was with deep-soul legend Charles Brimmer of New Orleans, whose smoldering “Afflicted” topped the local charts. The following year Jones produced Brimmer’s biggest hit, “The New God Bless Our Love.” Al Green had first recorded “God Bless Our Love,” but it was available only on an LP. Despite the pleas of jukebox operators and distributors, Green’s label, Hi, refused to issue the song on a single, hoping to extend the sales of the album. Jones was shrewd enough to realize there was a demand for a single of “God Bless Our Love” even it wasn’t by Al Green. Jones asked Brimmer to cover the song, and 48 hours after delivering dubs of “The New God Bless Our Love” to radio stations, Jones’ distributor, All South Records, had orders for 10,000 singles. Jones didn’t have enough money to press that many singles, so he leased “The New God Bless Our Love” to the Chelsea label in Los Angeles. Chelsea wound up selling 60,000 singles as well as 10,000 copies of a subsequent Charles Brimmer album produced by Jones.

Charles Brimmer – Afflicted

With his labels getting a tenuous foothold in the New Orleans R&B marketplace, Jones struck a deal with Marshall Sehorn. In return for access to the Sea-Saint recording studio owned by Sehorn and Allen Toussaint, Jones turned over a percentage of his profits to Sehorn and gave him the rights to license his material.

Jones lost his best-selling artist in 1976 when he and Brimmer had a falling out and the singer moved to Los Angeles. However, the following year Brimmer’s place would be taken by “The Tan Canary” of New Orleans, vocalist Johnny Adams. Adams hadn’t recorded since 1975, when his longtime label, SSS of Nashville, went out of business. Adams hoped to get signed by a major or a national independent label, but after two non-promoted singles on Atlantic, he had no other offers. Jones had been after Adams to do some recording for him for some time, but as anyone who knew Adams knows, Johnny was never in a hurry to do anything. Finally, when gigs started to dry up, Adams realized he needed a new record on the jukeboxes to attract work. That’s when Adams and Jones came to an agreement.

“Johnny was by far the greatest singer I ever heard,” said Jones. “The first time I booked the studio, he didn’t show up, which made me mad as hell (not a pleasant sight). I didn’t think he’d show up the second time, so when he did, we just pulled songs out of the air. That’s how the first single, “Stand By Me,” and the “Stand By Me” album came about. Marshall made a deal with Chelsea to release them.”

While the “Stand By Me” album (which might have sported the most uninspiring cover of the decade) and his early JB’s singles were reworkings of soul classics, Adams’ later work with Jones was far more imaginative. Jones scored his first hit with Adams with an interpretation of Conway Twitty’s “After All the Good Is Gone.” Originally released on Hep’ Me in 1978, the single was a strong regional mover and caught the attention of Ariola. Ariola leased the single, coaxing it into the charts, and contracted Adams to do an album with Jones. The resulting LP, “After All the Good Is Gone,” is arguably the best one that Adams ever recorded.

Johnny Adams -After all the Good Is Gone

Adams continued to record great singles for Jones that sold well around New Orleans, including the telling country lament “Hell Yes I Cheated,” “Spanish Harlem,” “Please Come Home For Christmas,” “I Live My Whole Life At Night” and “Love Me Now.” The latter song was leased to PAID Records and briefly charted. By the early 1980s, Jones had begun issuing 12-inch albums. While he had the market covered in regards to singles, his album releases were mostly woeful. Canned graphics, blurry photographs, distain for dictionaries and proofreaders (Johnny Adams was referred to as “the tan canery” on the back cover of his initial Hep’ Me LP) and extremely short playing time were common on Jones’ LPs.

Another consistent artist for Jones was Baton Rouge’s Bobby Powell, who joined Hep’ Me in 1978. Powell had a national hit with “C.C. Rider” in 1965 on the Baton Rouge label Whit after Jewel leased it. Powell recorded soul, blues, and gospel for Jones.

“Bobby was a sweet artist,” said Jones. “He can deliver anything you ask him to. He does blues, but he also leads a choir at his church. We had a number of good records. I’m speaking of “Sweet Sixteen,” “The Glory of Love,” and “I’m a Fool For You.”

Jones also recorded several New Orleans R&B veterans, including Chuck Carbo, Tommy Ridgley, Barbara George, Chris Kenner, and James Rivers. He also gave up-and-comers like the Las Vegas Connection, Walter Washington and Clem Easterling a chance to record.

However, by 1985, many of the local stations Jones depended on for airplay were in the hands of out-of-state owners and corporations that devised their own national playlists. This meant that the chance to get a local single played on the radio in New Orleans were slim to none. When airplay dried up, it became impossible to sell his releases to record stores and distributors. Once that happened, Jones could no longer afford to record and manufacture records.

“The stations in New Orleans forgot about us small record companies,” fumed Jones. “It got impossible to make a profit from a local record.”

After Adams left to record for Rounder, Jones more or less threw in the towel and began managing a small motel on the West Bank. By 1990, he had moved back to Mississippi, where he divided his time raising goats, producing the occasional record (often on himself) and working as a disc jockey on a small AM station under the guise of “Mr. Bo Bo.” He briefly partnered with Ace/Avanti Records owner Johnny Vincent, but there wasn’t a room in Mississippi big enough to hold both their egos and they eventually split. Jones also did some talent scouting and occasional record promotion, most notably for Malaco. His best find might have been discovering “The Love Doctor” and steering him to Mardi Gras Records, and he also released an early CD by Sir Charles Jones on the Hep’ Me label.

An era in the independent R&B record business ended when Senator Jones died in his sleep on Nov. 5, 2008, at his home in Bolton, Miss.

While Henry Gray has lived in the sleepy hamlet of Scotlandville, Louisiana, just north of Baton Rouge, for nearly 40 years, he is the obvious heir to the Chicago blues piano throne. Why, one might well ask? He gets the crown, via 25 years of playing in the Windy City during the golden age of Chicago blues. While he is best known for his lengthy tenure with Howlin’ Wolf, Gray also backed a virtual who’s who of legendary Chicago blues artists in the studio, and on the bandstand.

Gray’s style was, and still is, instantly recognizable. Rather than play chords like most of his contemporaries, Gray instead plays a busy cluster of notes on his right hand, overtop of the solid blues or boogie bass that he plays with his left hand. His style shone brightest on Wolf’s early 1960s recordings like, “Tail Dragger,” “Goin’ Down Slow” and “You’ll Be Mine.” But, even earlier, he enhanced Billy Boy Arnold’s, “I Wish You Would,” G. L. Crockett’s, “Look Out Mabel,” and Jimmy Rogers, “Blues All Day Long,” to name but a few.

Born January 19, 1923, at Kenner, La, he moved with his family to rural Alsen, La, when he was one year old. Little Henry began playing piano at the age of 10. He took formal lessons, but in 2002 he admitted, “There was no feeling in doing that.”

Gray’s parents were church-goers, and hoped their son would confine his playing to spirituals. However, at the age of 16 he was offered a job playing secular music at a local juke joint. Perplexed, his parents agreed when they realized their son was going to make a pocketful of money every night.

Gray had an aunt in Chicago, and in 1939, he visited her for a week. Taken aback by the active music scene there, he promised himself he’d soon be back. Unfortunately, WW II intervened and Gray found himself in the South Pacific until his honorable discharge in 1946.

“I was back in Louisiana a week and then took a train to Chicago,” said Gray. “My aunt was still there and I stayed with her a good while. I worked in a steel mill, but went to clubs at night. When I got there, I played with Big Bill Broonzy, Tampa Red and the Sonny Boy Williamson that got murdered.”

Gray would meed “Big” Maceo Merriweath, who became Gray’s biggest influence. He also hustled spare change with guys like Little Walter, playing music in Jew Town. In the early 1950s, he joined Little Hudson’s Shower’s Rain group which was a fixture at the Upstairs Lounge on the Southside.

In 1952, Gray entered the studio for the first time to accompany Jimmy Rodgers on his Chess recordings of, “Chicago Bound,” and “Blues All Day Long.”

“I went on the road with Jimmy,” said Gray. “He played with Muddy Waters. But when he had a record out that made a little noise, he’d leave and put a band together.”

The following year was a busy year for Gray as he backed Little Walter, Morris Pejoe and made his first solo recordings for the Checker label under the guise, “Little Henry,” The following year, he joined Little Walter’s Jukes on a cross country tour and recorded, “Who Will Be Next,” with Howlin’ Wolf, who had just recently moved north from Memphis.

The year 1955 remained a busy one for Gray as he split time between the Red Devil Trio and the Jukes. He also found time to record with Billy Boy Arnold—”I Wish You Would,” Jimmy Reed’s, “I Ain’t Got You,” and Jimmy Rodgers’, “Blues All Day Long.” Otis Spann was clearly Chess producer, Leonard Chess’, first choice on piano, but when Spann was on the road with Muddy Waters, Gray often got the call.

“I recorded with Junior Wells, Jimmy Reed, Billy Boy and Bo Diddley, but I was never part of their band,” specified Gray. “They saw me playing somewhere and asked me to make one of their sessions. Sometimes I’d make a gig with them if I could. Me, Spann and Little Johnnie Jones could work seven nights a week if we wanted to. Chicago was a piano players town back in the 1950s.”

In 1956, Gray only cut one session with Billy Boy Arnold at Vey Jay, but it marked the beginning of a 12 year tenure with Howlin’ Wolf.

“Wolf offered me more money than Walter so I went with him. He was quite strict but we got along okay. He had a .38, and I had a .38. You had to have one back then because we played in some pretty rough joints. Wolf was about business. Walter never was. Wolf bought the band uniforms—I had six different uniforms. Some musicians didn’t like Wolf telling them what to do and what to wear, but if it was your name out there, would you want a band behind you with their asses hanging out? He was professional and taught me a lot.

“Wolf was a good showman. He would crawl around on his hands and knees and drive the audience crazy. Hubert (Sumlin) was in the band when I joined. We played all over the south and west sides but we were the house band at Sylvio’s. When Wolf went on the road he took Hubert and left me to front the band because I could sing and hold a crowd.”

Gray played on scores of Wolf’s recordings and recalled they were arduous, often taking multiple takes, but occasionally quite humorous.

“Once he set his mind to doing something one way, it was had to get him to change,” said Gray. “We were in the studio cutting one of Willie Dixon’s songs, “Taildragger.” Wolf just couldn’t get the lyrics right. He kept singing, “I’m a tail dragger, I swipe out my tracks.” That just drove Leonard Chess crazy. He kept stopping us and yelling, ‘Damn Wolf. You don’t swipe out your tracks, you wipe out your tracks!’ It took over a dozen takes before Wolf got it right.”

Gray continued to pile up the studio credits, contributing brilliant piano backing on G. L. Crockett’s, “Look Out Mabel,” and Harold Burrage’s, “She Knocks Me Out.” In 1959, Gray brought a new sound to ensemble Chicago blues—at least in clubs—the electric piano.

“It was a Wurlitzer,” said Gray. “I played it through a Fender Bassman (amplifier). I got tired of playing torn up, out-of-tune pianos and playing around the bad notes. The worst was when we played clubs behind Muddy Waters. Spann destroyed pianos because he played so hard. He used to split the hammers on the piano some nights and they’d be all over the floor. I never recorded on the electric piano though because that wasn’t the sound the studios were looking for.”

In the early 1960s, most of Gray’s studio dates were in support of Howlin’ Wolf at Chess, although he took on an occasional outside session. In 1968, Wolf and Gray—two men with strong personalities parted forever.

“I had a few drinks one night and I was tired of Wolf’s petty bullshit,” said Gray. “I didn’t need the money, because I was getting a pension from the army. The day after I quit, I took the train back to Louisiana.”

After he got back to Louisiana, he picked up sporatic work plying music with Slim Harpo, Raful Neal, Silas Hogan and Tabby Thomas, but to make ends meet, Gray drove a bulldozer and worked as a roofer. In 1970, Lazy Lester took him to Crowley, Louisiana, where he recorded the spectacular single, “Lucky Lucky Man/You’re My Midnight Dream.” (This would make Gray the only musician to work under probably the three greatest blues record producers ever—Leonard Chess, Willie Dixon and J. D. Miller. The single alerted the world that Gray was still in the game. He was soon after recorded by Arhoolie and Blue Horizon, who put together Louisiana Blues anthologies. In the mid-1970s, Gray made the first of over 30 trips to Europe. In 1987, he made his first solo album, “They Call Me Little Henry,” which appeared on the German Blue Beat label. His first solo American album, “Lucky Man,” was released on Blind Pig in 1988. By then, Gray was a fixture on the American and European blues festival circuit, and a particular favorite at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

Now in his mid-80s, Gray remains very active and is enjoying the release of a new CD, “Times Are Gettin’ Harder,” issued on the Lucky Cat label. If you’re interested in checking out a legend, or hearing some authentic blues, Henry Gray will be appearing at the Ogden Museum October 15, 2009.