Robert Johnson

We Say...

Review by Charles Shaar Murray

Robert Johnson's towering status as the defining figure of the Delta blues of the first half of the 20th century and his unique mystique as the man who sold his soul to the devil and died a mysterious death at the crossroads are almost entirely posthumous. Very few of his recordings were ever issued in his lifetime, and only one, "Terraplane Blues," even qualified as a minor regional hit. Nevertheless, he exercised an enormous influence on near-contemporaries like Muddy Waters and Elmore James; and, after 16 of his records were released on a vinyl album in 1961, upon eminent white blues-rockers like Keith Richards and Eric Clapton. In that respect Johnson was the Velvet Underground of the blues: hardly anybody heard his music, but many of them went on to become master bluesmen in their own right.

This collection of the complete works, cut in three hotel-room sessions in 1936 and 1937, puts meat on the bones of his legend. A conscious artist who learned from records as well as from local luminaries, his deft guitar and keening voice evoke both the ectoplasmic eeriness of Skip James and the muscular physicality of Son House. Many of these songs ("Love In Vain," "Crossroads" and "Sweet Home Chicago," to name but three) have become blues-rock standards. Restored from painstakingly assembled 78 rpm singles, his records sounded distant and scratchy until the last generation of remasters, so they don't suffer unduly from MP3 compression. Johnson's compelling power is undiminished: newcomers to his work will feel the same galvanic chill as Clapton and Richards did all those years ago.