The birth of the bluesman: Meet Big Johnny D
By John David Powell (01/03/06)
My New Year's resolution is to learn to play a musical
instrument. I ain't just a-whistlin' Dixie here.
When I was a lad, my father bought me an electric
guitar from a traveling musician friend. I never got
around to getting lessons, though, and tuning it was
about as far as I got. Then one day he brought home
an old, upright piano. I never got piano lessons
either, and I didn't even try to tune it.
A few years back, I visited the Santo Domingo pueblo
in New Mexico and purchased a dandy Native-American
flute, hand carved from an ancient cedar root. Or so
I was told by the ancient Native American who sold it
to me and chuckled as he walked away. I managed to
make some nice sounds with it, but nothing akin to
"the night wind softly whispering tales of Coyote
across the mesa." Maybe I should have practiced
more, but that was before it was acceptable to wear a
cowboy hat and blow on a flute.
Now we are well into the 21st century and I remain no
closer to playing a musical instrument. That is why I
decided this will be the year.
I trekked to the local music store the other day,
Christmas money clenched in my tight little fists. I
made a beeline to the counter, walking past the drums,
guitars, horns, and keyboards.
"I'd like a harmonica, please," I said to the
salesman, my eyes and face filled with hope and
wonder.
"What kind?" he asked
What luck! A man who knew his instruments.
"One that will turn me into a bluesman," I replied
with all the joy and anticipation of a five-year-old.
There it was. I had said it. I had given a name to
my deepest desire.
No longer would my dreams and hopes live sad and
lonely lives, buried within my musical soul. I was
about to satisfy my life-long craving to join the
ranks of guys named Big Walter, Little Joe, Junior,
Slim, Charlie, Sonny, James, Blind Owl, and Snooky.
My need to play the harmonica may be genetically
inspired. Some folks believe that around the year
5000 BCE (Before Computer Era), Emperor Nyn-Kwa of
China created the Sheng, a reed instrument that was
the forerunner to the harmonica.
A German clockmaker, Christian Friedrich Ludwig
Buschmann, came up with a mundaeoline in 1821. Almost
forty years later Matthias Hohner decided to mass
produce harmonicas. Today, more than a million
Hohners find new homes in the USA.
I have a Huang.
The guy at the music shop said it's just as good as a
Hohner because this Chinese guy named Huang designed
Hohner harmonicas. That was nice to know, but all I
want to know is when I can sound like Sonny Terry.
It may take some time. The secret to this bluesharp
business, as far as I can tell, is getting the air to
go into or out of just one hole at a time. Any fool
can pick up a harmonica and blow into a mouthful of
holes all at once.
I know. I did.
Lipping the harmonica is the key to properly blowing
and sucking through the right hole. Lipping requires
pursing the lips into a whistle-like pucker and
dropping the tongue to the bottom of the gums.
Lipping takes practice and should be done in the
privacy of your own room. Public lipping without a
harmonica is strongly discouraged.
I bought a book and a tape that are supposed to teach
me all I need to know to become a famous bluesman. So
far I've butchered Mary's little lamb and foreclosed
on the Farmer In The Dell. As soon as I've made
amends with Mary and the Farmer, I will move on to
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Three Blind Mice.
Maybe I'm not in the right mood. I mean, there must
be more to this than sitting in an office with my
Huang in hand, listening to some guy on a tape playing
O Susana. That's why I took up drinking and wearing
really cool shades. Oh, yeah. I also changed my name
to Big Johnny D.
I think it'll work. And just in case it doesn't, I
also bought a kazoo.
(Printer friendly version) Email: John David Powell
