What a shocking mix-up. Waiting for half an hour in the lobby of Sydney’s Boulevard Hotel, I was hoping to interview Brownie McGhee and Sonny Terry, true blues legends for all time.

I had scheduled the interviews for a Saturday, but someone had put Friday in his diary, so when I showed up on Saturday at noon, the response was: “But we were expecting you yesterday.”

Oh no. I was living on the mid-north coast at the time, and the drive to Sydney was about four hours, so this mix-up was an issue.

Rather than haggle about who made the mistake, I pleaded with staff to see Brownie and Sonny for only half an hour, or less, just to ask a couple questions and take some photos.

“Wait here. I’ll check if they can see you.”

So I waited. Fortune smiled.

“Ok, you can see Sonny first, then Brownie. But they’re resting, and have some other commitments, so you don’t have much time. Only 20 minutes.”

I gushed my gratitude and was ushered into Sonny’s room.

Sonny was very polite but clearly was unwell. I spoke with him for a few minutes, took a few photos, thanked him for seeing me on short notice, and left.

I then knocked on Brownie’s door.

He greeted me warmly, with his Gibson ES-175 in hand.

He immediately started playing, unplugged. For an electric guitar, the hollow body ES-175 has a fine acoustic sound. Plugging it in is a bonus.

Nearby was a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a little and offered me some. It was rather too early for me (it’s never too early, and in fact, late morning is best, say some whiskey aficionados), but I accepted his offer, to be social.

He and Sonny notoriously did not get on very well, and Brownie made a few comments about his playing partner. Nothing nasty, but clearly, something that day had annoyed him. Not wanting to get into that space and keenly aware that I had limited time, I asked Brownie about his roots in Tennessee, but he answered: “Where are you from?...that’s not an Australian accent.”

“Chicago, originally.”

He smiled broadly.

“Chicago! That’s where I got my start. Started recording in Chicago. Love Chicago. That’s where I learned so many songs and what people liked and didn’t like. It’s a lot colder than New York, I sure do remember that. Chicago, eh? Listen to this.”

And he started playing and didn’t stop. He poured himself a few whiskeys in between start and finish.

He treated me to a full performance, with a cornucopia of commentary about where each song was from, who wrote it or recorded it first, and other tidbits of the songs’ histories. He clearly loved playing every note and talking up a storm.

As an aside, I noticed that Brownie used a thumb pick with steel finger picks on his index and middle fingers, which is rather unusual, I believe. Most guitarists of the Piedmont-style blues, Delta blues, country blues, folk blues and alternating-bass finger-style genres use either no pick of any kind or only a thumb pick while playing with the fingernails (or finger tips) of the index and middle fingers. Some use a thumb pick and plastic pick on the index finger. And some use a flat pick, as shown by Doc Watson, who also played finger style. But I can’t think of any guitarist who routinely uses a thumb pick with two metal finger picks. Of course, metal finger picks are common among banjo players.

The three picks gave Brownie a very clean, clear and distinctive sound. (More recently, I’ve noticed that Billy Strings infrequently uses a thumb pick and two metal finger picks, to great advantage.)

The level in Brownie’s bottle was getting lower and lower and lower, and while taking a break from his singing, he promptly fell asleep with the Gibson on his lap.

I quietly left. My “only 20 minutes” interview had turned into nearly four hours. How memorable.

The following year, we were in New York in the Spring and saw Brownie playing (by himself) in the same haunt as Papa John Creach and his band. After the show, I went backstage and was surprised that Brownie instantly recognised me from the year before. After all, he meets a lot of people. He was effusive and welcoming, such a gracious man.

Then he and Papa John got into the most hilarious dialogue about their recent gigs all over the US, each trying to outdo the other with stories about how responsive and adulating the audiences were, how every gig was standing room only, the importance of the venue in the music scene, how big the city was, how many encores they played, and on and on.

They were having each other on and were greatly goaded into more self-aggrandising details by everyone’s laughing. Brownie looked at me and winked.

It really didn’t make any difference whether their yarns were true or not. They were a hoot and knew it. Always the showmen.

 

(During that trip to Australia, Brownie and Sonny played at the Peter Stuyvesant International Music Festival, Regent Theatre, Sydney, Sunday, 21 February 1982.)