PAUL
BUTTERFIELD
Paul
Butterfield was the first white harmonica player to develop a style
original and powerful enough to place him in the pantheon of true blues
greats. It's impossible to overestimate the importance of The Doors
Butterfield opened: before he came to prominence, white American musicians
treated the blues with cautious respect, afraid of coming off as
inauthentic. Not only did Butterfield clear the way for white musicians to
build upon blues tradition (instead of merely replicating it), but also
his storming sound was a major catalyst in bringing electric Chicago blues
to white audiences who'd previously considered acoustic Delta blues the
only really genuine article. His initial recordings from the mid-'60s --
featuring the legendary, racially integrated first edition of the Paul
Butterfield Blues Band -- were eclectic, groundbreaking offerings that
fused electric blues with rock & roll, psychedelia, jazz, and even (on
the classic East-West) Indian classical music. As members of that band --
which included Michael Bloomfield and Elvin Bishop -- drifted away, the
overall impact of Butterfield's music lessened, even if his amplified harp
playing was still beyond reproach. He had largely faded from the scene by
the mid-'70s, and fell prey to health problems and drug addiction that
sadly claimed his life prematurely. Even so, the enormity of Butterfield's
initial impact ensured that his legacy was already secure.
Butterfield was born December
17, 1942, in Chicago and grew up in Hyde Park, a liberal, integrated area
on the city's South Side. His father, a lawyer, and mother, a painter,
encouraged Butterfield's musical studies from a young age, and he took
flute lessons up through high school, with the first-chair flutist in the
After
some intense woodshedding, Butterfield and Bishop began making the rounds
of the South Side's blues clubs, sitting in whenever they could. They were
often the only whites present, but were quickly accepted because of their
enthusiasm and skill. In 1963, the North Side club Big John's offered
Butterfield's band a residency; he'd already recruited Howlin' Wolf's
rhythm section -- bassist Jerome Arnold and drummer Sam Lay -- by offering
more money, and replaced original guitarist Smokey Smothers with his
friend Bishop. The new quartet made an instant splash with their
hard-driving versions of Chicago blues standards. In late 1964, the Paul
Butterfield Blues Band was discovered by producer Paul Rothchild, and
after adding lead guitarist Michael Bloomfield, they signed to Elektra and
recorded several sessions for a debut album, the results of which were
later scrapped.
At first, there was friction
between Butterfield and Bloomfield, since the harmonica man patterned his
bandleading style after taskmasters like Howlin' Wolf and Little Walter;
after a few months, though, their respect for each other's musical skills
won out, and they began sitting in together at blues clubs around the
city. A song from their aborted first session, the Nick Gravenites-penned
"Born in Chicago," was included on the Elektra sampler Folksong
'65 and created a strong buzz about the band. In the summer of 1965, they
re-entered the studio for a second crack at their debut album, adding
organist Mark Naftalin as a permanent sixth member during the sessions. In
the meantime, they were booked to play that year's Newport Folk Festival.
When Bob Dylan witnessed their well-received performance at an urban blues
workshop during the festival, he recruited Butterfield's band to back him
for part of his own set later that evening. Roundly booed by acoustic
purists, Dylan's plugged-in performance with the Butterfield Band
ultimately shook the folk world to its foundations, kickstarting an
electric folk-rock movement that effectively spelled the end of the
traditionalist folk revival.
On
the heels of their historic performance at Newport, the Paul Butterfield
Blues Band released their self-titled debut album later in 1965. Now
regarded as a classic, the LP caused quite a stir among white blues fans
who had never heard electric Chicago-style blues performed by anyone
besides British blues-rock groups. Not only did it sow the seeds of a
thousand bar bands, but it also helped introduce more white listeners to
the band's influences, especially Muddy Waters and B.B. King. Toward the
end of 1965, drummer Sam Lay fell ill and was replaced by the jazz-trained
Billy Davenport, whose rhythmic agility and sophistication soon made him a
permanent member. He was particularly useful since Butterfield was pushing
to expand the band's sound, aided by Bloomfield's growing interest in
Eastern music, especially Ravi Shankar. Their growing eclecticism
manifested itself on their second album, 1966's East-West, which remains
their greatest achievement. The title cut was a lengthy instrumental suite
incorporating blues, jazz, rock, psychedelia, and raga; although it became
their signature statement, the rest of the album was equally inspired,
perhaps due in part to Butterfield's more relaxed, democratic approach to
bandleading.
Unfortunately, Mike Bloomfield left the band at the height of its success
in 1967, and formed a new group called the Electric Flag with Nick
Gravenites, which aspired to take East-West's eclecticism even further.
Bishop moved into the lead guitar slot for the band's third album, 1967's
The Resurrection of Pigboy Crabshaw (a reference to Bishop's nickname).
Displaying a greater soul influence, the album also featured a new rhythm
section in bassist Bugsy Maugh and drummer Phil Wilson, plus a horn
section that included a young David Sanborn. Pigboy Crabshaw proved to be
the closing point of the Butterfield Band's glory days; the 1968
follow-up, In My Own Dream, was uneven in its songwriting and focus, and
both Elvin Bishop and Mark Naftalin left the band before year's end. Still
hoping for a breakout commercial hit, Elektra brought in
producer/songwriter Jerry Ragovoy, a longtime R&B professional, which
marked the first time they'd asserted control over a Butterfield
recording. That didn't sit well with Butterfield, who wanted to move in a
jazzier direction than Ragovoy's radio-friendly style allowed; the result,
1969's Keep on Moving, was another inconsistent outing, despite the return
of Billy Davenport and an injection of energy from the band's new
guitarist, 19-year-old Buzzy Feiten. 1969 wasn't a washout for
Butterfield, though; his band was still popular enough to make the bill at
Woodstock, and he also took part in an all-star Muddy Waters session
dubbed Fathers and Sons, which showcased the Chicago giant's influence on
the new generation of bluesmen and greatly broadened his audience.
After 1970's Live and the following year's studio effort Sometimes I Just
Feel Like Smilin', Butterfield broke up his band and parted ways with
Elektra. Tired of all the touring and personnel turnover, he retreated to
the communal atmosphere of Woodstock, still a musicians' haven in the
early '70s, and in 1971 formed a new group eventually dubbed Better Days.
Guitarist Amos Garrett and drummer Chris Parker were the first to join,
and with folk duo Geoff and Maria Muldaur in tow, the band was initially
fleshed out by organist Merl Saunders and bassist John Kahn, both from San
Francisco. Sans Geoff Muldaur, this aggregation worked on the soundtrack
of the film Steelyard Blues, but Saunders and Kahn soon returned to the
Bay Area, and were replaced by New Orleans pianist Ronnie Barron and Taj
Mahal bassist Billy Rich. This lineup -- with Geoff Muldaur back, plus
contributions from singer/songwriter Bobby Charles -- released the group's
first album, Better Days, in 1972 on Butterfield manager Albert Grossman's
new Bearsville label. While it didn't quite match up to Butterfield's
earliest efforts, it did return him to critical favor. A follow-up, It All
Comes Back, was released in 1973 to positive response, and in 1975 he
backed Muddy Waters once again on The Woodstock Album, the last LP release
ever on Chess.
Butterfield subsequently pursued a solo career, with diminishing returns.
His Henry Glover-produced solo debut, Put It in Your Ear, appeared in
1976, but failed to impress many: his harmonica playing was pushed away
from the spotlight, and the material was erratic at best. The same year,
he appeared in the Band's farewell concert film, The Last Waltz. Over the
next few years, Butterfield mostly confined himself to session work; he
attempted a comeback in 1981 with legendary Memphis soul producer Willie
Mitchell, but the sessions -- released as North-South -- were burdened by
synthesizers and weak material. By this time, Butterfield's health was in
decline; years of heavy drinking were beginning to catch up to him, and he
also contracted peritonitis, a painful intestinal condition. At some point
-- none of his friends knew quite when -- Butterfield also developed an
addiction to heroin; he'd been stridently opposed to it as a bandleader,
leading to speculation that he was trying to ease his peritonitis
symptoms. He began to play more gigs in Los Angeles during the early '80s,
and eventually relocated there permanently; he also toured on a limited
basis during the mid-'80s, and in 1986 released his final album, The
Legendary Paul Butterfield Rides Again. However, his addiction was
bankrupting him, and in the past half-decade he'd seen Mike Bloomfield,
Muddy Waters, and manager Albert Grossman pass away, each loss leaving him
shaken. On May 4, 1987, Butterfield himself died of a drug overdose; he
was not quite 45 years old. ~ Steve Huey, All Music Guide
