The Blues According to: Champion Jack Dupree

'Champion' Jack Dupree

In what seems another historical epoch, I once found myself living in a heavily guarded compound in a rugged town on the Afghanistan border, Miranshah. For astute and tuned-in readers that name will ring bells as the location of frequent drone attacks by the US and military campaigns by Pakistan. Apparently senior al-Qaida operatives liked Miranshah as a base as it was cheek and jowl with the rust-coloured rocky mountains of Afghanistan. Easy escape and easy access, depending on the circumstances.

I was in Miranshah to assist refugees who, since the departure of the Soviets (remember them?), from Afghanistan, were cautiously returning home.  Our team’s job was to recover each refugee’s ration and registration card (which entitled him to international assistance) and replace it with a couple of shovels, a 300 kg bag of wheat and the equivalent of $100.  I’ll not comment on the effectiveness of the program, as it has nothing to do with tonight’s post.

This operation required us to be at work for about 3 hours each day. The rest of the day we would pass in Scrabble, cricket, reading and smoking hash.  I read lots of books, including the biography of Hafez al Assad, whom I must rather sheepishly admit, after finishing the book, I truly admired.  I’m sure the hashish must have clouded my judgment.

I also listened to a C-90 tape of blues every day. On one side was Memphis Slim. On the other was an old recording by ‘Champion’ Jack Dupree.  As that month of afternoon’s passed slowly (and dreamily) I simply absorbed this tape, especially Dupree’s songs.  In a way I had never before, I understood the essential truth of the blues.  Jack’s music was the definition of candour. Not only did he sing of every part of his life (troublesome neighbors, lynch-hungry racists, dreams of freedom and ugly women he’d bedded) he did so with an utterly transparent vulnerability.  Though he got his name from a sometime career as a pugilist, it was not the brawn, spit and blood that shone through his songs, but a bewildered acceptance of  the way things are. Even with lyrics as chilling as these from My Black and White Dog

He said, Well, well, hope there's a rope, you know.

Where's me is a tree, you understand what he was talkin' about, don't you?

Yeah.

You understand what he mean, you know?

I said ain't no use to worry

'Cos you will never, never get me

Jack never sang with hate. Rather life in all it’s horror and glory was a thing to be treasured, cherished and enjoyed.

Dupree’s blues arise from horrific circumstances: orphaned in New Orleans as a young boy, a junkie in adult life, unrelenting racism in his homeland that led him to spend most of his later years in Europe. Each of these trials is sung about, often in explicit detail but always with an unexpected but very genuine sense of humour.  The blues according to Jack Dupree are about denying the bastards the last laugh. And drinking, gambling, loving and dancing.

His piano playing is hypnotic if uncomplicated. Be it lightning paced boogie woogie or slow and mournful repetition of a few bars, he is a true Champion of the keyboard.

So without further ado here are the Blues According to Champion Jack Dupree.

Be healed!

            Track Listing:

            01 Can't Kick the Habit

02 Nasty Boogie

03 Forever and Ever

04 When Things Go Wrong

05 Junker's Blues (Feat. King Curtis)

06 How Long Blues

07 Hometown New Orleans

08 Freedom

09 Rolling And Tumbling

10 Down In Clarksdale

11 In Prison Too Long

12 When I'm Drinking

13 Drinking And Gambling

14 Morning Tea - 1941

15 Sneaky Pete (Feat. King Curtis)

16 Angola Blues - 1940

17 The Snow Is On The Ground

18 My Home In Mississippi

19 One Scotch, One Bourbon, One Beer

20 Reminiscin' with Champion Jack

21 Calcutta Blues

22 Poor Boy

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