Crossroads

Cream: Baker, Bruce & Clapton

This is another one of those songs that got put on a pedestal with little to no acknowledgment to the author by the public, despite the sincere efforts of the musicians, both verbally and in print, to accomplish just that. At least the members of Cream; Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce & Ginger Baker, had the good decency to credit 1930's blues legend Robert Johnson with writing the song, even though Johnson was long deceased by the time Cream recorded their exploration of it. But they weren't alone in doing so.

Many young British blues enthusiasts of the 60's such as John Mayall, Eric Burdon's Animals, Van Morrison & Them, The Yardbirds and certainly The Rolling Stones, who all got famous off the songs of their American blues heroes, were quick to credit them where it was due, because they were such huge fans and students of the music. Giving proper credit was their way of telling their fans about where to find the music they loved and who those blues men were. It also helped those guys in getting paid their songwriting royalties, which came in handy since most of them were middle age or older. There is also the well documented and egregious exception of Led Zeppelin, but I won't get started down that road, lest this feature turn into a mad, drooling rant.

Cream released their definitive version of Robert Johnson's "Crossroads" on their 1968 double album "Wheels Of Fire". The album was half studio recordings and half live, a trend that would continue into their final release as a band, 1969's "Goodbye". The other trend that carried over from their previous album, the psychedelic blues-rock classic "Disraeli Gears", was some eye-catching cover artwork. "Disraeli" featured possibly the most quintessential day-glo spectacular that ever adorned a record album. "Wheels" continued that by featuring some mind blowing drawings of assorted blobules printed over a highly reflective silver foil background. The inner art featured two wide-open psychedelic eyes staring back at you. Such were the times, when this sort of thing was new and neither retro nor ironic.

As an introduction for our younger readers, and a refresher for the old hippies out there whose memories are somewhat fogged by the ravages of time and recreational drug use, here's Cream's epic interpretation of "Crossroads". This live recording proved so definitive that no studio version was ever recorded by Cream. Subsequent cover versions of this arrangement done by other bands, like Lynyrd Skynyrd, are all superfluous.

In Jackson, Mississippi, in early 1936, 25 year old Robert Johnson sought out a Mr. H. C. Speir, who ran a general store and doubled as a talent scout. Speir put Johnson in touch with Ernie Oertle, who offered to record Johnson in San Antonio, Texas. The recording session was held on November 23, 1936 in room 414 of the Gunter Hotel in San Antonio, where Brunswick Records had set up a temporary recording studio that was primitive at best, even by 1930's standards. In the ensuing three day session, Johnson played sixteen selections and also recorded alternate takes for most of them. Guitarist and historian Ry Cooder speculates that Johnson played facing a corner to enhance the sound of the guitar, a technique that Cooder called "corner loading".

An original 78 in prime condition.

Among the songs Johnson recorded in San Antonio were "Come On In My Kitchen", "Kind Hearted Woman Blues", "I Believe I'll Dust My Broom" and "Cross Road Blues". The first songs to appear were "Terraplane Blues" and "Last Fair Deal Gone Down", probably the only recordings of his that he would live to hear. "Terraplane Blues" became a moderate regional hit, selling nearly 5,000 copies. Johnson, being an itinerant black musician in the 1930's, did not enjoy anything resembling wealth or stardom from his recordings.

Johnson's records sold poorly during his lifetime. It was only after the reissue of his recordings in 1961 on the Columbia LP, "King of the Delta Blues Singers" that his work reached a wider audience. Interestingly, the album was released at the height of the Folk craze of the early '60's, so I have to cynically speculate that Columbia's motive was not so much about preserving our musical heritage, but more like a clearing out of the vault to see what they had that might sell.

It's one thing to recommend to someone that they listen to Robert Johnson's recordings. It's quite another for them to actually do it, because Johnson is not an easy listen by any stretch. The listener will be abruptly transported from their familiar technicolor, hi-def, stereophonic world of audio entertainment into a stark, lo-fi, black and white world of America's past when this music was sold under the category of "race records". The audio quality is rough at best. Johnson followed his own internal time clock, so you'll find he doesn't keep traditionally paced musical time. It's all feel, as they say. John Lee Hooker later adapted this feel into his own deep blues. Most of Johnson's songs are deeply personal. When he sang about the "Hellhound on My Trail", it was palpably believable.

Please don't just play this. I urge you to listen to it with focus. It's the only way to really 'get' Robert Johnson. He's not just singing and playing a guitar. It's completely real to him. It's straight from his doomed soul. It's the blues personified.

Johnson's poorly documented life and death at age 27 have given rise to much legend, including the Faustian myth that he sold his soul at a crossroads to achieve success, which was fictionally padded in the 1986 movie, "Crossroads". I'm not going into any of that business here due to space limitations, but you can peruse all the speculation you want, out there on the webtubes.

The best Robert Johnson collection available is still "The Complete Recordings", as it contains both the originally released versions plus alternates. The entire Cream catalog is still in print, augmented by numerous 'best of' compilations. You can also easily find vinyl albums by Cream or Robert Johnson at your locally owned vinyl record merchant or Amazon.