I’ve known Barrelhouse Chuck since 1979 when he took a $24 a week flop at the Tokyo
Hotel just to be in Chicago where he might learn more about blues from the bluesmen
themselves. He drove 24 hours straight through from Florida to see Sunnyland Slim
play his Sunday night gig at B.L.U.E.S. on Halsted where I was playing the Wednesday
night gig with the Lee Jackson band. Chuck hung out and listened and learned and
became tighter with some of the older guys than many of us on the scene who were
born here.
Many a night I witnessed piano giants like Sunnyland, Jimmy Walker, Little Brother
Montgomery, Detroit Jr., Big Moose Walker and Blind John Davis beam when Chuck came
into a club. “We have Barrelhouse Chuck in the audience,” Sunnyland Slim would say,
“Let’s give my son a nice round of applause. I’m gonna call my son up.”
He won their acceptance.
Some writers and critics seem uncomfortable about praising the skills of white blues
musicians. But what’s a mere critic’s opinion in light of the fact that original
blues masters like Little Brother Montgomery, Sunnyland Slim, and S.P. Leary took
this young aspiring musician into their homes and welcomed him into their lives and
onto their bandstands, anointed him with their musical blessings and called him ‘son’?
No endorsement in the world can top that. That means more than any words can say.
Barrelhouse Chuck plays from the heart—like his mentors—and “Salute to Sunnyland
Slim” gives back to those who gave so generously to him. Very simply, this is great
Chicago blues in the true spirit of the masters and handed down directly from them.
They knew they were putting their music in capable hands.
Justin O’Brien
justinob@telocity.com
