Wherein we talk about Mavis, and Mayall, performing for Mandela and de Klerk, meeting Woody and Van Ronk. and the mysterious Holy Ghost. More or less in that order.
When Eric Bibb speaks, his voice carries an easy grace; he seems very hopeful in the midst of uncertain times. Whatever hardships he has endured in his life and career, he doesn’t complain. In fact, he doesn’t boast about having triumphed over adversity, either. You come away from meeting Bibb with the sense that he lives right in the middle of the moment. He carries himself like a man with a deep reservoir of conviction that bolsters his life and his art.
We had decided to take a break and reconvene after a couple of hours so Bibb could go to see David Bromberg’s violin shop, in Wilmington, Delaware. When he returned we picked up where we had left off:
Joe McSpadden: I think Bromberg still gigs some.
Eric Bibb: Yes, which is why he wasn’t there. But he has a wonderful shop.
How many dates do you play in a year?
You know, I don’t think I’ve ever dared to count, but it’s a lot. I’m actually trying to do more teaching and other kinds of things that will keep everything rolling, without being on the road so much. I enjoy it, but I am feeling it would really be nice to be home a little more.
So many artists are finding other ways — music cruises, Jorma Kaukonen has his Fur Peace Ranch…
Yes, you have to be able to adapt and change in order to survive.
Back in the ’60s and ’70s, record companies put money into developing artists, and if your first record wasn’t a huge hit you could still make your second and third, and try to find your audience. But now it’s one and done.
The record companies are just not investing in that same way at all. It’s really self-driven, and you have to be clever and utilize social media in a new way. It is difficult for young artists who are trying to make a name for themselves.
I’d like to run some more names by you — some you would have been aware of, and some you have worked with. People like The Blind Boys of Alabama.
They are such wonderful musicians and really lovely people. I can’t tell you what it was like to be in the room and hear them sing. They are the real deal, a national and an international treasure.
Mavis, and Pops — he is sorely missed.
I had the chance to record with them both once back in 1997. It was an unforgettable experience; they are my heroes, big time. Everything about them is magical, in a down-home sort of way.
Mavis has been putting out some great records in recent years.
She seems to be … her emanation seems to be attracting the right sort of people. She has managed to keep it going in a way that has not compromised her integrity or her father’s vision, which is really admirable, aside from her amazing track record.
I didn’t realize you had actually met the Reverend Gary Davis.
I saw him live once, up close. I think it was at the Village Vanguard. If memory serves me well, it might have been the same evening that I met Woody Guthrie, who was really near the end. He was there, smoking a cigarette, shaking, and being part of the evening, which was a benefit concert or something.
I didn’t realize you had met Woody.
I did, my father introduced me to him. He was ailing for sure, but just to be able to shake his hand, just to stand next to him was an amazing experience. He was such a huge part of the fabric of what I was cloaked in, you know?
Have you seen Inside Llewyn Davis?
I have seen it and I really enjoyed it. It is a quirky Coen Brothers masterpiece.
Supposedly it is based on, at least in part, Dave Van Ronk.
Yeah, I think kind of loosely. I knew Dave and did a couple of shows with him. I was happy to have made his acquaintance because he was another major figure on that whole scene.
Fred Neil.
Oh, wow. “Tear Down the Walls.” I mean, I know he is known for a lot of songs. He came to my attention early on. And [he’s] a brilliant writer. Very revered in those circles. Richie used to talk about him. Extremely talented. Genius always seems to come with some sort of mysterious challenge.
What was it like when you first struck out on your own?
Well, it was challenging. It was lonely at times, for sure. But I must say, I was guided, protected, and emboldened by the music. It was always the music, in the end, though there were good friends and employers. I met Mickey Baker, the great jazz guitar player, in Paris when I was young — nineteen. He kind of took me under his wing for a while. He was the one who really made me pay strict attention to Robert Johnson, which set me on a path of immersion in pre-war blues. This was a big building block in my development. Somehow I always managed to meet, whether I was in Paris, or Sweden, people who were of my ilk. They basically kept me going, buoyant, feeling as though I was supported by this great wave of music. It is amazing, the power of this music; this music that I call my stomping ground, and how appealing it is to people around the world. And I really mean that — around the world. I can’t tell you how many people, in recent years, young people have come to this music. I met this young guy on a train platform in Stockholm who told me he really liked my music. He told me he used be a rock drummer and now he plays banjo and listens to Dock Boggs.
It must be rewarding to see a younger generation picking up the mantel for this music.
I’ll tell you what keeps me energized, in different periods when maybe things aren’t always going so well, is remembering how connected I am to something so eternal and so powerful, and that impacts so many people. Remembering that connection, and how close I was to some of the founding sources of this music, that makes me feel so blessed.
What were the hard times like, when you first set out?
Making a living. I didn’t always find work, and like a lot of musicians I had day jobs that were de-energizing and depressing. Finding ways to keep things going. One of the most inspiring periods came during a real lull in my career; I got a job teaching music in an immigrant community in Stockholm. There were students from seventy different nations that I had in my classes. I formed a children’s choir, and we wrote songs together, and performed for Mandela and de Klerk, when they won the peace prize. We performed on the floor of Parliament. It was underfunded but it was a wonderful project. I miss it. I would like to teach more.
I can see you as a teacher. I think you would be very accessible. It shows up on your records; you are very kind to other musicians and bring that community together on your recordings.
I am fortunate that I came into the music business from the perspective of people who had a bigger vision than just becoming a celebrity. Not knocking anyone who comes from that angle, but I feel fortunate that it had a kind of bigger significance, you know? The whole idea of it being a community and not going too far overboard with your own persona and ego… I had good training, that’s all I can say.
You seem happy to point out the contributions that others make to your shows and albums. I saw John Mayall a few months back. He’s 81 and happy to be touring. He seemed genuinely thrilled to feature his band members, pointing at them and name-checking them. I really respect that. I mean, this guy hired two thirds of Cream and most of Fleetwood Mac, to play in his early bands. He was very generous with credits, and with the spotlight.
I did a tour with John and Robben Ford some years ago… spent months on the road with John and really got to feel his sincerity. This is a guy who, without making a big deal out of it, helped out J.B. Lenoir’s widow with money, and support, and friendship. That is why he has lasted so long. Think about how many of his contemporaries are gone. His true devotion to the music and to people, I am sure that is what has kept him going.
Do you have any children who play music?
I do. My oldest son is a musical theater artist, a dancer originally; he was trained at the Stockholm opera. He segued into musical theater when he discovered that he could sing as well. One of his more recent roles was the Gene Kelly part in Singing in the Rain. He is a really accomplished musical theater artist and very successful.
My daughter Yana, who lives in New York, is a fine singer and a writer as well. The two us are embarking on a tour of Germany and Switzerland on the tenth of March. My youngest daughter, Mathilda, writes songs. I think all of them are musical really, although I am not sure they will all choose that as a profession. My oldest daughter is an educator. A lot of the women in my family chose to be educators and a lot of the men chose to go into performing. It has been interesting to watch (the children), without pushing it on them, to see how it has tweaked their musical interests and talent. My youngest, Oscar, is already playing his ukulele in his own unique fashion. Sometimes, when he sees me playing guitar, he will go under his bed and bring out his ukulele case, and come and jam with me. It is really a sight to see. I can’t tell you how it makes me feel, to see him responding to me. He is only two-and-a-half, but he is aware of how you can interact with someone musically, already.
We both have six children. How many boys and how many girls?
Three and three. You?
Four girls, two boys. Big families are great.
Oh yeah. I’m from a really big family. We were always that household where food was a big thing and people came over…
I find myself thinking about your song “Shine On.” There’s a line: ”Keep on when your mind says quit/ dream on till you find you’re living it.” When did you realize you were going to be able to make it, make a living as a musician?
I always intended on doing it. I never contemplated giving it up. I didn’t really project into the future. I just knew I had to keep on going. Somewhere there must have been some kind of faith in the whole process because it never dawned on me to quit. I had a big breakthrough. I had been getting gigs in Sweden, where I was living. I got signed to BMG to be a writer, and they sent me to New York to collaborate with other people. It was exciting to be in the music business, not just gigging. I had had a weekly gig at a club in Stockholm for many years, it gave me a chance to experiment with things musically, but I felt like I was more in the beer business, selling somebody’s beer, rather than the music business, you know? The turning point was 1996. I was gigging and trying to get record deals. Through one of the collaborations that BMG set up, I met Mike Vernon, a producer. He knew the UK blues scene and got me connected to a festival there. He helped set up the London Blues Festival. Corey Harris was there, Keb Mo, Magic Slim. I got in a cab with my Swedish guitar player, just the two of us. The cabbie asked if we minded if he turned on the radio. We said no problem. The first thing we heard coming out of the radio was the two of us playing one of the songs from one of my records. I said, “I think this is going to work out.” The next day one of the festival organizers offered his services, and became my manager. Things took off from there and I moved to England. I got invited to open for Ladysmith Black Mambazo. That increased my popularity tenfold in a matter of weeks. I feel like I could say to any young musician, if you really feel called to it, and you can’t imagine doing anything else, then the only thing to do is to keep going. Sooner or later, unless you are self-sabotaging, you will get a break, and if you know how to use it, it will lead to another breakthrough. You have to trust that there is a way where there is a will.
You have said, on a number of occasions, that the song “Needed Time” really means something to you. What does that song mean to you?
I think it one of the great examples of a folk spiritual that has survived for maybe a hundred years. It has some serious juice to it. Think about all the people who have sung it over the years. That song, in a nutshell, really connected me to the whole river of song that we are part of. It is a song people can sing along with and I love songs that are natural for people to sing along with. I think everybody can relate to this being the needed time because so many things need balancing and mending, it’s a bit of a collective therapeutic moment. When you sing that with an audience, you know that you probably aren’t making things worse, that you likely are making them better by being part of that collective expression of hope.
It would be impossible to listen to your music without noticing that faith seems to play a big part in it.
Yeah, it is. It’s not something I beat people over the head with; I don’t think you can do that to any positive result. I found it through the music. I was not forced, as a child, to adhere to any particular way of celebrating spirituality. A lot of it came through the music. I found myself listening to people who expressed tremendous faith through their voices. Mahalia Jackson comes to mind. The Reverend Gary Davis. Often when I introduce the song “I Heard the Angels Singing,” I tell the audience that he could serve up the Holy Ghost on a silver platter just by opening up his mouth, and by playing that 12 string. I had enough experience with that to want to get closer to that source.
I have read interviews where Bob Dylan gets asked what he believes in. And he responds that he believes the old songs. And then he rattles off a list, songs like “Go Tell It on the Mountain. Stuff like that.
Yeah. There’s tremendous juice in that. I think (those songs) are gifts from beyond. I think they are gifts you can transfer to other generations, other tribes. There is a reason why so many Negro spirituals are translated and sung by choirs, and are sung in all kinds of places all around the world. There’s a bit of cosmic justice in all of that. It is a beautiful thing.
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