Published on Jan 20, 1999
Was Stevie Ray Vaughan the greatest blues guitarist who ever
lived?
The question is impossible to answer, in part because Vaughan,
surely the finest blues guitarist of the 1980s, died in an August
1990 helicopter crash. He was 35 then, at the height of his skills
— and a young pup by the standards of the blues. How much better
might he have become? You might as well ask how high the sky
is.
The die-hard blues fan probably needs all of Vaughan’s albums.
His skill as an interpreter of anything from traditional electric
blues to the work of his idol, Jimi Hendrix, is incredible to hear.
But for the new fan,
Greatest Hits makes an excellent starting point.
The one — and only — fault I can find with this album is
sequencing. Starting off with the familiar — but in Vaughan’s
hands, utterly transformed — “Taxman” is bound to lead the casual
listener astray in terms of expectations. The song is the only
cover of a mainstream pop-rock song on the whole album, and
Vaughan’s rumbly barroom-shouter vocals here are a far cry from
George Harrison’s sweet tenor.
Still, the guitar, as you might expect, is fairly spectacular.
Vaughan punctuates the beat with gunshot riffs that positively leap
out of the mix. The one thing the song certainly accomplishes is to
introduce his remarkable ability to play both rhythm and lead at
the same time. There is only one guitarist playing here, and no
overdubs, and yet there isn’t an empty beat to be found as Vaughan
leaps seamlessly from holding up the rhythm to banging out tight
little lead riffs.
“Texas Flood” might have made a more logical opener. Taken from
Vaughan’s debut album of the same name, it’s a classic “hard blues”
track, the rhythm section slumbering along behind Vaughan’s raw,
steamy vocals, interrupted mid-song by a slow-burning solo that
warms your ears up for what’s to come.
“The House is Rockin'” picks up the pace with a tight, fun
little roadhouse blues romp that pretty much forces you to tap your
feet. “Pride and Joy,” next up, introduces Vaughan’s
bread-and-butter genre, a mid-tempo blues that spotlights his
rhythm-to-lead abilities, chugging along fervently from chorus to
chorus and tearing through the solos between. Toward the end of the
disc, “Change It,” “Cold Shot” and “Couldn’t Stand The Weather”
fall in this same potent vein.
Among the best of Vaughan’s originals is “Tightrope,” a topical
number addressing his battle with alcohol and substance abuse.
Written and recorded just after he successfully completed a 12-step
program, the lyric addresses how delicate sobriety is to maintain
once you’ve had to battle to achieve it. That said, there’s no
mistaking the glorious relief Vaughan invests in the minute-long
mid-song solo here. It is a total emotional release that just goes
and goes, building and swerving and building once again until
you’re left standing there in your living room shaking your head
with your jaw halfway to the floor.
And then, 60 seconds later, over the fade, he rips out another,
completely different but in every way equal solo.
The only appropriate response is “DAMN.”
But — and this is where you just have to laugh, because, I
mean, if you’re a player yourself, what the hell else can you do?
— this is just part one of the trilogy that lies at the heart of
this album.
No player that I’ve heard has ever come closer than Vaughan to
matching both Jimi Hendrix’s unique tonal style and his astonishing
passion with his instrument. On this disc, Vaughan is heard
covering Hendrix’s “Little Wing” as an instrumental and investing
himself 110% in every note. The movements in the song range from
deathly quiet picking down low and up high on the frets to a pair
of searing solos that sound like he’s channeling Hendrix
himself.
This tune’s quiet finish leads directly into the one Vaughan cut
that received substantial play on AOR stations. “Crossfire” was
actually written by Vaughan’s band, Double Trouble, and as you
might expect it’s very strong rhythmically, building off a driving
bass line and muscular organ, and allowing Vaughan to concentrate
on playing pure lead guitar. Vaughan produces one of his strongest
vocals, a high, sweet, mid-song solo, and a closing solo that,
well, DAMN. “Awesome” might cover the first ten seconds of it. It
lasts thirty.
The answer to whether Stevie Ray Vaughan was the greatest blues
guitarist of all time is that there isn’t really an answer. There
never can be; questions like this are inherently subjective. But
there is a story, retold plainly and without false modesty in the
excellent liner notes included on
Greatest Hits (thank you, Dan Forte), that is worth
repeating.
Vaughan’s final concert was an all-star jam including sets from
blues luminaries Buddy Guy, Robert Cray and Eric Clapton. Vaughan
ripped it up that night, leaving the crowd breathlessly cheering
his departure from the stage, and leaving Clapton with the
unenviable task of following him. Clapton, whose prodigious playing
was once hailed with the immortal phrase “Clapton is God,”
remembers his state of mind stepping onto the stage that night very
clearly. “It had gone past the point of being envious or
depressed,” he recalls with an ironic laugh, “because no one could
possibly expect me to be
that good.”
Was Vaughan the greatest? Who knows? But for one night at least,
he was better than God.