Published on Dec 27, 1997
I don’t remember the exact date, but it was sometime in the fall
of 1989. I was in the main studio of the college radio station I
worked for at 5 a.m., preparing for a blues show I aired at 6; the
hour provided me the chance to plan out the entire show. Digging
through a pile of all-but-forgotten albums, I discovered an artist
named Fenton Robinson. The instant I slapped it on the turntable
and heard him moan “You Don’t Know What Love Is,” I was immediately
hooked. The record became a staple of my show.
Maybe that’s why when I heard that Robinson died recently of
brain cancer, I was crushed – but it could also be because the
music community never recognized this man for the musical legend he
was.
Somebody Loan Me A Dime, Robinson’s debut disc for Alligator
Records (and the label’s fifth release) is proof of his mastery of
the blues.
The title track may be better known because of Boz Scaggs’
version (and, according to
Somebody Loan Me A Dime‘s liner notes, his claim that he
wrote the song). Robinson’s guitar work – on this track and
throughout the album — not only has roots in 12-bar blues, but
also in the rock vein. Some of the riffs Robinson squeezes out of
his Gibson hollow-body defy the 12-bar fashion — a honestly
refreshing change of pace. Fronting it all are Robinson’s plaintive
cries of love despite hardships he’s faced. (I, however, will never
understand why Alligator Records changed the cover art for this
release; if Bruce Iglauer is reading, maybe he can enlighten
me.)
And though “You Don’t Know What Love Is” was executed even
better by fellow labelmate Jimmy Johnson a few years later, it is
this original version, complete with a horn section (another rarity
in the blues world) that weighs heavier on the listener’s ear.
While Robinson sings about leaving the Chicago scene on “The
Getaway,” he can’t escape it, as he proved with his cover of the
traditional “Going To Chicago.” Truth is, Robinson’s blues do have
a Windy City flavor to them – slightly laid-back, but challenging
traditions. Robinson’s vocal style is quite mellow, often pleading,
but is very pure and natural – more so than many blues singers I’ve
heard over the years. One listen to the range he shows on “Gotta
Wake Up” speaks louder than any words I could write on the
subject.
The recording of this album, despite being done in a studio, has
the feel of a live show, as if the band were captured on stage of a
venue like Buddy Guy’s Legends (okay, so that bar didn’t exist in
1974, gimme a break). There is a crispness to the drums of Tony
Gooden that is hard to capture in the studio. Bassist Cornelius
Boyson makes his presence felt late in the album — and makes a
strong impression for his short time in the spotlight. Mighty Joe
Young, himself destined for greatness in the blues world later on,
wisely stays out of the spotlight and lets Robinson have his
glory.
If
Somebody Loan Me A Dime has any weakness, it is the
uniformity of the music. Sure, it’s a great album and all, but for
all of the chances it takes, I would have liked to hear Robinson
and crew take more. Still, this is a small criticism.
Robinson never became the household name that artists like B.B.
King did, and commercial success seemed to elude him. But Robinson
never sold his music short to gain fame — and for that, we, the
fans of the blues, should be eternally grateful.
Somebody Loan Me A Dime is a great place to start
discovering the magic of Robinson — and to understand just what
the music world lost upon his death.