Don’t Stand No Foolin’

My Babe – Little Walter

Many who know me only tertiarily know me as the Harmonica Man. I spent the bulk of last year carrying around at least one harp with me wherever I went. This was, of course, to the chagrin of some. There were dissident voices out there who disapproved of a man making music in public. However, as a firm believer in the de-hermitizing of society, I think that putting something out in public spaces is the only way to get people’s attention away from (forgive me for sounding like some old fogey) their damn phones. No art done in private and kept in private can possibly affect the world in the way it ought to. The good book says to not keep God’s light under a bushel, and if music isn’t God’s light, I dare ye to show me something worthier of that title.

Little Walter is, in my professional and unbiased view, the greatest harp player to ever live. He did for the mouth organ what Hendrix did for the guitar, what Scruggs did for the banjo. There is a clear demarcation between pre- and post-Walter harpists. Nobody before him ever played as loud as he did, surely: cupping both harp and microphone in rugged hands, he drowned out even electric guitars. Made the harmonica play as loud as it deserves to. 

I got an ocarina not too long ago. Oblong ceramic flute-type deal. Won a trivia game, had my pick of prizes… what else could I choose but the mouth instrument? Two years ago, I wouldn’t have dared pick it up. That’s the wonder of playing a simple instrument. I tried guitar in middle school: gave it up. Trumpet? Gave it up. Piano? Barely got off the ground. I did chorus, sure, but that made me a singer, not a full ‘musician’ in the way I defined the word. Then I pick up the humble, cheap harmonica. You just blow in and out, right? Easiest thing to play; all you do is what you do naturally. And suddenly, fast as a card trick, I was thinking in ways I’d never thought before. I was at long last an instrumentalist. Whole new avenues were opened by being able to blow in and out, and the confidence that gave me. And in terms of confidence, harmonica gives one the satisfaction of being (most likely) the best harmonica player around. If nobody else even tries, a mere amateur is instantly impressive, and at worst, fun at parties. 

Of course, in trying to learn harmonica specifically to play the blues, there is an immediate ethical dilemma I was thrown into. Blues is a touchy subject, a much-disputed genre in terms of ownership. I, as a white man, am following feebly in the footsteps of Black musicians who are so high above me that clouds float between us. In trying to play the blues, I have a responsibility of respect. It’s not that I am forbidden to even try it, but it will never truly feel like ‘mine.’ It’s like everyday I’m driving somebody else’s car. So I gotta practice and practice well so as not to scuff it up.

Maybe someday I’ll be a bit more comfortable in blues shoes. But I gotta go through some damn hard times first. At least I’ve got a harmonica.

Fare thee well,

-Wilson