Bluesman Preston Shannon sure knows how to keep his guitar happy.

 

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The Blues Are Alright is how the song really goes, and on Friday night they were alright because they were under a freakin’ tent, relatively safe from the mud and rain.

The lure of shelter insured that the Tennessee Lottery Blues Tent was packed all night even if the performances did not always warrant it. Former Memphian Charlei Musselwhite, who should be popping up a new release later this year jamming with the North Mississippi Allstars, Jim Dickinson, and Alvin Youngblood Hart, was backed by a particularl hard-charging blues trio. And while Musselwhite has never been the greatest vocalist (a sort of more reticent Mose Allison) he siwely stepped back from the mic to let his own harmonica and the solos of his guitarist do the singing.

Headliner Keb’ Mo’ ended the night on a way too laid back note. Backed just by a drummer, his mid-tempo set is more appropriate for a Sunday afternoon not a beer soaked Friday night. In all his performance turned the hot and sweaty blues tent into a mild and tame Starbuck’s.

Robert ‘Wolfman’ Belfour was at the Shack but not much was going on. The rain had depleted the crowd and there was some technical thing holding up the entertainment. Except that his drummer just got the urge and pounded the skins for a while to the delight of the quite small audience. Here’s what it looked like.

Well that was pretty cool, just looking over and seeing Charlie Musselwhite backstage shooting the breeze with Keb ‘Mo’ before they went on. Lil Ed who has just finished his set came around and the three joked around and got some picture taking done. It was just minutes later when the downpour began — well, one of many during the day — and suddenly the Blues Tent was the most popular place around. Maybe some of the crowd who wouldn’t have thought to go in had their minds changed when Musselwhite started his set with some no-nonsense blues. Here’s how it played out.

Internet, let me tell you what’s awesome: Slinking into a steamy tent that’s throbbing, old-timey revival style, and watching a man named Super Chikan and his trio of bluesy ladies jam on their bedazzled git-ars and diddly-bos just enough to get the crowd all worked up into a clapping, hip-shaking frenzy before dinner time.

Oh, Memphis. How I love you.

I’ve been mucking my way through the park all evening — yes, mucking, because that’s what you do when the ground is the consistency of melting ice cream — and snapping as many pictures as possible between downpours. Downpours, plural. Have you heard? It’s been raining a little bit down here at Tom Lee. But most everyone’s got galoshes and ponchos and umbrellas and beer.

So I think the kids are all right.

How did James ‘Super Chickan’ Johnson get his name? And what is his plan for the weather (which has apparently worked)? Find out here.

Richard Johnston, the renowned Beale Street busker whose sensuous grooves have long contributed to the perpetuation of the human race, made his formal appearance in the Blues Tent Friday night.

His Saturday night concert, however, came as something of a surprise to more than just his fans.

Certainly, folks were happy to see him there, gear set up on a curb midway between the blues tent and the Cellular South stage. He had found a grassy niche between a bush and a tree and was cranking out music.

Just as they did on Beale, listeners stopped to hear him play his two-string cigar box guitar while beating out rhythms on his drum kit with his feet.

The crowd swelled. Ladies did that mating dance associated with his music: all hips and sweat and grind.

“I just gotta thank Memphis in May,” said the musician. “Never in the history of this festival has a busker been allowed to come in here. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

At this point, Johnston passed his old brown boots around and collected money from the crowd, just as he does on Beale street. He also sold some CDs. It was such a cool, off-the-beaten-path happening that onlookers wondered why it hadn’t been advertised. Think about it: busking at the Beale Street Music Fest. Why hadn’t they thought of this before?

Turns out, they hadn’t thought of this before.

In a trailer on the south end, the walkie talkies crackled.

“There’s this guy set up on the street corner. Says he’s got permission.”

This was news to Diane Hampton, who, along with the festival’s upper eschelon, hopped in a cart to intervene. She called Jim Holt, president of Memphis in May, just to make sure. Nope, this was not on anyone’s list.

The red shirts assembled, discussed, laughed and scratched their heads. Who let him in with all of this equipment? They decided to let him do his thing. The fire marshal didn’t have a problem. And the crowd was eating it up.

Yes, it probably was the first time a busker had crashed the festival. It may also be the last.