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Other Press
While this is a reissue, it's of a 1972 LP that was, at best, obscure - although it deserved to be widely known, and maybe this will makes the late Dunbar into at least some kind of cult figure. It's pure acoustic blues from the Mississippi Delta, loud and hard, from the gut and the heart, one acoustic guitar, a boot to keep time, and a voice that had seen better days, been rode hard and put up wet. But the combination of the three is sheer magic, bringing to mind talents as diverse as Skip James and Blind Lemon Jefferson, even if he lacks their subtlety. The message, though, is the same - the blues, simply the blues, played with dignity and feeling, and there's never enough of that anywhere. Dunbar died in 1994, essentially unknown as a musician. This will keep the flame burning. - Chris Nickson, Mondo Mix |
| Artist: Scott Dunbar |
| Album: From Lake Mary |
| Order Album: Click here to order. |
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MP3s: 1. Who Been Foolin' You 2. Little Liza Jane |
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One day Scott Dunbar will be recognized as one of the greatest post-war country blues artists of his day. His only album, From Lake Mary, is one of the best records ever released by Fat Possum. Unfortunately we failed in our effort to expose Scott Dunbar's music to even our hardcore fan base. In efforts to put the defibrillator on Scott Dunbar's legacy, we're bringing the price of the CD down to $9.00. This offer won't last forever. - Matthew Johnson Scott Dunbar was born near the lake in question (somewhere around Natchez, Mississippi) in 1904, died in much the same spot in 1994, and didn't give much of a damn if you knew about him during the time between. A true free musical spirit, Dunbar made his first guitar, never learned to read, forgot many of the words to the classics he essayed, and didn't compose much of consequence. In other words, the backbone of the blues. This album was originally recorded in 1970 and released on the Ahura Mazda label; it features just over 40 unassuming minutes of Dunbar cranking out everything from "Little Liza Jane" to "Blue Yodel" to "Goodnight Irene," keeping time with a heavy-booted foot and playing at least as much for himself as you, the listener. It's all glorious stuff, too, because Dunbar played an endearingly sloppy acoustic, blessed his songs with a surprisingly high and sweet falsetto for a 66-year-old man, and managed to create a mile-wide groove all by his lonesome on songs like "Memphis Mail," which starts out like a freight train leaving the station and arrives like one crashing madly into the river. Mountains will likewise crash to the sea before any of us ever learn what in hell he's actually trying to SAY, if anything, but with absolute blues nirvana within reaching distance, who cares? "That's an old-time one," he cackles as the grateful applause trickles down, knowing that he just transported a piece of the early 20th century to the age of bell-bottoms. He'll do the same for you, too, wherever you are. 
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