James Cotton’s career as one of postwar blues’ preeminent harmonica players can, in retrospect, be viewed as three distinct periods: his early formative years in Mississippi and West Memphis, Arkansas; the twelve-year period he spent in Chicago with the Muddy Waters band; and, finally, upon leaving the Waters band in the mid-1960s, as a successful and highly respected bandleader and recording artist.
James’s time in West Memphis, then a thriving hub of blues activity, was spent in the company of Sonny Boy Williamson, Howlin’ Wolf, Willie Nix, Willie Love, Junior Parker, and others. As an emerging blues talent, the teenage James Cotton’s harmonica playing graced recordings by Willie Nix and Howlin’ Wolf, although, inexplicably, he eschewed the harmonica on his own sides for Sun Records in December 1953 and May 1954. “Straighten Up Baby” and “My Baby” (Sun 199) were a pair of confident, but nondescript, blues. However, Sam Phillips, who obviously recognized Cotton’s potential, soon scheduled a second session. “Cotton Crop Blues” (Sun 206), which recalls Tampa Red’s “Cotton Seed Blues,” is an intense tour de force defined by Pat Hare’s slashing guitar underpinning Cotton’s gruff, brooding vocal. It remains one of the most outstanding recordings of the Memphis postwar era. But sales were almost certainly disappointing and Cotton continued to labor in obscurity until a fortuitous encounter with Muddy Waters, who was in West Memphis scouting a replacement for the recently departed Junior Wells. Cotton immediately joined the band and left for Chicago.
James Cotton further refined his skills while steadily rising to prominence within the Waters band. His powerful yet eloquent playing was featured on numerous recordings when he eventually replaced Little Walter, the harmonica player of choice on Muddy’s sessions. In the mid-1960s Cotton embarked on a solo career. His band initially featured the guitarist Luther Tucker before he was replaced by Matt Murphy, a friend from his days in West Memphis. A host of fine albums throughout the years have showcased Cotton’s exceptional talent and maintained his reputation as one of postwar blues’ outstanding harmonica players. Never quite severing his relationship with Muddy Waters, he often appeared as a special guest on the records of his former boss and continued to perform with him on occasion. In the 1990s he began to suffer health problems, which unfortunately restricted his vocal performance but were not able to silence his wonderful harmonica playing.
—Bill Greensmith
James Cotton
Bill Greensmith
Blues Unlimited #120 (July/Aug. 1976)
I was born in a little place called Tunica, Mississippi, 1935, July 1. My mother used to play the harmonica a little bit; she played things like “The Train” and a thing called “The Hen Cackle,” make the harp sound like a chicken, I used to listen at that. I used to hear people sing blues and things, see people playing the guitar, but I never heard them playing it on the harmonica.
Then I heard Sonny Boy, which is Rice Miller. He had this radio show in Helena, Arkansas, KFFA King Biscuit Time, and I started listening at that. I was about seven or eight years old. I listened at that for a long time. I heard Sonny Boy play the harp and I tried to play the same thing whatever he was playing. This is what really got me interested in the harp, because I never heard it sound like this before. Then when I started playing like Rice Miller then I came by records by the original Sonny Boy.
My uncle was more into musical things. He knew more of what was happening than my family did. I was like the baby of the family and he liked to have me running around with him. When he found out that I could play a little bit—that sure ’nuff did it, he started carrying me everywhere. [His name was] Wiley Green. He played piano a little bit, not much. He’d just sit down and plonk on it a little bit. So when I started playing harp he used to carry me all the places people go. Maybe one guy would be sitting down playing guitar and he’d say, “I got my boy here, let him play a couple of songs with ya.” I was about eight or nine years old, but I’d been listening to Sonny Boy’s program for two years. So I went around and played with all the different people that I could sit in and play with.
Then he finally carried me to Helena, Arkansas, to meet Sonny Boy. He knew him enough, he’d been going to see him different places. Carried me there and I started playing with Sonny Boy. Played with Sonny Boy six years. Stayed right in the house with him. My uncle set up somewhere that I could stay with him. I was just living right there on him. My uncle kinda helped it out a little bit. I stayed with Sonny Boy and learned to play all the things that he was playing. Stayed right in the house with him and Mattie.
James Cotton. Chicago, October 1975. (Photo Bill Greensmith)
My mother didn’t even know where I was. My uncle know. My mother and father never did know where I was till I come back home. Sonny Boy brought me back home after a couple of years. They found what I was doing and just figured I went away somewhere, my uncle never did tell them. They found out what I was doing, so they liked it alright. So I went back and played with Sonny Boy some more.
[I was] nine years old when I moved in with Sonny Boy, and between the things that I seen him do—like he never did take out that much time to sit down and play the harp with me, but I was around him all the time and I see the things that he did and I hear that all the time. And I got a chance to see other people play.
This is how I met Howlin’ Wolf through Sonny Boy, Joe Willie Wilkins, all the little bands around there. Willie Nix, Willie Love, I met all those people right through Sonny Boy. They had little bands, you know. I never knew that there was even that many bands. I thought that there was only one band. (laughs)
He was popular then, not record-wise, but from the radio station, as far as the radio station could reach. And he was one of the only guys around doing that that was that good at it. So he had quite a bit of work, always stayed working. I play a couple of songs and sit on his knee, play a couple of songs, then he’d run me off to the car: “Well, it’s time for you to go now, you better get out of here.” I’d go out to the car and go to sleep.
We played Mississippi and Arkansas juke houses. Somebody lives in a house, maybe two or three rooms. They’d take all the furniture back and put it in one room for this particular day. They’d go out and get some beer and corn liquor, some kinda sandwiches, and Sonny Boy would play there that night.
Joe Willie played the guitar for him. Joe Willie left later and formed his own group. Willie Nix played the drums. And he had this guy called Five by Five, five foot tall and five foot wide—he’s a big man, Dudlow. He was playing the piano for us. And that was the group, man. No bass; we wouldn’t carry a bass then. If there was a bass it was an upright bass.
Peck [Curtis] played drums for Sonny Boy, then he left and got his own thing. Peck stayed there for, I guess, about a year after I was there, then he split for a while, then he came back. So off and on he was there. He was like a cat always trying to do something for himself. He’d go out and try, sometimes things get bad and he’d be off from work awhile, then he’d get a job back with Sonny Boy.”
Did you ever play on the radio with him?
I might have did two or three shows. I never did fool around the radio station that much, because I wasn’t up to the really good standard. I wasn’t good enough.
The first song I ever played on harp in front of people was “Sitting on Top of the World,” “Big Apple Swing,” and “I Know She’s Gonna Jump and Shout.” First three songs I learnt. I used to sit on Sonny Boy’s knee—play those three songs, then he’d run me off to the car. When I first went to Sonny Boy he had a 1934 Ford with the door that open backward, like the Lincoln doors open now, with a rack on top of it and “Sonny Boy and his King Biscuit Boys” wrote on the side of it.
Was Robert Junior around?
Oh, yeah, Robert Junior was in and out the band, too. He was the type of cat always tried to get him a band going. He was in the band when I first went there, stayed for four or five months, then he split, then after a while he came back. Guys always trying to get it together.
What kind of guy was Sonny Boy then?
Crazy. He was crazy. Drink a lot of whiskey, had a pretty fast temper. He would fight right away, he’d cut ’cha. He’d get that knife open he’d sure cut ’cha. Crazy guy. But other than that, he was a good man, you know. He had a fast temper, liked to drink, liked to stay out all night long. That’s where I get that from, I guess. I tell my wife all the time I’m a country boy. I like to stay out all night long.
Me and him used to go playing, see that the other guys get home. There’d be times we’d ride around till daylight, wouldn’t be doing nothing just ride around and talk, come home at daylight. He loved to stay out all night, loved to do that. I think that’s where I got started on at that.
What happened when Sonny Boy came north?
Well, Sonny Boy left me with his band. We moved up to West Memphis, Arkansas, and he bought a house. The house got burnt down and I guess him and Mattie started to get along bad and he just left one day.
Sonny Boy Williamson, Robert Jr. Lockwood. Cleveland, Ohio.
We were playing in the Be-Bop Hall on 8th Street in West Memphis. He played the first set, you know, we were all running around getting something to drink and all of that stuff. We didn’t know he was gonna leave. So a little bit before the second set started he just came back there. He had a pint of whiskey and me and him sat down to drink that whiskey. This was the first time me and him ever really drink together. I’d get a drink, but I wouldn’t drink with him. I give him that much respect, you know. He said, “Well, I’m fixin’ to go, you keep the band, I’m gonna leave here. I can’t do no good here.” That’s when he came north. I think he first stopped in Milwaukee. He left me with the band and by me being a young kid and crazy … Band stayed together about four or five months then fell apart.
Who was in the band then?
Joe Willie Wilkins, Willie Nix, Willie Love.
Were you on the radio?
We were on a radio station there, KWEM. I kept that show about five months until the band fell apart.
Were you advertising anything?
Well, Sonny Boy had fifteen minutes on the air, some kind of deal he set up with the station, didn’t cost him anything. Fifteen minutes every day. He was on from 3 to 3:15. When he left I did it for a while, then the Harts Bread people out of Memphis, Tennessee, heard the show and bought the show for me. I was on for Harts Bread until the band fell apart.
1952, ’53 something like that. I did quite a few things then, finding gigs where I could get gigs at. Had a job driving a gravel truck. Had a job as a short-order cook. Went back to the farm and did some work on the farm. I did a lot of things. Then Willie Nix started a band and he knew me, so he came to the farm and got me. I worked for him about six or seven months, something like that.
Was this when you cut for Sun with Willie?
Yeah. “Baker Shop Boogie” and “Seems Like a Million Years.” I didn’t get no credit for that, either. Things like that always happen to me, man. Like I worked with him and I used to sing this thing just to have fun—“Baker Shop Boogie.” I didn’t think that it would ever get put on a record. So he liked it. He said, “Can I record it?” I said, “Yeah, you can record it.” He said, “Won’t you give me it?” I said, “You can have it”—just give it to him. I don’t think Willie Nix ever wrote a tune in his life.1
He was just a country boy, just like me, I guess. Country boy who learnt to play a few licks on the drums and got out there started doing it, crazy like all the rest of the guys. He just got stuck in a bag doing that same thing. Like some people—like I say about the three-change blues, they get stuck in that bag and they get satisfied with that. Willie Nix didn’t change as the times changed. He’s a good drummer for that blues thing that was going on back then. He was one of the better drummers.
Did you know the Newborns?
Yeah, everybody knew them. They were the greatest musicians around there. Old man Phineas played drums, that whole family were musicians, they were very talented people. They came from Clarksdale, I think, up to Memphis. Yeah, I know Mr. Phineas, Calvin, Little Phineas, all of them. They were the up-to-date musicians around Memphis at this particular time. They were like great musicians there.2
Ike Turner?
They made a record with Jackie Brenston called “Rocket 88.” It was a big record, big record, man. And that’s how I got to know them, right behind that record. Like the record hit. And I found out that they all lived in Memphis and I used to see them playing around, because everybody loved that record. They had a million-seller out there. That’s when I first met them, when that record came out.
Jackie split after the record hit?
Yeah, well, he got behind the hit record and he got kinda crazy, figuring he’ll go and do it for himself, but he hasn’t had another one since! I played in a band with Ike, like one of them bands I played with, Ike was in it. Willie Nix band. Willie Nix playing the drums, Ike piano, and me playing harp. We didn’t have a guitar. Played like that for three or four months. Ike was running around scouting different talent and things like that for record companies, tuning pianos, doing everything. Matter of fact, that’s how I knew that Sun Record company even existed.
Did Ike get you your deal with Sun?
No, he didn’t, but I used to go over there with him all the time. He got Junior Parker this deal with Sun Records. I had a tune that I wrote called “Feelin’ Good,” and Junior Parker did the record. I didn’t get no credit for it, not at all. We used to do this tune, like, at nights when we would go to the clubs. I wouldn’t do it on the air. The program was run by requests. People write in to you. I used to get a stack of mail every day for “Feelin’ Good.” This was the Harts Bread show that I had. It didn’t last long, it was a lot of fun while it lasted. I’d get so many letters for it [“Feelin’ Good”]. I’d just take the letters and kinda push them aside and never do the song. I’d do it at night when I’d go to the clubs. Then I started to do it on the radio—never should have did that. Next thing I know Junior Parker had it out on record, man. Never got a dime for it, never got no credit for it, never wrote a song like that since!3
Did you know Willie Kizart?
I heard that name. I’m not for sure, when I see that band [Kings of Rhythm], some of the musicians had split from it then. It wasn’t all the original musicians that did “Rocket 88.” But I’ve heard that name before. I know Willie Johnson played the guitar with Howlin’ Wolf. You know, that name sounds really familiar—Willie Kizart.
Joe Hill Louis?
The Be-Bop Boy. Oh, yeah, I knew him. He came up from Mississippi, like he came up after I was already in West Memphis. I knew him when he first came there. And he just came there playing by himself and the last time I see him he was playing by himself. He got on the radio station there, he never had nobody play with him. Played the drums, guitar, and the harmonica all at the same time. He just played his own music.
Did you ever meet Elmore James?
I knew Elmore, I did a few gigs with him. Never did do no recording with him. I remember when him and Sonny Boy had out “Dust My Broom.” I used to go to gigs with him and play that whenever Sonny Boy wouldn’t be with him.
Robert Nighthawk?
Oh, Robert, I knew Robert for a long time, too. Never did play too many gigs with him. I just jammed with him a few times, but I knew him pretty good. Good singer, good guitar player. Sing with a lazy voice, didn’t care whether he even open his mouth or not, but when it came out, it came out right.
What was B. B. King like then?
Just a country boy. He played in a little joint on 16th Street. Played Friday, Saturday, Sunday, that was it. Run around, drink around all the rest of the week and have a good time. Get a gig where he could.
There was a lot of good musicians around there that hadn’t quite made it yet and it was hard to get a break to do anything. B. B. King was around there, he was just working at this radio station, he didn’t have records out. Bobby Bland, Junior Parker, Rufus Thomas, a bunch of musicians there, they’d just get gigs where they could. Really no big advertising, no records out, nothing like that. If you wasn’t with a radio station then the people just didn’t know you. Because if you had been with one, you could get work.
Did you ever hear of the “In the Groove Boys”?
That’s Albert King’s band. I never did work with them. I’ve jammed with them a couple of times. Albert King came up from Mississippi and he stopped in West Memphis. He actually hung around West Memphis with me for about a week or so before he went up to Osceola and put that band together. I think they had a radio show up there, and down in West Memphis where I was I could get their radio show. And they could get mine, like it was on at different times.4
Did you ever go up to Osceola and broadcast?
No. I used to go up there and jam with them sometimes at night, playing at the T-99 Club in Osceola.
What kind of band were they?
They were playing a little bit more moderner blues than what I was playing. I was playing the country blues, but by Albert playing guitar and he had horns and everything, that made him a little bit more moderner than what I was. I knew Albert before he started that band, I know him when he started that band. At one time, to tell you the truth, when B. B. King made “3 O’Clock,” made a hit record, there was more guitar players come out with the last name King than I’ve ever heard in my life. Everybody you see was a King. Junior King, B. B. King, Albert King—all of them were Kings. But I know I didn’t hear of that many Kings until B. B. King came out with “3 O’Clock.”
When did you first meet Matt Murphy?
I met Matt Murphy a long time ago. He was around some during this time. He played with Howlin’ Wolf, that was the first band he played with.
Were Matt and his brother playing together?
Floyd came up later. The little band I had brought Floyd up to West Memphis. He lived down at Holly Springs, Mississippi. So Matt was up there first and he played with Howlin’ Wolf. Then Matt and Junior Parker played with Wolf and somehow they split and started a group on their own. And then I played with Howlin’ Wolf for a while. Then I got a little band and played around for a while then ran into Floyd. Floyd played with me two years or so.
When did you first meet Pat Hare?
Me and Pat Hare just lived around the neighborhood and kind of knowed one another all through the years. Like I knew Pat could play. He just lived with his mother and father. He’d just come out to town on a Saturday, bring his guitar and just sit down and play a little bit. I used to hang around things like that, you know. I used to go jam with him. We used to sit up on the back of a truck and the people would gang up around us. We’d sit there and play couple of hours.
What town did Pat come from?
Parkin, Arkansas.
Didn’t he have a group called the Forrest City Blues Boys?
I don’t know who owned the group. It was three of them. Jerry Lee Walker [drums], Pat Hare, and what was the other boy’s name played piano?5 They played around for a while. That was the first group Pat was in. Then after that he played with Howlin’ Wolf. I got him a job playing with Howlin’ Wolf. Then he started playing with Junior Parker and Bobby Bland. Then after I started playing with Muddy, I got him a job playing with Muddy. After ten or twelve years we was back in the same group again. So he played in that group awhile, then he finally split out of that group and started playing with Mojo Buford. That’s when he got in trouble up in Minnesota.6
Cotton Crop Blues?
That was a little group that I had that didn’t stay together too long after Sonny Boy’s band fell apart. I ran around for a while, did all kinds of crazy things, then I got a little group together. I cut “Cotton Crop Blues” and “Hold Me in Your Arms” for Sun Records. I cut two records for Sun with that little band of mine, which was four sides. Me and Pat Hare and a boy named Hambone played drums. His name was John [Bowers]. And another fellow from Memphis named Albert played piano on one of the sides. I played drums on “Cotton Crop Blues.” There’s a couple of the songs I didn’t play the harp on, just played the drums.7 I recorded with Howlin’ Wolf, my very first record. I played harp on “Saddle My Pony.” Wolf played guitar.8
Did you ever meet Sunny Blair?
Sonny Blakes. Is that what you’re saying, Sonny Blakes? He was a harmonica player from West Memphis. No, I don’t think I knew Sunny Blair.
He played with Sammy Lawhorn sometimes. Bobby King can also remember seeing them?
See, Sammy is from Little Rock. Sammy got around a little bit more than Bobby did, man, like Sammy was playing with a group that kinda moved around a little bit more.
Who was Sammy playing with?
What was this guy’s name? They had out this hit record one time, “You Don’t Love Me.” Willie Cobbs. Sammy’s playing guitar on that. So this was the group Sammy was with, so they would move around. That’s how I got to know Sammy. The record was one of the last things Sammy did with that group before he split, but he’d been in that band for a long time.
What about Big Walter?
Big Walter is a good harmonica player. I’ve known him for a long time, he kinda helped me along, too. Not just come up and say play this, play that, but I’d get a chance to hear him, you know. He’s been around a long time. I’d get a chance to hear him play and I’d pick up ideas of what he played. Matter of fact, I played in Willie Nix’s band with him.
Two harps?
Yeah. We never did get a chance to do no recording. Walter played the lead harp and I played the backup harp.
How long did that last?
Not long. Not long, about a couple of months. Not long. (laughs)
It fell apart because of … ?
Because of two harp players always run into one another, you know. Walter was always the type of cat he would never stay with a group long. Three or four months and he’d move on—try and do something else, you know. Yeah, that didn’t last long. It sound good, but it didn’t last long.
Did you know Raymond Hill?
The horn player? Yeah, I know Raymond. Yeah, I’ve known Raymond a long time, when they did that record [“Rocket 88”]. Raymond was one of the guys that I could communicate with better than anybody in that whole band besides Ike Turner. I got to know Ike really good.
I never really played with Raymond no more than just sitting in and jam with him. I never played on the same show with him, nothing like that. He had a band around St. Louis one time. I think Billy Gayles was in the band. He did a tune called “Tore Up.” I don’t know whatever happened to the band, but since then I haven’t heard much from Raymond. I knew Albert King and Little Milton before they came to St. Louis. Milton is from Greenville, Mississippi. He used to play with Willie Love.
There’s always been a little small circle of us, one right behind the other. Maybe one get a break this year, then maybe have to work the next two years before they get a chance to make a record, but it’s always been like that for us. All of us from the South, everybody got a chance to leave the South at a different time, but they end up like all the people I know leave the South. I still know them all now. We all do the same thing.
How did you come to join Muddy?
They was coming up out of Florida, and Junior Wells had split down in Florida somewhere and they still had more dates to do. I don’t know what happened to Muddy and Junior, but Junior came back to Chicago, so they didn’t have no harp player.
I lived in West Memphis and they had a gig to do in Memphis on a Saturday night. During this time I was driving a dump truck, so I worked to, like, twelve o’clock that Saturday and got off in this little restaurant down on 8th Street. Friend of mine used to play down there—L. D., just sit down and play guitar by himself. I’d go there every Saturday and jam with him.9 So I went in the place this Saturday and Muddy Waters, Otis Spann, and Elgin Edmondson were in there.10 I’d never seen Muddy Waters before, you know. I’d heard his records, things like that, so I just went in to play with L. D. When I got in there the first thing L. D. said, “Hey, Muddy Waters is in here, you know.” I said, “I don’t believe you. Muddy Waters ain’t in here, I don’t believe that.” So I just went up to jam some with L. D. and Muddy Waters come up and started to talk to me, asked me did I want a job. I just looked at him, you know. I almost told him to his face, “I don’t believe you’re Muddy Waters.” He told me that his harp player left and he needed a harp player. This was, like, Saturday evening, so he was working Saturday night over at the Hippodrome in Memphis. He said, “You can start work tonight.” I said, “How much you gonna pay me?” So he told me, I said, “Okay, I’ll go with you.” So, like, Memphis was just six miles from me. I went and got ready still thinking that he wasn’t really Muddy Waters. I go and see all the signs up, posters and everything, “Muddy Waters playing here tonight.” I went in started playing, because I knew some of his songs, like I’d heard them on record. Went in that night, played that night, and Monday we left coming to Chicago.
When was the next time you saw Sonny Boy?
After I came to Chicago. He left there in ’52 or something and I came here last of ’54 and we played a gig with Sonny Boy. Played two gigs with Sonny Boy, one in New York and one in Washington, D.C. I don’t know how he got to New York. I didn’t even know he was playing with us.
Who else was in Muddy’s band when you joined?
Otis Spann, Elgin Edmondson, Jimmy Rogers, Bob Hadley, and Muddy Waters. Bob Hadley was a horn player. He never did do no recording with Muddy, just play the gigs with him.
Did you tour a lot?
Well, Muddy was right out there then. He toured the South mostly. That’s where he had best sales and things, like Mississippi, Louisiana, Georgia, Florida, and back to Chicago. In Chicago we was working at the 708 Club and Sylvio’s, which kept us working all the time. I’ll never forget the first time we played New York City. We got booed off the stage. Played the Apollo Theater and got booed off the stage. This was about 1955.
Why were you booed?
They wasn’t used to that blues. See we were on the Sarah Vaughan Show with Red Prysock, Al Hibbler, the Moonglows, Chuck Willis, Nappy Brown—and Muddy Waters played more of the Mississippi blues, and they were playing more of a modern … And we went out, like we were the opening band. They said, “Boooooo!” They were all hollering at us. I’ll never forget that.
What was Muddy’s reaction?
Well, he didn’t like that. Wasn’t nothing he could do about it, the peoples just didn’t like us. But after a while, we kept makin’ records, kept showing up different places, it was alright all over.
Your style changed a lot from the early days?
You know what happened to me? See, when I came out of Arkansas I played Sonny Boy’s style. This was the only style that I knew. I wrote a few things on my own, but it would still come out Sonny Boy’s style. Then I came here (to Chicago). (Little) Walter had a whole different thing going with blowing the harmonica and he was right up on top of it. In other words, if you didn’t play like Walter or if you didn’t play like Junior Wells, around Chicago you wasn’t a harp player.
I could play all the blues and stuff, but people didn’t respond to me playing like they did those cats. So I started to listen at this. Started to listen, started to study the instrument. This was the first time I really got a chance, you know. I was a musician out there on my own with a good, stable job. I didn’t have to quit playing music and go do something else. So I got a chance to study the harp a little bit.
I listened at Walter, Junior Wells, Billy Boy Arnold, all those people and I tried to come up with something just a little bit between all of those cats, with maybe some of the same flavor, but my own style of doing it. So this is what changed me there. They just wasn’t playing the same thing here they was playing down there. They had jazzed it up a little bit and it sounded good.
When did you first meet Earlee Payton?
Oh, I been knowing Payton for … Payton was one of the better harp blowers around this city when I came here. He had his own band. He had Freddy King playing with him, Mojo was the bass player, and T. J. was the drummer.11 He had a good group. When I came here Payton was the first harp blower takin’ up some time for me. Little Walter and Junior Wells and people like that was really up there then. They didn’t have time to fool around with me then, I was just a country boy. And through Payton I seen the way the thing was going and I start to make some moves for myself. I tried to keep it together enough to stay here.
It was like learning to play all over again when I came here, a whole different thing. All the things I had learnt from Sonny Boy, they didn’t exist here. So I had to go and learn new things where I could play and be good here. But it was good for me because of all the things that I already knew. I could play like Sonny Boy or play his style, then I learnt what Little Walter and Junior were doing. Then, like, I had all this background, like I knew all these things, and when you know a lot of things then you can kinda take them and do what you want to do with them, which is good for me. But at the time, I didn’t think it was good, I thought it was the hardest thing I ever seen.
What was it like recording for Leonard Chess?
Leonard should have been a musician himself instead of having a studio. Leonard knew what he wanted to hear and had a way of getting it out of the musicians. Just a down-to-earth cat. Come out and drink some whiskey, talk about it, cuss one another out, all that kinda thing, just kept it going. He was the type of cat that never got angry, or if he got angry you would never know it. He’d do anything to get what he wanted to get out of the musicians. And he always got it. Come out there, sit down and talk to you—“Well, God damn it, you got to play such and such a thing.” And he’d get that in your mind and before you know it, you’d just do it.
I made quite a few records with Muddy. I can’t even think of all of ’em. “Walkin’ in the Park,” “Mojo.” I made the second “Mojo” with Muddy, the one that hit. Little Walter made the first one, he had a whole different thing on it. I changed the top of it. Like we kept the bass, kept the bottom, I changed the top. Little Walter played straight, I played chopping licks and was more pushing. That’s the one that sold for Muddy.
There also seems like another change in style from when you were recording with Muddy. From about the time you cut that album with Johnny Young. To me you’re playing much harder and more aggressively than you ever did with Muddy.12
See, well, it’s hard to really play what you can play if you work for someone and they know what they wanna hear. I kinda laid back, I didn’t ever get in Muddy’s way. I just laid back and played with him. I did never try to … If it was a song where I played the solo in it, I’d just play a good solo. I’d never go crazy, because Muddy didn’t understand a bunch of that.
Like the first time I played the chromatic with Muddy, he didn’t like that. Like he figured nobody could play the chromatic like Walter could. So I went and bought myself a chromatic harp and I was playin’ it. Muddy said, “You can’t play that harp. I don’t even like the way you sound on it, play the other one.” So I just had to put the chromatic away! Things like that.
It was funny, you know, like he was used to hearing whatever he knowed and if it was anything new he was scared to stretch out on it. So it taken me awhile before I could really feel like I wasn’t playing Walter and I was playing myself. I had to play those solos Walter made for Muddy note for note! That’s what Muddy wanted. I had to learn the solos. I had to play them note for note, because this was what Muddy was used to hearing. And if you wasn’t playing in his eyesight you wasn’t playing or you wasn’t playing with him. So that kinda kept me restricted, ’cause I had to play this thing night after night, every night. I couldn’t play the things I wanted to play, because I played with him, you know.
Was Chess ever interested in cutting you as a solo artist?
Like I said, man, I’ve always been known as a good harp player and a hard worker, never had no record to take the weight off me. Like when you get the hit records then that takes some of the weight off you, keeps you from working so hard. You still work hard, but it’s appreciated more on account of the hit record. See, I never had that, always had to work hard and just do it from the sweat of my own eyebrow.
Didn’t you do something for Cadillac Baby?
I did a lot of recording with Mack Simmons for Cadillac Baby. Never nothing for myself. Most all the stuff Mack did on the Bea and Baby label, I played the harp on it. Mack just sing the stuff. “Jumpin’ at Cadillacs” got two harps on it, which that was my tune, too. Mack named it “Jumpin’ at Cadillacs.” That was my tune, but during that time I was playing with Muddy. I didn’t think about trying to record for myself. I’d come up with a tune and play it and somebody would hear it. I’d just give it to ’em.13
What about the one for Loma?
Yeah, “Laying in the Weeds” and “Complete This Order.” That was the first thing I did when I left Muddy Waters. Just did the two sides.14
What about the session with Johnny Young?
Johnny Young really wanted to get a good record out. So the first thing he told me, “You ain’t got to worry about me, just play. Play anything you feel, just play.” And that’s what I did, because there wasn’t that restriction there no more. I just put the harmonica where I could fit it in at. I just did it.
Muddy was in the studio when we did it. He thought it was good for Johnny Young, but he’s … Muddy’s one of the best blues singers that I know, but he’s set in his ways. He knows what he can sing and he knows what he can’t sing, and he don’t like to go outside the track. He likes to stay right in his ball game where he knows—which I don’t blame him for that. He just likes to do whatever he do and do it good. But when you step on the outside, experimenting with something, he don’t want too many parts of it. He said, “Well, that’s alright, but not for me.”
I loved every minute I played with Muddy, but it was a thing where by me having had a couple of bands before, I’d had the feel of being a bandleader. But as I grew up then I learnt more of the things I had to do. Like I was never able to keep no band together. My one problem, I couldn’t keep the fellows together, but as I learnt more things about how to do that and I always wanted my own group. So when I got it together, found I could do that, that was the cause of me to split.
I love Muddy, man. I didn’t have a mind playing all of the things whatever he liked, because that could make me … I know how to play other things, but I just couldn’t do it there. Like I used to get it off by going out and jam, play all the things I want to play. So now I’m just out there. I’m free, I can play anything I wanna play now. So that’s better in a way, but I didn’t think about it like that at this particular time. But once I was out there I said, shit, I can do anything I wanna do now.
What year did you leave Muddy?
’67, I believe it was.
But you came to England to do a tour for Chris Barber in 1961?
Matter of fact, this was the first tour thing that I ever did like that on my own. This was the first time that I felt really like a good musician. Here I am, started from Mississippi and worked my way over in London—a lot of peoples have never did that, man. I was playing with Chris and his band and they was very nice people, they was very good to me, man, very nice people.
How did he get you for the tour?
Well, they were over here. I guess Muddy Waters had met them whenever he was over there. Matter of fact, Chris and Ottilie stayed with Muddy about a week. We were playing at Smitty’s Corner and they used to come down there and listen to the music. We were playing there, like, five nights a week. Chris had his whole band here in Chicago. The whole band came down and played and that blowed my mind, that’s the first time I ever heard the group. I said, wow, listen to that music.15
So I started talking to Chris and Ottilie and they started telling me about I was a pretty good harp player and that kinda thing. I didn’t have any ideas about going overseas and I just said I’d like to go overseas someday and Chris said, “Well, maybe that could be put together.” And they did. They got me over there for, like, four weeks, man. It was outta sight. I loved every minute of it.
James Cotton with the Chris Barber Band. Beaulieu Jazz Festival, 1961. (Photo Val Wilmer)
You cut a couple of records over there?
Yeah, with Alexis Korner, this piano player—what’s his name? And Chris played the upright bass.16
You had Luther Tucker in one of your bands?
Yeah, well, my first band was Luther Tucker, Bob Anderson, Sam Lay, and Alberto Gianquinto. That was my first band in Chicago. We stayed together for a couple of years and then they started to falling out. Before I know, we had a whole brand-new band again. All the old people that I started with they weren’t around no more.
Bob Anderson was the last one to leave the group, then Matt Murphy come with me. I used to build my band up from St. Louis. If I needed a guitar player or drummer, horn player, I’d always go to St. Louis and find one. There’s a lot of good musicians down in St. Louis, lot of good musicians, some of them never get out of there or never get recorded.
In between Luther Tucker and Matt Murphy I had a guitar player from St. Louis, name was Charles, I can’t think of his last name. He was a good guitarist. And a drummer named Berry Smith. Good drummer, but it’s hard for you to get them out of St. Louis.
What’s your opinion of your first albums you made for Verve?
I thought that they were good records. I didn’t think that the company was behind me at all. The records were put together good, the company didn’t do the things they should have did with it. I’ve always had that. I’ve never had a hit record, nothing like that, but I stays working pretty much all the time. I never had a record to sell, even get on the charts, I don’t think. I’ve never had a company really go out and work behind me. Like, “James Cotton’s really got a good record here, we’re gonna really get behind it, see whether …” I’ve never had a company do that for me.
What about your album for Buddah?
Buddah did more than any company that I’ve ever had. I thought that they gave me more of what I needed than any record company that I’ve ever been with. I didn’t get a hit record there, but they seemed like they were behind it.
Were you on Muddy’s Can’t Get No Grindin’ album?
Yeah. Once in a while I still go and record with Muddy.17
And were you “Joe Denim” [on Muddy Waters’s Live at Mr. Kelly’s]?
Yeah, that was contract-wise. Muddy was playing at Mr. Kelly’s and I was just in town for a couple of days; like I didn’t even know he was playing at Mr. Kelly’s. I called him up and he said, “I’m recording, why don’t you come down and do some recording with me?” So I went and sit in with Muddy, some of the songs I had never heard before. Just went right on the bandstand, didn’t rehearse, just went right on the bandstand, just played.18
Who’s your favorite harp player?
It’s hard to say. Like it’s a funny thing, and I’m not saying this to be sounding smart either, but when I hear the harmonica players now, they either playing Little Walter or something that I’ve already laid down. So I don’t listen at that anymore. I listen to try and learn more, and I can’t learn listening to harp players who play more from the same thing that I play or play the same thing Little Walter play or play the same thing Sonny Boy play. I can’t learn anything from that, because I already had did it at one time or another. So me, now, I’m listening to a bunch of horn players. I listen to all the horns and try to figure out parts that I can play.
But my favorite harmonica player, and I guess he always will be, I guess it was because he showed me—Rice Miller. I loved Little Walter because he had a whole different style, but for the bottom of it, really get the feeling out of it, I think Rice Miller was the best harmonica player ever lived.
What horn players are you listening to?
Well, this is something I started a couple of years ago. I listen to John Coltrane, and I really got into Diz (Dizzy Gillespie) and James Moody. Diz plays a lot of things on that trumpet, man. And I’ve been listening to Junior Walker and the All-Stars for the rough stuff. I can’t make my harmonica sound like a horn, but I found that I can pick up some of the things insofar as the advancement of just the three-change blues.
I think if you’re a musician you should be able to play anything. A good musician shouldn’t be restricted to one kind of music. If he can play he should be able to play blues, rock, jazz, or whatever—should be able to play all of that. Like the average harmonica player, they just play the three changes because the harmonica is not a full keyboard and they don’t try to go no further. The average one don’t. I’ve been playing three changes for a long time and I just want to stretch out on it a little bit. I’m always looking for something new, always trying to do something new. Sometimes I make it, sometimes I don’t. I’m always trying that. You try it, at least you’ve tried it, then you know whether you can do it or whether you can’t. I’m always doing that. I’m always trying something new and something different.
What kind of amp are you using?
I don’t think the amplifier, name brands, got that much to do with it, especially when you play the harmonica. It’s within, what you bring out yourself. The amplifier makes it loud, what other people can hear.
Like a bunch of the kids now, kids ask me all over, they come up and see my amp, see what setting I’ve got on the amp, see what kind of microphone I’m playing through. I guess I was like that, too, when I was coming up. I’d see Sonny Boy’s rig and I thought that this had a lot to do with him sounding like he sound, which had nothing to do with it. Whatever he played it put it out loud, that’s all it do. You gotta play it—the amplifier won’t play it for you. You gotta play it yourself.
Do you play a lot of chromatic now?
Well, I play the chromatic, but I haven’t been playing it a whole lot lately. I haven’t been doing that much recording with it, but I plan to do that. This is where the horn ideas will come out, because the chromatic is more of a keyboard. And if I can ever get to wind up right, it’s a hard scuffle, but if I can get this going, where I can play the scales and things like that. Stevie Wonder has come closer to that than anybody that I know.
Like I told you, I’m always trying something new, so I want to get in that modern bag with playing the chromatic. I’ll be able to walk on the bandstand, stand there and play modern tunes with my chromatic. Lay it down then go back to the blues. Then play jazz or whatever, be good at all of that, I don’t wanna just half do it, I wanna do it.
Do you practice a lot?
Well, let’s say I play the harp a lot. Like I don’t practice with the band that much, because we’re always working, but I play the harp all the time. I play the harp couple of hours a day.
Sit around the house and play it, or when I’m on the road I sit in the hotel and play it. Sometimes me and Matt get together when we’re riding down the highway. He’ll get his guitar and we’ll sit there and try and get it together like that, have fun while we’re doing it. Plus there ain’t that uptightness like when we’re on the bandstand. There’s just the two of us. If we mess it up it don’t make no difference, but if it come out good then we’ve accomplished something.
You tour a lot now playing colleges et cetera?
Like I said, man, I love people and I like to play for people. This is the one thing, I guess, that keep it going, that I love to play for people. It’s just a big thrill for me to be doing what I’m doing. I never thought that I would ever do this good at it when I started. I never thought that I would ever be James Cotton just to walk out there and have a band and do it on my own like I’ve been doing the last ten years.
So this turns me on. This really makes me feel like all the things that I did down through the years were really worth it. I’m not makin’ a lot of bread, but it’s wonderful just to be doing it. I’m the happiest man in the world when I see people. When I’m working and I get those standing ovation things, everybody standing up smiling, they’ve forgotten all their troubles, all the things they have to go through with.
In comparison to the things going on in the world today it’s worth it to see a few people with smiles on their faces. I feel like the president when I’m standing up there. Just for this second when I see this going on, the president couldn’t get a reception like that. This turns me on, man, keeps me doing it.
Any regrets?
No, I don’t regret nothing I did in music, nothing. I think it was all worth it. If I hadn’t did the things that I did, I wouldn’t know the things that I know. It was hard to do. Everything was hard and it’s still hard, but I love it, I love every minute of it. If I had to do everything over again, I’d do it. I’d do it right away, wouldn’t be no questions asked. I’d just go right to it. Say, “Well, here I go again.” Yeah, I loved every minute of it, man.
But I plan to move out of Chicago. I plan to move back to my hometown next year. Gonna go back to West Memphis and open a club. Just be at home, slow down traveling on the road a little bit. Go back to the country. I’m a country boy, I can’t live … I guess when you get a little bit older everything slows down a little bit. I’ve been steady at this for about twenty-two years now. Twelve with Muddy and ten for myself. I’ve turned forty years old; when you think about it, it’s kinda hard. I’ve got two kids, one sixteen and one ten, that I haven’t really seen grow up. I think it’s time that I spent a little more time with them. Not all the time but more than I have done. So if I can get me a club or something.19
I got to be around music. Even if I don’t have a group, I gotta have people playing around me where I can go up and jam once in a while. So this is what I’m working for now.
1. “Baker Shop Boogie”/“Seems Like a Million Years,” Willie Nix, Sun 179.
2. Phineas Newborn Sr. was from an area near Jackson, Tennessee. The family moved to Memphis, Tennessee, in the 1930s.
3. “Feeling Good”/“Fussin’ and Fightin’ Blues,” Little Junior’s Blue Flames, Sun 187.
4. It is entirely possible that Albert King had been in Mississippi for one reason or another when James met him. But Albert had been living in Osceola, Arkansas, as early as 1938.
5. L. C. Hubert.
6. Following a domestic dispute in December 1963, Pat Hare shot and killed his female companion and a police officer who was called to the scene. Pat was subsequently sentenced to life in prison and died in September 1980. His 1953 recording, “Gonna Murder My Baby,” ended up being sadly prophetic.
7. The Sun discography lists the personnel as follows: “Straighten Up Baby”/“My Baby,” Sun 199. James Cotton, vcl; Harvey Simmons, Tom Roane, saxes; Billy Love, pno; Pat Hare, gtr; Kenneth Banks, bs; Houston Stokes, dms. Dec. 7, 1953. “Cotton Crop Blues”/“Hold Me in Your Arms,” Sun 206. James Cotton, vcl; Mose Vinson, pno; Pat Hare, gtr; John Bowers, dms. May 13 or 14, 1954.
8. “Saddle My Pony”/“Worried All the Time,” Howlin’ Wolf, Chess 1515.
9. L. D. Beckton (?)
10. Elga Edmonds. Perhaps the most mispronounced/misspelled name in blues history, his name has been the subject of much discussion.
11. Robert “Big Mojo” Elam and T. J. McNulty.
12. Johnny Young’s Chicago Blues Band, Arhoolie 1029.
13. “Jumpin’ at Cadillac,” Little Mack and His Boys, C. J. 607. James Cotton recorded two sides of his own for Bea and Baby that remained unissued until the late 1970s, when they eventually saw the light of day on Red Lightnin’ RL 0020, a compilation of Bea and Baby material.
14. “Laying in the Weeds”/“Complete This Order,” James Cotton, Loma 2042.
15. Muddy Waters and Otis Spann toured England in October 1958, appearing on the same program as Chris Barber’s band.
16. Chris Barber Presents Jimmy Cotton, Columbia EP8141 and EP8189. Eight titles were recorded on August 10, 1961. The piano player was Keith Scott.
17. Can’t Get No Grindin’, Muddy Waters, Chess 50023.
18. Live at Mr. Kelly’s, Muddy Waters, Chess 50012.
19. James Cotton’s plans to relocate to West Memphis never materialized. He eventually moved to Austin, Texas.
