Fred Below was the architect of the Chicago backbeat—a seemingly effortless driving beat that incorporated a definite bounce that was all his own, instantly recognizable on the scores of recordings he made during the 1950s and ’60s, a period that is considered the golden age of Chicago blues and R&B. His services were in great demand by both record companies and artists. He was Chess Records’ first choice for their sessions and can realistically be considered the house drummer. Muddy Waters, Elmore James, Buddy Guy, and Sonny Boy Williamson are just a few of the artists whose sessions were enhanced by Fred Below’s presence. But it is perhaps the Little Walter sessions that are most outstanding. From the beginning, it was obvious that Fred and Little Walter had developed an unquestionable affinity. Fred knew instinctively what Little Walter required musically, which surely gave Walter added confidence while redefining harmonica-based blues. He never sounded better.
Recording sessions comprised only a part of Fred Below’s resume. He also spent an extended period playing and touring with Little Walter at the height of his popularity and later went on to join the bands of Otis Rush, Memphis Slim, Buddy Guy, and Birdlegs and Pauline, among others. In the 1960s there were tours of Europe with the American Folk Blues Festival and a tour of Africa with Junior Wells for the U.S. State Department.
The early 1970s found him once more reunited with old friends Louis and Dave Myers, and together they reformed the Aces, the group Little Walter had joined upon leaving Muddy Waters in 1952. This unit worked successfully for several years, recording and touring in both Europe and Japan. In the 1980s Fred’s health began to decline, and he died in Chicago on August 14, 1988.
—Bill Greensmith
“Below’s the Name, Drummin’s the Game”
Bill Greensmith
Blues Unlimited #131/132 (Sept./Dec. 1978)
I was able to play the beat and put something to it that was a lot different. Because the other drummers around were not—they didn’t have as much musical experience as I’d had. My musical experience helped me a lot to really play these blues. I could understand a lot more of it than the other guys that just sit up there and play. I changed it slightly because I had to change it to a way that I could feel it.
My dad’s been here since 1919. He and my mother got married in 1919. They were staying in New Jersey and they came here to Chicago and taken up residence here in the city. I was born in Chicago on September 6, 1926.
I really didn’t get interested in music until I was in high school, Du Sable High School, and that was back about 1940. I used to go to the movies, the Vendome Theater. I used to go there and see a lot of the bands and then to the Regal Theater. The first one I really noticed was Gene Krupa and people like that. I got interested in it because a few of my friends like Johnny Griffin and Billy Green, they were in bands in Du Sable. Yeah, Red Holloway, he went there, too. In fact, quite a few of the top jazz artists around the country went to Du Sable.
So I got in the band and I didn’t play any instruments at all, and I first taken up trombone, but me and the trombone didn’t get along. Couldn’t do nothing with that. Then I picked up the drum, and I always—well, the beats and things like that—I could remember marches and things. And I said, well, maybe I can learn this instrument. It turned out that this was the instrument for me, because it was very easy to pick up the beats and learn the music part of it. And I think it was the second year of high school I was in the first band. I was about sixteen years old then. I graduated from Du Sable and went to the army.
Fred Below. Chicago, September 1972. (Photo Bill Greensmith)
I was drafted. It wasn’t a matter of wanting to go or not, I was eighteen, at the age, and World War Two was on. I was stationed down in Fort McClellan, Alabama, and that’s where I met Lester Young, he was down there. So, like, on the weekends we’d go down to the PX or recreation center and we’d set up a little jam session. Lester Young was in special services there. I couldn’t get into special services, I was in the infantry. I went overseas, the South Pacific, Manila, all over the Philippines. I was in two years the first time I came out, December 13, 1946.
When I came back in 1946 I still wasn’t able to play in any nightclubs, because I still wasn’t twenty-one. I had formed a little group while I was here, but the jobs were just not available, I couldn’t play in nightclubs where I would have liked to play. At that time they were very, very strict about twenty-one years old. When they put the sign up said “twenty-one,” they meant that.
I went to music school while I was here, Roy C. Knapp School of Percussion, downtown. I took an advanced course in drumming and I graduated from there in 1948. But, see, when I came out the army the first time, I was a staff sergeant, but by me staying out that length of time, when I went back in I lost the stripes. So by me losing the stripes they made me a buck sergeant. So when I re-enlisted I went back in for eighteen months, and I thought maybe the music business will pick up when I get out.
I asked for overseas duty. I said I’d like to go to Europe, and at that particular time you could pick what you want. So I went overseas and was stationed in Mannheim, Germany—427 Army Band. I got special service that time. The 427 Army Band was a very special outfit, because it only played for presidents, generals, big staff, congressmen, senators from the States, things like that, nothing but big staff.
And in Mannheim is where I met Horst Lippmann, you know, Lippmann and Rau.1 At that time, in 1948, Horst was a promoter. Like, at the weekends, he’d come around to the army camps where they had a band and he’d say he had a job for about four or five pieces. “Say, you think you guys could get together an outfit or something that could come around and play some of these German clubs?” I said, “Sure,” you make that little extra money. So every week he and I and a few other guys would go to different towns all over Germany. That was really nice, man.
I came back to the United States in 1951. When I got home the music scene in Chicago had changed completely. When I left, jazz was the thing, no blues. When I came back, it was just blues. And there was an old friend of mine used to play with Muddy Waters, his name was Elgar Edmonds, he used to play the drums. I’d gone around and tried to find some old friends and I’d run into him. I knew Elgar from back in 1946, we both went to the same drum school downtown. Odie Payne, he went there too. I been knowing Odie Payne since 1946, very good friend of mine, too. So when I come home in 1951 the blues was on the scene. I knew nothing about blues, ’cause I’d never played that type of music. I’d always played dance band, jazz, swing, and stuff.
So Elgar was in touch with Louis and Dave Myers and they had a little group and they didn’t have any drummer. So he told them that he knew of a fellow that was a good drummer and that maybe they could use me. So Louis called me up on the phone and told me that they had a job at the Brookmount Hotel. So I came on in and sat down and played with them for the first night, but I just couldn’t dig what they were playing, it just wasn’t there. Now, they could play it, but not me. So when the gig was over that night I said, “I thank you fellows very much for the job, but I just can’t cut it. I don’t know what to play, I’m gonna have to quit you.” So Dave and Louis said, “Man, you play very good drums. Why don’t you just learn to play what we’re playing?” I said, “Well, I’m willing to learn if you’re willing to teach me.” So Dave and Louis took the time and showed me how to play what they were playing, which was the blues. I’d say it took me about a month for me to really catch on and get it to swinging good. Once I got it together then we started getting more jobs, the four of us, Junior Wells, David, Louis, and myself.
Little Walter had made this record called “Juke” and the record was hittin’ off good. Our group was playing very well and we could play everything Muddy was playing. After Walter’s record came out he quit Muddy, and Walter needed a band or some group of musicians that was able to play, that he could play with. What happened was an exchange of harp players. Junior Wells went with Muddy, because Muddy was a big name at that particular time. And you couldn’t blame Junior for going with Muddy. Little Walter didn’t have no group, so Dave and Louis accepted him into our group.
Now, Walter had the record, we didn’t have no record. We was able to play. The record was selling pretty good, and Walter got with Billy Shaw Booking Agency and that was it. We started touring all over the United States. Man, we used to play all through the South; big clubs, things like that, auditoriums, stadiums, ballparks, all over the United States. Some tours lasted a year. Left one year in February, come back next February. We had those long tours. We used to bring a Cadillac and a station wagon and drive those cars up and down the highway and just wear ’em out.
What it was at the particular time we were playing with Walter, we were something new—that is, as far as the entertainment field is concerned. But our type of music had been playing throughout the South for many years, but never on a big scale. When we came out we came out big-scale. And we used to play in some of the places all through the South where the whites and the blacks were not mixing. You couldn’t mix, not in the South. So what there was, if it would be in a big place, they’d have the whites upstairs and the blacks on the main floor. And some places we played at they’d have a rope stretched in the middle of the place, blacks on one side, white on the other. We played in one place where they mobbed Nat King Cole. Took him off the stage and he said he was never gonna’ play down there anymore. That was down in Birmingham, Alabama.2
When we started traveling, going to different places opening up new fields, then we had other musicians from Chicago like Muddy Waters start traveling. See, the Little Walter group started traveling before Muddy and a lot of years before Howlin’ Wolf. Howlin’ Wolf was in the South. And he was playing in East St. Louis in a nightclub down there. And we passed through the town and stopped by the place he was playing and said, “Man, why don’t you come on up to Chicago? There’s plenty of work up there.” So Howlin’ Wolf come on up to Chicago and formed his band. And Elmore James, he was traveling around a lot. I made records with Elmore James. Yeah, I knew him. See, at that time, back in ’51, ’52, I met all the blues artists.
When our group first started, the first big-time job was the Apollo Theater, New York. The first week we had one of the largest crowds they ever had in the theater, we packed ’em in. It wasn’t something that they had never seen, they had never seen nothing on the stage. No harmonica, guitar, and drum group had ever really made it, because this is what you call Southern music, down-home music. So we come up to the big time, which was the Apollo Theater, which was big to us and this was the jumping-off place.
And the people in New York, the booking agent wanted to know what the reaction would be from the people in New York. This was ’52 and we had a contract, we were supposed to make a European tour. We had thirty-nine days. As soon as we finished at the Apollo we were supposed to get passports, shots, and everything and the first job was going to be the Palladium in London, England.
It was a big job and they were going to send people with us from the office and everything and the money was great. And Walter didn’t want to take it. So the guy says, “Man, if you can get the guy to sign the contract, Walter’s just nervous, just scared. He’s never been out of the country in his life.” And evidently he didn’t quite understand what was happening. It was quite a big jump from playing in these little juke joints and things. And he refused. The guy offered me five hundred dollars if I could get him just to sign to say he’d go. And I tried. Five hundred dollars sure looked good.
So instead of that, we came back to Chicago to wrap up some jobs. Walter could have gone to Europe in 1952, he didn’t go to Europe till very late.3 He could have been one of the first people to go to Europe. Our records were selling like hotcakes, couldn’t put out one fast enough.
A good thing about Leonard and Phil, there were a couple of incidents that happened that you can say that these cats went all out to help.
One time we were traveling on the road in two cars. Walter was in his car and Robert Jr. and I, and Benny, who was the driver, were in a station wagon. Station wagon broke down. Walter and them were ahead of us. They had gotten to the job and didn’t know where we were. We had to get off the highway and get to a filling station to get the station wagon fixed. But the filling station wasn’t open and we had to stay there all night and wait for it to open. The mechanic went to another town to get the part, bring it back, and fix it.
Alright, I paid for this out of my own pocket. And I didn’t know how to get in touch with Walter, because I didn’t know where the next job was. This was someplace down in Texas. I don’t know where, but we had to drive about two hundred miles to get to Dallas. When we got to Dallas, I went round to Howard Lewis’s place. There was a big club there and he was a booking agent, too. He was one of the promoters of the show but I didn’t see him, and so I got in touch with Leonard Chess. My money had run out. I’d paid for the car being fixed and the gas to get to Dallas.
So I called Chicago and talked to Leonard and told him the problem. I told him I couldn’t leave there to get to the next job, because I’d no money. I think the next job was in Houston. He said, “Now, here’s what you do. You go down to the Star Distributing Company down in Dallas.” Evidently they had some dealings with Chess. He said, “You talk to the manager and tell him I sent you. Have him call me here and whatever you want he’ll give it to you.” So I got three hundred dollars to recover my money and get to the next job. Jumped in the car and went on to Houston. When we got to Houston there’s Little Walter and them. Walter said, “I figured you’ll be here. I wasn’t even worried. I knew if you didn’t make the job something had happened but you’ll be able to handle it.”
Fred Below, Louis Myers, Dave Myers. Chicago, May 1974. (Photo Bill Greensmith)
But when the instruments got burned up, oh, man, that was a heck of a thing. We were supposed to leave that day and Robert Jr. come by the house said, “Below, better go down the club, because it’s on fire. I’ve seen the firemen tearing out the windows.” That was down on 39th and Indiana, used to be a club down there called the Hollywood. So we got there and all the front’s gone and smoke’s coming out, and I look on the bandstand and I see a shell, that’s where my drums were. Little Walter’s amp was all messed up, Robert Jr.’s case and Tucker’s amp, guitar, and stuff. So we didn’t have no instruments and we had to leave that day.4
So we went down to Chess and told Leonard what happened. He got on the phone and told the promoter what had happened and told him we’ll be there the day after tomorrow. We had to go to Dallas that time. So what happened, Leonard gave Walter a blank check and told Walter, “Just fill in the amount, whatever you need.”
I went out and pick me out a drum set, everybody got instruments. We spent over two thousand dollars. I worked mine out with Leonard, he said, “I tell you what, you just come back and make some recordings for me and I’ll deduct that from the recording sessions.”
At this particular time, that’s when I was getting plenty of work. By me playing with Little Walter and the records coming out and I’d be around in Chicago. And guys would say, “I sure like that beat. Hey, Below, I’ve got a session coming up, do you want to come on and play?” I said, “Well, certainly.” But the first records I made were back in 1946. I can’t think who the fellas were, some guys from California. They were cut in Chicago at Universal, it was a jazz thing.
Leonard started using me on sessions by me being in the band with Walter. And we were able to get along very well, so I was down there all the time. Leonard and Phil were both very easy to get along with. We were able to communicate very well on music, because if there was a certain little thing that Leonard or Phil might want, they would tell it to me and I would try and put it on the drums. Things that you hear on the records, the idea has come from Leonard or Phil Chess.
But the engineer had to be able to record blues to get a blues sound. They had about three different engineers. One of them was Bill Black—Bill Black or Joe Black—he’s a very good engineer.5 And there was a woman, she was an engineer on some sessions. They had certain engineers all the time. They didn’t have the same one, but they all had the same idea and the same knowledge of the blues. Like I said before, blues sound will only come if the engineer knows what he’s doing.
There was no difficulty recording there at all. See, the main thing is this: if you’re recording the same type of music you get into the trend. So when you set down, you know what you’ve got to do. You just go right ahead and do it and it doesn’t take all day. See, most of the cats down there was professional and everybody know what they wanted to do. When they went into the studio they already know what they’re gonna do. Before they go into the studio they’ve already rehearsed it. So when they get there it’s no problem. They say, “Okay, Below, give me a nice beat or shuffle,” or whatever type of thing they want, and that was it.
The “Little Village” thing? Well, you know, on sessions like that it’s a relaxed thing. Everybody is just relaxed and that’s the main thing. We’d get a little taste in there and we’d be sitting down and they’d say, “Okay, let’s play this thing.” And this was one particular tune that never did get right, and I don’t know how many—well, you’ve heard the record and you see how many takes we had. The record never did come out until after Sonny Boy was gone. But this was one thing we really had a lot of fun with.
And you see how the rapport was between Sonny Boy and Leonard. Leonard in the booth and Sonny Boy out there, “Oh, go ahead motherfucker this …” and all that shit, you know. This was the closeness of the musicians plus the closeness that Chess had with the artists. These are the only two cats, man, Leonard and Phil, they were just like the godfathers of all the blues musicians in the city of Chicago. ’Cause they gave more start to all the black musicians than any other company.
Sonny Boy was no problem, man. I think we could cut Sonny Boy … If Sonny Boy would say, “Below, I got about five tunes, man. I want you to go back there and put some shit to it.” And I just jump in there and do my little thing. Robert Jr. and Tucker, they were very good guys, we worked together with Little Walter, so it was an easy thing with Sonny Boy. Sonny Boy had a way of playing that was just terrific, man. Sound and the feeling was just different. And we worked many sessions together and we knew just about the feeling—once Sonny Boy got into it. See, he’d run it over a couple of times, say, “Here’s what I want, man. Now you pick up on the beat.”
So he’d go and sing the song. He’d got the words down on a paper and he’d sing ’em. So Robert Jr. and Tucker would be sitting there listening, and he’d say, “Okay, come on, let’s try one.” “Don’t cut this motherfucker,” that’s when he’s talking to Leonard. So Leonard say, “Okay, okay.” So we’d run the tune down. Tune come out alright. Then he’d say, “Okay, now you can cut.” Go ahead and cut the tune, bap! Right over—just like that, first take.
Well, a lot of times, say, for instance, we got some words, maybe the words don’t fit him, so he’d change the words around for himself, make them up like that. Another time we got a tune maybe we don’t have enough words. You have to make up a verse or two, right there on the spur of the moment. That’s the way the cat worked.
Muddy offered me a job many years ago, but, see, Elgar Edmonds was playing with Muddy and I was playing with Walter. Elgar was a very good friend of mine and I would not make the change, for no reason whatsoever. And right today Muddy and I are good friends, but I’ve never worked with him except on recording sessions. Maybe we’ve played some jobs together or something, but I’ve never worked with him as a member of his band.
But years ago there was a problem. And that problem was Muddy didn’t use his harmonica player nor his drummer on a couple of his records. So when he played a job the tunes didn’t sound the same as the records. So the people started complaining about it, because there was no other harp player that played like Walter. So naturally the harp player he had playing with him couldn’t come up to where Little Walter was playing. And Elgar didn’t play like me, because I had a different style and Elgar had a style.
So after these couple of incidents happened I stopped making records with Muddy Waters. In fact, I didn’t make no more records with Muddy for many years. Some of the first records Muddy came out with and one or two later on I made. But I tried to play in such a way that whoever the drummer was would be able to play what I’m playing. It’s a difficult thing, because I can always play myself. But somebody else might not be able to understand what I’m trying to do, and it’s a little difficult. So naturally when you heard his band, the band never sound like the record. So Little Walter and I stopped playing with Muddy.
But I tell you what, now, there’s many guys I enjoyed recording with. Some are easy to work with, some are not. Muddy Waters—very easy to get along with, because he knows what he wants, give it to him he’s satisfied. And I’ll tell you one thing, I enjoyed playing with Muddy for one reason. Muddy has one of the best sense of timing, more than any other musician I’ve ever come across. His timing is just perfect, man, I mean perfect. His words come out, he knows what he’s gonna sing and he does it. It seems like he’s singing like a drummer should be able to play. Sonny Boy Williamson very easy. Little Walter very easy guy. Sometimes a little difficult, because a lot of the words never … if the words don’t rhyme, it don’t fit the personality. A lot of guys it’s just not it.
Dixon wrote quite a bit of the blues tunes and he arranged, too. He did the whole works. He knew all aspects of the music field, plus he was able to play bass and sing too. He played great blues bass. He used to work with the Big Three Trio. They didn’t play much blues. They were able to play anything, and they had one of the great piano players at that time, Baby Doo.6 Man, you talking about players. Them cats could play anything you wanna name. That’s what you call that good stompin’ stuff—finger poppin’. And they played all that beautiful stuff.
By Willie Dixon having a thorough knowledge of the music, he was able to put his musical knowledge into the blues and produce things. Same thing as myself, by knowing more about different types of music you’re able to put more into it, because, you know, there’s more places to go, you understand what I’m saying? Because if you only know one thing, then that’s all you can do. But if you know something else, then you’ve got a chance to move around, to experiment. I recorded for Vee-Jay, Artistic, Cobra, but mainly I recorded for Chess and Chess artists. This had nothing to do with Leonard, because I never had any signed contract saying I wasn’t allowed to work for anyone else. It was just that at that particular time, working with Little Walter and with us traveling up and down the highways all the time, I wasn’t home regular enough to record with a lot of people.
I stayed with Walter up till 1955. At that time I’d been working so long … Well, Walter had been getting a lot of feedback, because a lot of jobs he didn’t make or something was going on and the band wasn’t … well, we wasn’t getting any better and I thought that it was best if I leave and find another group.
So I left Mothers Day 1955. I could see the handwriting on the wall. Instead of getting better jobs, we were staying in the same trend. We wasn’t getting any better and we were getting less jobs. So when I did leave, I took a two-week vacation. Went downtown bought me a brand-new car, went down to Florida and had a ball. Just before I had quit Little Walter we’d toured all through Florida and I’d met a lot of nice people and they said, “Please come back,” so I said, “Okay.”
When I got back to Chicago I’d had a couple of phone calls from Memphis Slim. So later that evening he phones and said, “Are you working with anyone or have you signed up to go with anybody?” I said, “No, I haven’t. I’ve just come back from vacation and I’m not working with anyone now.” He said, “Well, I’d like to have you for a drummer. I’ll be back in Chicago in two days. I’ll be by your house and give you all the particulars. I have a job working at the Squeeze Club on the West Side. And I have some other jobs that I will tell you about when I get back.” I said, “Well, okay.”
So I went on and worked with him. I think I stayed with Memphis about a year. Matt Murphy was in the army; we had Jody Williams on guitar, Milton Rector on bass, and a woman saxophone player named Burdette, Burt Davis. Played alto sax, played just like Charlie Parker, beautiful. And this was jazz. See, the way it was set up, when Memphis came on the set he played the blues. When the band was on the set we play the jazz. Jody was playing jazz. He’s been a good guitar player for many years. He played blues and jazz.
I recorded with Memphis Slim for Vee-Jay.7 Like I said, I’ve played with all the blues guys at one time or another, and I have a very extensive blues knowledge, because I’ve played with all different types and I’m able to adjust myself very quickly to whatever the situation says.
After I left Memphis Slim I was like a freelance drummer. I played with any group that I felt like I wanted to play with. I’ve played some with John Lee Hooker. Didn’t travel with him, just gigs. What I was trying to do was establish myself as a drummer who’s able to adapt himself to all situations.
When I got with Otis Rush we had the first band in the city of Chicago to use electric bass. And this guy Willie he come in and played that bass.8 First it was Louis Myers, myself, and Otis Rush. And when this guy came in and played that rundown guitar sound like a bass. Oh, man, that turned the blues medium just around a little bit. Because before he came on the scene everybody was using two guitars and no bass. Then we got two saxophone players, Jerry Gibson and Donald Hankins. Then we had a big band sound.
I cut a couple of sides with Otis Rush. I don’t know what happened to Eli Toscano, he went out of business, got bankrupt or something.9 I stayed with Otis about eight or nine months, the band broke up, we had a disagreement over money. When the band broke up we all got with Buddy Guy. I met Buddy when he first came to Chicago. And Buddy was a star way before he started making records. Buddy is a very unique guitar player, he can change styles in the middle of the stream any way he wants.
I played with Buddy a long while and when I quit Buddy I went to Rockford, Illinois. I stayed there a couple of years, played with Birdlegs Shivers. He was a singer and he had a band, nine pieces. I left Chicago in 1959 to live in Rockford and stayed there till 1962 or 1963.
I met Birdlegs. I was going to the theater up on 63rd Street and who should I see, Birdlegs come along, “How you doing Below?” We had a conversation, he said, “I’ve got a nice gig playing up in Rockford, I’m supposed to open this weekend. We got three nights, I’d sure like to get you on the gig.” I said, “How much you paying?” He said, “Forty dollars a night.” I said, “How much?” I said, “Well, look, I’ve got to give Buddy a notice, I can’t just up and quit, because that would not be fair.” He said, “If you know a bass player and a horn player, I could sure use them, too.” I said, “Same kind of money?” He said, “Same kind.”
So when the weekend came I told Buddy, “Buddy, things ain’t working out right, we ain’t got but two nights here.” We was working at Joliet at that time, “So I’m quitting the band to go up to Rockford.” Buddy said, “Okay, then.”
So at that time the man who owned the place we were playing at let the band go. So Donald Hankins, the baritone player, and Frank Perry, the bass player—he’s dead now—come along with me. When I told them about the job everybody was pleased. They said, “What you say?” I said, “Forty dollars a night.” They said, “Okay, let’s go.” So I called Birdlegs and he said he’d have us picked up. And we got Little Murphy on guitar. You know, Matthew Murphy’s got a brother. Well, his brother came with us, Floyd Murphy. Everybody stayed up there, money was good.
The first two weekends the band played we did tremendous business up there. We worked in the white clubs, we didn’t work no black clubs. We played jazz, rock, blues, everything. Floyd was just like Matthew. Both of them are good, great, they just know everything. Birdlegs sang and also his wife, then we had three other girls to back them up, chorus, like taking off on a Ray Charles thing. And it sold, we had a big show.
There was a big ladies’ dress shop in Rockford that used to give his wife, Pauline, her gowns. In fact, every Friday and Saturday when we played downtown in Rockford, Pauline used to go to the shop and they would dress her out. And she’d be decked out, I mean sharp as a tack from head to toe. So when she was standing up there doing her show it was outta sight. So what happened was the people was diggin’ the gowns and that dress shop was getting the business. The band had tuxedos and dinner jackets and all the things.
We had an organ and piano player, some guy out from St. Louis, name Willie Washington or something like that. Two saxes, guitar, bass, drums, bongo player, and the three girls doing the background chorus. I never cut for Chess at this time. I just stayed up there and we were working every night of the week. Sometimes twice on Sundays and Mondays.
I got sick and had to come back to Chicago. I had double pneumonia and I stayed in the hospital six months. I came out in 1964. I was rather weak and the people from Europe, Horst Lippmann, wanted me on the American Folk Blues Festival, but I was unable to go because I was too weak. I played here and there but I didn’t join anyone. I did make some recordings but nothing big. I’ve always made recordings here and there all the time, but the main thing was I wasn’t working with no one in particular.
Fred Below, Jimmy Lee Robinson, Snooky Pryor. Chicago, September 1972. (Photo Bill Greensmith)
After I got my strength back Willie Dixon got in touch with me and said that they were getting another American Folk Blues Festival together and the guy was wondering if I would be able to come this time, and I said I would. So before I went to Europe everybody that was going on the show had to meet over at Chess.
But I enjoyed it, it was great. I was not the star of the show, but the people treated me as well as the stars. They gave me a nice welcome every time I came on the stage, and it seemed like the people were just as anxious to see me as they were the stars. And incidentally, on this show was when I first began to wear the beret. After the first performance in Baden-Baden, Memphis Slim was there. Just like old home week, everybody was there.
That was ’65. Sixty-six was something else. In ’66, I had two shows in Europe. One was the AFBF, which was four weeks, then we had the Alabama Blues Show, and on that show we had six weeks.
I’ve been to Africa with Junior Wells. Oh, man, that was a trip. I was playing with Buddy and he had to go to Europe on some sort of guitar show. So the State Department got in touch with me and asked me would I like to go. Lefty Dizz and Woody Williams were on that show. That was ten and a half weeks in Africa.
The main countries the Aces have been going to since the late ’60s have been France, Germany, Switzerland, and Spain. In ’69 I quit Buddy Guy, because we had gotten back together. But I thought if I could get Dave and Louis together as a unit, if we could get that unit over, maybe we would have a chance to do some recording and make a name for ourselves. And we’ve been going back and forth to Europe about once a year.
The Japanese thing was entirely different. This was the first time that they had anybody playing our type of blues. Our type of blues is a lot different from big band blues. We got four little jive pieces, and this is strictly down-home blues and that’s what we play. And the Japanese people just ate it up.
I’ve enjoyed my musical career and I’ve had the opportunity to see a lot of the world. Main thing is I haven’t seen it all yet.
1. Lippmann and Rau promoted the American Folk Blues Festival shows in Europe during the 1960s and early ’70s.
2. On April 10, 1956, Nat King Cole appeared at the Municipal Auditorium in Birmingham, Alabama. Cole was touring with an integrated ensemble that included his trio, June Cristy, the Ted Heath Orchestra, and the Four Freshmen. Cole was attacked while on stage by five members of the White Citizens Council of Birmingham.
3. Little Walter first toured England in 1964.
4. The fire at the Hollywood was reported in an April 1954 edition of Cashbox.
5. Possibly Stu Black.
6. Leonard “Baby Doo” Caston.
7. Memphis Slim recorded two sessions for Vee-Jay Records. Billy Stepney is listed as the drummer on both sessions. Fred Below did record one session with Memphis Slim for United Records.
8. Willie D. Warren.
9. Eli Toscano was the owner of Cobra Records. Fred Below recorded with Otis Rush for both Cobra and Chess Records.
