APART from boxing and Brazilian football, the profession in which nicknames are closest to being a formal entry requirement is that branch of music known as the Blues. Indeed, despite appearances, Blues is a highly formal genre – a fact recognised by a document of unknown authorship, but circulating on the internet, called “The Rules of The Blues”.
Among the points this makes is that you cannot start a Blues song on an upbeat note, such as “I got a good woman”, unless you immediately qualify that statement with bad news, viz: “I got a good woman, with the meanest face in town/ She got teeth like Margaret Thatcher, and she weigh five hundred pound.” It also notes that, while some egregious misfortune beyond your control is essential for genre credibility (“A man with male pattern baldness ain’t the blues. A woman with male pattern baldness is. Breaking your leg cuz you skiing is not the blues. Breaking your leg cuz a’ alligator be chompin’ on it is”), the Blues is also a lifestyle that extends to what you eat and drink.
“If you ask for water and Baby give you gasoline, it’s the Blues. Other acceptable Blues beverages are: (a) bad wine (b) bad whiskey or bad bourbon (c) muddy water (d) black coffee. The following are NOT Blues beverages: (a) mixed drinks (b) kosher wine (c) Snapple (d) sparkling water”. Most of a Blues life is spent “fixin’ to die”. And when you get there, there are rules too: “If it occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it’s a Blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So is the electric chair, substance abuse, and dying lonely on a broken-down cot. You can’t have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or getting liposuction.”
Anyway, if you haven’t seen the piece yet, look it up. It’s very funny. But getting back to nicknames, these are, as I say, almost as important to Blues performers as to boxers. The big difference is that, where boxers’ nicknames emphasise strength, speed, and general well-being, Blues nicknames do the opposite.
Physical infirmity is highly prized in the Blues. Things a boxer would be forced to cover up – lameness, visual disability, bronchitis, etc – will be proudly enshrined in a Blues performer’s stage-name. Failing a medical condition, character defects are sometimes substituted. But mere geographic identifiers are a last resort, and then only if they add credibility.
The way Blues musicians are named is not unlike the system of plant classification. Ideally, there should be three elements: a patronymic, a pet name, and – before both – the primary identifier that establishes a performer’s bone fides. This can refer to his state of origin (“Kansas Joe McCoy”, “Mississippi John Hurt”, “Louisiana Red”, etc), so long as it’s not somewhere like Vermont; but ideally it should be his state of health.
Hence “Blind Lemon Jefferson”, “Blind Willie McTell”, “Cripple Clarence Lofton”, “Blind Boy Fuller”, “Tongue-Tie Hanley”, “Finous Flatfoot Rockmore”, “Blind Willie Johnson”, and so on. Blindness can be a drawback in many walks of life. But as we can see, it gives you a head start in the Blues.
Speaking of heads, unusual specimens of the type are also celebrated. Blues performers have included “Fat-head Washington”, “Meat-head Jackson”, “Rail-head Wilson”, and “Iron-Head Baker”. The last, a musician from the 1930s, got his nickname while chopping down trees during a prison sentence, when a heavy branch landed on his crown and he just carried on working.
Which reminds me of Leadbelly, aka Huddie Ledbetter. His nickname was also acquired in prison (as a convicted murderer), and is variously attributed to him having a stomach full of shotgun pellets, or a legendary capacity for drinking home-made liquor, or a tendency to slack during prison work. All impeccable Blues lifestyle choices.
Blues is one of the few careers where a reputation for idleness can give you an edge. But this is a competitive sub-genre, with performers including “Lazy Bill” (Lucas), “Lazy Lester” (Johnson) and “Lazy Slim Jim”. And in the character defect section, I particularly like the example of “Bogus Ben Covington”, a musician from the 1920s who got his name after a period pretending to be “Blind Ben Covington”.
Given the importance attached to infirmity, some exaggeration can be expected. The worst that Cripple Clarence Lofton seems to have suffered from was a life-long limp, and it wasn’t even bad enough to prevent him attempting a career as a tap-dancer.
By contrast, the authenticity of the man with perhaps the quintessential Blues name is beyond question. The aforementioned Blind Lemon Jefferson was born both blind and poor, to Texan share-croppers in the 1890s. But he became one of the most famous of all Blues musicians. And despite an early death, he remains a big influence today.
The exact nature of his demise is unknown, although his body was found on a snow-covered Chicago street in 1929. Most likely he died of a heart attack while lost in a blizzard. Other versions are that a jealous woman had poisoned his coffee, or that he was killed by a robber while en route to Union Station for a south-bound train.
Whichever one it was, it was a definitely a Blues death.
fmcnally@irishtimes.com