Issue
January/April
2009
Title: Strange Things,
Big Daddy Stallings
Since the departure of Big Jesse Yawn to his native Florida a couple of years back, there’s been quite a void in the local blues community. And though there have been many Young Turk bands playing in area clubs, I despaired of ever finding that second generation bluesman in town, like D.C.’s Bobby Parker, who could have made that direct connection with the first masters of this uniquely American genre of music.
But to my surprise, there is indeed such an individual, the equally stocky built Charles “Big Daddy” Stallings, who shared quite a bit of history with Big Jesse. Both, roughly of the same age and same baritone vocal range, were born in the South, educated in the sources of the blues at an early age, and eventually adopted Baltimore as their home, after which they forged their respective careers. There were differences, as Jesse had a gospel component to his early indoctrination in the blues and is noted mainly as a vocalist; whereas Big Daddy had always been a player and only appeared recently as a singer. Moreover, the latter also has demonstrated quite a talent as blues tunesmith, also a trait that has emerged only of late. But the point is that the two are the “real thing,” the links to the true roots of the blues.
My hunch about Big Daddy’s extensive blues background proved correct. Although he had seemingly popped up out of nowhere, I had recently seen him many times leading his band, mixing in quite a few traditional blues numbers with soul classics and his own compositions. He plays his guitar with precision, focusing on keeping a steady rhythm rather than meandering off on some pyrotechnic solo; not that he couldn’t display some fancy licks if the occasion demanded them. But his philosophy is always keeping it simple--- “It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing”—if you would (with a nod to Duke Ellington). Or maybe he ascribes to the exhortation of Chuck Berry’s “Rock & Roll Music” wherein the only worthwhile tunes “have a back beat you can’t lose it.” As his story unfolds, you’ll understand his devotion to this “straight and narrow” school of thought. My only regret is not writing him up sooner, after acknowledging all the tell tale signs of a true bluesman in our midst.
Charles “Big Daddy” Stallings was born in Columbia, SC, in 1945. After his father’s discharge six months later from the U.S Army in nearby Ft. Jackson after WW II, the family moved back to his original homestead, a farm, in Hobbsville, NC. According to Charles, it was quite a hardscrabble existence, eking out an existence in this rural setting, especially since there were so many mouths to feed, including ten other siblings. The family had a radio but the only stations that they could receive were either pop (Arthur Godfrey) or C&W (Minnie Pearl, Red Foley, and Grandpa Jones), neither of which really ever struck a chord with the young Charles.
However, at age ten there was an event which would profoundly change his life. About the mid-50s, his parents would sometimes attend Friday night fish fries at a local “jump joint” (juke joint) of O.C. Hoffler’s. It was at these social gatherings wherein home brewed corn liquor flowed freely that Charles first encountered blues music and for him it was quite a revelation. “I heard this guy, Fred Hill, playing the guitar with Lee on harp and ‘The Bear’ on wash tub. And it was blues music, like Jimmy Reed’s ‘Ain’t That Lovin’ You Baby.’ And the place was hopping. After that I knew what I wanted to do,” said Charles.
Nonetheless, he could only learn so much at such sporadic get-togethers and it was too impractical to seek advice about playing the guitar since Fred Hill’s home was so far away; in fact Fred had to drive all the way up into the “sticks” from Edenton, a seafood center, about 20 miles south on State Route 32 at the intersection of U.S. 17 at the west end of the Albemarle Sound. Equally frustrating was that his school didn’t offer a music program in which a now blues smitten student could pursue his passion.
But luckily for Charles, a couple of years later, he got wind of another such legendary bluesman residing near Hobbsville---Thurman “Buddy” Mitchell. “He lived four or five miles from us and I would have to trudge down a long dirt road maybe three miles from the main drag just to reach his house. After I got into his good graces, I would visit him every Sunday. That’s how much I wanted to learn how to play the blues,” said Charles. It was Mitchell, also a big fan of Jimmy Reed, who first taught him the three chords necessary for blues progressions. “I remember back then the first song I learned was his [Reed’s] ‘Hush Hush’ and then ‘Big Boss Man,’ he added. Nonetheless it was impossible to practice what Mitchell preached without an instrument of his own. Eventually, though, Charles “wore down” this guitar wizard to the point that he surrendered his second string guitar—a rather worn acoustic model with a pickup. But to the eager pupil, it was the gift of a lifetime. At home, Charles would “woodshed” daily until after about six months, he became fairly proficient; so much so, that he felt confident enough to accompany his patient teacher. Soon an opportunity arose one night at Bill Jordan’s club, another local watering hole, and Charles finally prevailed upon Mitchell to let him onstage. To make a long story short, Charles passed this test with flying colors and thereafter the two played regularly as a duo, or they would be joined by fellow musicians playing “spoons” or a washtub. Occasionally, another native, Billy Joe, would drag in a heavy, upright piano appropriated from a nearby church. By the way, Big Daddy artfully relates a good bit of his early biography in “Hobbsville Blues” on his first CD.
Later on as an adolescent in the early 60s, Charles could now pick up a new powerful radio station beamed from Norfolk, VA, WRAP, and the music over these airwaves was entirely new to him—soul with singers like Wilson Pickett, Solomon Burke, and James Brown. When Charles confronted Mitchell with this new R&B material, he just scoffed and told his protégé that it couldn’t be played on guitars such as theirs and that was the end of the discussion. “I took his word as gospel,” said Charles.
However, in the summer of 1962, a couple of cousins and a guitarist friend, all from Brooklyn, NY, who were visiting Hobbsville on the Fourth of July were to set Charles straight about what he could or couldn’t attempt with the guitar. At the time, King Curtis’s “Soul Twist” (Enjoy 1001) was all the rage and they dared Charles to duplicate it. When he replied that it was impossible with an instrument such as his, they just laughed. It was then that the sidekick proceeded to copy it note for note. “And not only that, he repeated for me every song we heard over WRAP that afternoon. It opened another world of music to me,” said Charles. Although Charles, after this “awakening,” was rapidly adding to his own play list, he encountered stiff resistance from the home folk when he tried to introduce his newly acquired soul repertoire. “They were slow to change back then. I guess you could call it the country mentality,” he added.
In 1965, Charles, with guitar in hand, was drafted and directed to, ironically, Ft. Jackson. He narrowly avoided a tour of duty in Vietnam because a younger brother who had volunteered prior to his induction was already there in the combat zone. Instead he was assigned to Toul, France (a small town situated in the northeast between Nancy and Commercy) as part of the 574th Transportation Unit, Company A. At the time, Toul was winding down as an Allied encampment due to an edict by then President Charles De Gaulle and Company A, as its commercial division, was entrusted with hauling away the materiel of the base. Here, Charles met and jammed with many a professional musician and he remembers particularly a gifted, versatile jazz guitarist in the Kenny Burrell/Wes Montgomery mold who also became influential in his technical development.
With his task in France completed but with eight months remaining on his military hitch, he was reassigned to the 317th Combat Engineers Unit at a U.S. Army occupation installation in Eschborn in the suburbs of Frankfurt-Am-Main, West Germany. It would prove to be a fateful destination in that fellow comrades in arms there included singer J.T.Bryant and bassist Leroy Flowers who on the premises had already founded a popular soul group, the Antwans. In short order, they recruited Charles to handle the guitar chores. And quickly they became the toast of Frankfurt, playing on weekends in all manner of clubs much like the Beatles conquered Hamburg. And each artist dreamed of continuing the success of the Antwans stateside.
It was J.T. Bryant who was discharged first, followed by Charles. On his way home to Hobbsville from Ft.Dix, NJ, where he was mustered out, Charles paid a visit to his vocalist in Baltimore. J.T. brought Charles over to an acquaintance of his who was a supervisor at Bethlehem Steel and who had a wife who taught school. For Charles, the seemingly innocent social call proved to be a life altering experience. “Never in my life had a seen a black person live in luxury like this. With two cars yet and a fine rancher house. I knew then and there I couldn’t go back to those dilapidated shacks back home,” he said. Making good on his promise, Charles returned to Baltimore shortly thereafter and parlayed his Army expertise into a well paying job as truck driver, a vocation which he continues to this day. “They just had to hire me with the resume I had from Europe. I was qualified to drive every type of vehicle there was, except perhaps a tank,” he added with a laugh.
Next on the agenda was reforming the Antwans which was soon accomplished with the addition of newly discharged Leroy Flowers and sax man, pianist, and vocalist, Ted Queen, who had been a fixture in Gene Smith’s 4 Notes, the longtime house band in the 50s at the venerable R&B club, the Carnival Lounge on Poplar Grove St in west Baltimore. It was the beginning of one of the longest running soul acts in Charm City history. For sixteen years the group endured, from 1969 until the mid-80s, having extended stints in venues of that era, such as the Hideaway in Randallstown, Dotson’s in Glen Burnie, the Twin Pines in Essex, and Brice’s Hilltop Inn in Woodlawn. By 1971, they cut their first single, a self produced affair, on the local Snawtna label ( #1001, Antwans spelled backward), “Ain’t No Love,” which made a little noise in the region and enough to gain recognition abroad as part of the United Kingdom’s “Northern Soul” designation.
“Although we had to perform mostly funk and soul---I swear we could outdo James Brown---during that time frame, I still had a small but loyal following who demanded a blues number. And after I fulfilled their request, I always received a standing ovation. But I could only do one of those,” said Charles.
After the final dissolution of the Antwans in 1985—lead singer, J.T. Bryant, had found religion and was now exclusively doing spirituals—Charles discovered that he had gained a reputation and that he had even become sought after, particularly by famed keyboardist in the area, Lionel Jiggetts. Jiggetts had distinguished himself as a stellar studio musician in town backing the many local acts like the Howards, Ronnie Dove, and the Kings that producer Jack Gale brought to his West Biddle Street facility. But Jiggetts, quite the virtuoso, was then tackling a good bit of jazz and Charles often felt that he was out of his element. “I don’t know how I lasted three whole years with Lionel. I just couldn’t get the hang of it. And it never was a good fit,” said Charles.
But as the 90s dawned, he still was not ready to throw in the towel as far as performing was concerned. Charles then formed the Dance Band, a cover group which catered to the “Baby Boom” generation. Much in demand in the territory, especially for weddings and cabarets, the ensemble featured two vocalists, Jeannie Harris and Norman Richardson, Steve Turner on sax, as well as longtime bassist, Leroy Flowers. “We did a lot of Motown and number one hits, all crowd pleasers,” he said. The group managed to stay together until about mid-decade when everyone seemed to go his separate way, including Flowers, who afterward hooked up with Jesse Yawn for a spell.
“I have to admit by then I was getting tired of the business. I really needed a breather,” said Charles.
Several years later, Charles made a resolution that if he were to do anything more with his life musically, he’d have to at least leave for posterity one “absolutely killer” blues album. But, he still found that he needed an inspiration, a bolt from above so to speak, in order to undergo such a project so near and dear to his heart. And it finally came in 2001 in a small club in Randallstown that was presenting a soul group, State of Affairs. Someone in the band recognized Charles and invited him up on stage to do a blues song. And as fate would have it, he happened to bring his trusty harmonica with him that night. “Well, I accepted their challenge and selected Clarence Carter’s ‘Love Me with A Feeling.’ But I added a few lyrics of my own. Anyway, the crowd went wild. That was all the incentive I needed,” he said.
Nonetheless, he wanted to create an album uniquely his own which entailed writing all the songs. It wasn’t an easy undertaking. In fact, this labor of love was three years in the making. “I’m self taught as a musician and I started appreciating ideas like music theory, harmony, and arrangements, things like Lionel was trying to teach me. By the time I finished this CD, I was much more rounded as a musician,” he said. And many friends and acquaintances he had made over the years were glad to lend a hand in its fruition, such as harp man Mark Wenner of the Nighthawks, pianist Deanna Bogart, former alto player of the Dance Band, Steve Turner, and even J.T. Bryant in a cameo gospel role on “Thank You Jesus.” “I also realized that I’d have to invent a blues name for myself [Big Daddy Stallings] to promote this album and also might have to sing during a whole set, something I definitely was not used to,” he added.
“It was kind of funny. The CD began to take off. So whether I wanted to or not, I had to get a regular band together. And volunteers started to come out of the woodwork,” said Charles. First, there was horn player, Joe “E-Flat” Thomas, who stepped up and who was perfect for the group in that Charles prefers a big full sound. Joe also found trumpet player Kelvin O’Neal. Next to join was Wayne Johns who happened to live across the street and unbeknown to Charles played a more than decent guitar, but in a gospel manner. Nevertheless, he was amenable to changing his approach. Another expert guitarist soon came aboard in the figure of Ronald Bland. And ably handling the harp duties is Steve Levine, who, according to Charles “is young and still learning but has come a long way.” The original drummer was Ronnie Jenkins, who didn’t pan out as a team player, and was replaced with Russell Hayward II.
2006 proved to be a breakout year for Big Daddy, as he earned a trip from the Baltimore Blues Society to compete in Memphis, TN, as part of the 22nd International Blues Challenge. In September of that same year, he appeared at the Blues Society’s 10th annual Alonzo’s Memorial Picnic in Rosedale along with Doug MacLeod, Robert Lighthouse, and Mark Hummel. By November, his name recognition had grown to the point that he was solicited to appear on Baltimore’s National Public Radio Signal program broadcast on Fridays over station WYPR at 88.1 FM.
By 2008, Big Daddy, with more or less his regular band and the great Mark Wenner on harp, had already recorded his second CD, Blues Evolution, on the local Tai Jeria label. Mixed and mastered at The Bratt Studio in Woodlawn, MD, by engineer Bill Pratt, who also lent his keyboard services to the project, Blues Evolution also met with favorable critiques in both Living Blues (#196) and Blues Review (#114). And why not? With its emphasis on party music (all originals as well), it invites the listeners to roll back the carpet and make with the shaking---“Let’s Boogie,” “Blues Train Express,” “Blues Line Dance,” “Cha Cha 3000,” and “Hand Dancin’,” just a few of the good time numbers designed to set the feet a tapping. It’s a lesson he learned well from his first fish fry.
If this achievement weren’t enough, Big Daddy, after expanding his sphere of influence beyond Baltimore, represented the DC Blues Society at the 24th annual International Blues Challenge in Memphis and capped off this memorable year with a triumphant appearance at the 25th installment of Baltimore’s huge homage to the arts, the Artscape festival.
Two CDs in four years and another in the oven. And he’s already well established. Not too shabby. And thanks to Charles “Big Daddy” Stallings the future looks bright for Baltimore blues. It’s just a shame that it took so long for him to finally surrender to his true blues persona that lay dormant all these years. But for us, it’s better late than never. To be sure, there’s a lot more to come from where that originated. Because as John Lee Hooker’s “Boogie Chillen” reminds us, “it’s in him and it gots to come out.”
-----Larry Benicewicz, Baltimore Blues Society
Made with Macintosh
