He might not have been the greatest singer, and his musicianship might not have matched that of those who passed through his band, but John Mayall, who died in Los Angeles, 22 July 2024, at the age of 90, was a key contributor to the British blues boom of the 1960s, to the emergence of globally influential, epoch-making British rock guitar and thus to major elements of jazz-rock. Many are those in the fusion field who will cite solos by Eric Clapton, an outstanding member of Mayall’s Bluesbreakers band, as a formative part of their vocabulary. Clapton attested to Mayall’s importance a couple of days after he died. Chris Barber might want to disagree, but the epithet “Godfather of British Blues” that’s often applied to Mayall doesn’t seem overly hyperbolic.
Mayall’s biography is well known and probably doesn’t merit repeating at length in a jazz magazine, despite the musical links. That would certainly have been the view of the majority of the British jazz establishment in the early 1960s, if Jazz Journal is any measure. JJ was rarely charitable to homegrown blues, seeing it on the one hand as inauthentic (no cotton fields in Surrey) and on the other as connected to the pop and rock culture which was both eclipsing jazz in the early 1960s and seen as representing poor musical standards and gross commercialism.
Despite the snobbery there was, nevertheless, real musical quality and musical advance in electric guitar playing in 1960s England. Clapton’s playing at once paid tribute to his US influences and technically extended their work. He was then arguably a guitarist with more range and finesse than any other blues player, anywhere. As Joe Perry of Aerosmith observes, an important part of his signature was the novel tone he created by insisting his Marshall combo be driven to full distortion in the studio. In Cream, along with fellow Bluesbreakers alumnus Jack Bruce, he added novel compositional ideas to his solo work. The same extension of the blues via composition was true of another Bluesbreaker guitarist, Peter Green, once he moved on from Mayall to form Fleetwood Mac.
These achievements were rarely if ever recognised in Jazz Journal, however. JJ had regular blues columns through the 1960s, written by Derrick-Stewart Baxter, but it’s hard to find any positive mention of British blues until in 1969 he settles on Ram John Holder, who passes DSB’s stringent tests of authenticity by on the one hand being black (from Guyana) and on the other having lived in the US before settling in London. In an article titled after Holder’s new album Black London Blues (Beacon BEAS 2), he exhorts those readers who “are biased and believe the blues died with Charlie Patton and Blind Lemon Jefferson” to be open-minded enough to give Ram Jam a listen. Yet only a paragraph earlier he says “It makes no sense to me to hear a young white British-born singer trying to copy a black man’s voice and intonation. However sincere they may be, the result is pathetic.” So much for open-mindedness. He says Wimpy Bar Blues is perhaps the finest track on Ram Jam’s album; the title seems appropriately parochial for one so fond of narrow demarcation.
One person who bucked the negative consensus was JJ’s Gina Wright. Reviewing John Lee Hooker at the Flamingo in Soho in 1964 she saw the Bluesbreakers without blinkers. She wrote “John Mayall is a fine interpreter of the blues and plays convincing Hammond organ and harmonica. The group were well chosen to provide the backing for such a great artist as John Lee Hooker.”
But more words were committed to panning than praising Mayall. No matter how you may still marvel at Clapton’s burning, swinging, note-perfect solos on Hideaway or Steppin’ Out, David Illingworth, immortalised in the pages of JJ, is on hand to cool your ardour. He wrote of the Blues Breakers album in JJ October 1966: “Clapton’s guitar is a creditable, if overamplified, synopsis of the styles of the aforementioned Messrs. King, Guy and Rush, but I cannot recommend the album on the strength of a couple of solos that only make you wish you had grabbed a few of those original 78s and 45s.”
A year later, he relented, saying of Mayall’s album The Crusade (JJ 10/67) “John Mayall has stuck to his principles in an admirable Ken Colyer-like manner, and frankly I must finally concede that this is the best non-Negro blues recording I have ever heard (well, apart from the old white Americans like Jimmy Rodgers, Bill Monroe, Roscoe Holcomb, some early Elvis Presley sides and the white Cajun singers).” But still, unadulterated praise wouldn’t do: “The British voice is not a blues voice; this must therefore remain the weak link, as to a lesser extent must the leader’s organ playing.”
This was nevertheless a sign of a gradual recognition of Mayall’s value and perhaps of a general rapprochement between the old guard and modernity. By the 1970s, with British blues and rock well established, and major labels signing progressive rock and jazz-rock (and thus often advertising), JJ was fairly frequently reviewing the offspring of the blues, manifested in the jazz-rock of, say, Mike Westbrook and Nucleus. But it was an uneasy truce, the early 1980s bringing a serious reaction as new mainstreamers such as Scott Hamilton and Wynton Marsalis emerged as saviours of the “real thing”. That battle to make jazz real – shall we say great? – again still isn’t over. Musical tastes aside, John Mayall and his protégés were progressives, and one must hope that force isn’t spent.
As well as playing guitar-centred blues, Mayall toured in the early 70s with jazzmen proper Red Holloway and Blue Mitchell, the former often playing with R&B bands. Red said of Mayall “He’s a very good self-taught entertainer and I admire that. It takes an awful lot of nerve and perseverance to become successful like he did… We had a good working relationship.” One wonders how Derrick-Stewart Baxter managed to square that international, interracial fraternisation – and warm endorsement – with his very own authoritative view of the blues.
