This is the artist born Walter William Smith and, despite his obvious vocal flair and mastery over the guitar, has little to show for over a half-century in the blues business. For the most part, he has assumed only a cameo role in the studio, backing other obscure artists of the Chicago blues scene--Dusty Brown, Joe Carter, and Slim Willis. His biggest project was the Steve Wisner produced Good Rockin' Charles album on the Mr. Blues label in November, 1975, wherein he ably supported the rather unrenowned harmonica player. And the only time he appears using his own blues monicker is on a mid-70s Willie Dixon anthology of Chicago harp players, including Carey Bell and Billy Branch--Low Blow--wherein he sings "Came Home This Morning and Found My Baby Gone."

Despite this paucity of recordings, his recollections suggest a deep and intimate involvement with the Chicago blues community from the golden age in the 50s to the eventual decline in the 70s. And like all the other blues figures of that vintage, his story begins in the Deep South.

Big Guitar Red was born on March 29, 1925 in Cleveland, MS, as he puts it, "right on the blues Highway 61." And he describes an era of the blues that has long since passed--that of the itinerant musician. "There really weren't any taverns in town like we have now, although some places had juke joints deep in the woods, where they'd raise a ruckus on weekends," he said. But what Red remembers from those days were the suppers. "Mississippi John Hurt, Charlie Patton, and Tommy McClennan would come around and entertain for the folks and then move on." These house parties were more than family affairs and were open to the neighbors for a small fee. "For a dime, you could eat all the fried fish you wanted and drink all the corn liquor and home-brewed beer out of the tubs," he added.

His family soon moved to Greenville, and this author inquired if he frequented the notorious strip of rough and tumble blues clubs on Nelson St. "I knew about it, but I never went," he said. "Anyway, I didn't stay long because I went into the Navy at seventeen during the war. The year was 1943."

Upon his discharge at Navy Pier in Chicago in December, 1945, he decided to remain and join the multitude of transplanted southern blacks who migrated north during the Depression and war, hoping for better opportunities than the harsh alternatives of back home. He married a girl he had met in Greenville prior to the draft, and settled down with her. It was a relationship that would last over thirty years.

Red had toyed with the guitar while in military service, but, upon his arrival in Chicago, took up the instrument in earnest. "There was a lot of music happening back then and everything from the country was getting electrified," he said. Everything, that is, but the bass. So, Red woodshedded, perfecting a style of playing called "background," where he would play the bass parts on the guitar to accompany the lead. "That's one way you can tell and old-timer around here like Eddie Taylor or Lee Jackson. They all came up like me playing bass this way," he claimed.

Soon he was "sitting in" in the lounges that were proliferating on Chicago's South Side in the early 50s. "One of my first experiences was being called up to the stage by Muddy Waters, himself. It gave me a lot of confidence," he confessed. The great Delta bluesman regularly held court at the Zanzibar at 13th and Ashland. And when this author inquired as to Red's favorite haunts, he reeled off a veritable litany of now-defunct blues dens--The Globetrotter and Red's both at Madison and Damen; Smitty's Corner at 35th and Indiana; the 708 Club at 708 E. 47th St.; Cadillac Baby's at 49th and Dearborn; Pepper's at 503 E. 43rd St.; and Sylvio's at 2254 W. Lake. "I probably played them all, but one of my regular joints was Theresa's at 48th and Indiana, where I was with both Slim Willis and Junior Wells for a spell," he said.

By 1953, Big Guitar Red had honed his craft to the extent that he was being noticed by other blues artists. Ironically, though, for his initial professional gig, he was asked to play first guitar. "Andrew Youngblood, who had played bass for Howlin' Wolf was starting his own thing at the Club Alibi on the North Side. He pushed me on lead. And I've been doing it ever since," he said. After a while, he learned the slide technique. "It was really Earl Hooker that taught me the most about the style, although I picked up some pointers from Homesick James and Elmore James," he added. When asked about the influence of J.B. Hutto, Red just shook his head. "You know, J.B. was a decent drummer in his time. When he picked up the guitar, it was the end of him," he asserted.

During the 50s, Red took up with harmonica players Dusty Brown and Slim Willis. The former from Tralake, MS, had a rather undistinguished career of two 50s singles for the local labels Parrot and Bandera. The latter was noted for several sides with the tiny C.J. (Carl Jones) outfit in the early 60s. "Things were different back then. We'd play at the same club as long as we could attract a crowd. It wasn't like today. All this movin' around. It'll wear you out," he said. Soon, however, he was backing the "big boys" of the Chicago blues circuit.

In the decades of the 50s and 60s, he, at one time or another, accompanied all the demigods in the Chicago blues pantheon--Freddy King, Willie Mabon, Howlin' Wolf, Otis Rush, Eddie Shaw, Jimmy Rogers, Snooky Pryor, and David and Louis Myers. He also hit the road with quite a few including Jimmy Reed, J.B. Hutto, Hound Dog Taylor, Big Walter (Horton), and Little Walter. "They liked me because I was always good to go. I had this day job--security guard--that I could leave and come back to. Over the years, I've been all over the U.S. and Canada," he said.

This author wondered whether he got to know these individuals very well. "I got along with Hound Dog okay, but he played too fast. Worked me to death." On Little Walter (Jacobs), the famous harp player, Red wasn't very charitable. "You know, he was one ignorant fellow with an enormous ego. He'd go right up to another harmonica player and start to heckle him and insult him right on the bandstand, just itchin' to pick a fight. Wasn't a surprise at all when he got beat up and died. It was a guy he made fun of. As a matter of fact, I was with him the night before [Feb. 14, 1969]," he added.

Red also played with the up and coming generation of bluesmen, the "young turks," many of whom hung out on Chicago's West Side. "Yeah, there was Mighty Joe Young, Magic Sam [Maghett], John Littlejohn [Funchess], and Jimmy Dawkins." In fact, he insists to have personally bestowed Dawkins' nickname--"Fast Fingers." Moreover, Red, to this day, mourns the loss of Sam. "It was really sad 'cause he was so young. He was something."

When Red wasn't touring in the 60s, he was a fixture at Jerry's lounge at Oak and Franklin on the North Side as part of the supporting cast for harp player Easy Baby (Alex Randall). "This is when I started to sing, or rather had to sing, because Easy would often get drunk and fall asleep," he claimed. It was a stint that lasted seven full years ('65-'72).

During the 70s, before blues music fell into disfavor, a lot of Red's activities were confined to Chicago's West Side. And by all accounts, the club scene was flourishing, at least in the early part of the decade. Some of the noted blues venues over the years included Mel's Hideaway (forever memorialized in an instrumental by Freddy King), the Big Squeeze, and the Washburn Lounge, where Red often performed. Red recalls that Otis Rush was a regular at Scotty's Place. And all of the lounges were centered in and around Roosevelt Road, the main drag. "There must have been at least three Howlin' Wolf imitators that were popular over there. I think one was Wolf Jr. and another was the Taildragger. On some nights, they were as good as the Wolf, himself," said Red. After having led Howlin' Wolf's backup band for several years, saxophone star, Eddie Shaw, after Burnett's death in 1976, leased the 1815 Club, and renamed it Eddie's Place, which became a popular West Side hangout for Red and other blues lovers.

One of Red's enduring memories from this period included an extended West Coast tour with piano great Sunnyland Slim (Albert Luandrew) and longtime Chess session guitarist, Robert Jr. Lockwood, a junket filled with quite a few adventures.

But by the late 70s, Red could see the handwriting on the wall as far as the blues was concerned. In short, disco was in and blues was out. In 1977, Red moved to the Minneapolis-St. Paul region, hoping for a new start. When he arrived, he quickly became reacquainted with two former Chicago blues figures, pianist Lazy Bill Lucas and harp player, George "Mojo" Buford. Lucas had recorded for the Chance label in 1953 and had backed a whole host of other Chicago greats in the studio, including Homesick James, Snooky Pryor, and Little Willie Foster. Buford was a mainstay in Muddy Waters' band, off and on from 1959 until 1983, although, like Lucas, had relocated to the Twin Cities in 1962. Red played a few gigs with Lucas up until his death in 1982 and helped Buford on some session work.

In 1991, Big Guitar Red again moved, this time to the Philadelphia area, after his new wife was accepted into medical school there. Since then, he's been showcased in many venues in the mid-Atlantic, especially at the urging of his greatest booster, harp player extraordinaire, Steve Guyger.

Unfortunately, a fall suffered on or about his 70th birthday last year has left him with an arthritic condition in his knee, necessitating a walker to get around. "I know people look at me and think this cripple can't do anything. But get me to the bandstand and I'll take care of the rest!" he exclaimed. However, this author needed no convincing, after witnessing two recent performances at the Haven Lounge and Cat's Eye Pub in Baltimore.

Complementing his prodigious musical talent, Big Guitar Red is a consummate showman who holds the audience in the palm of his hand with his playful banter and dry wit. Blessed with impeccable timing like a preacher in the pulpit, he plays in blues style that is nothing more than old time call and response. During an opportune moment he'll interrupt a musical passage with a pithy phrase like "you know what I'm talking about," expecting a rhetorical "amen" from the audience. And all the while he'll have this mischievous twinkle in his eye. His version of the classic "Cummins Prison Farm," replete with such sly interjections, is a tour de force of the slide genre and must rate, with all due respect to Calvin Leavy, as the definitive version.

But, perhaps, his musicianship is only exceeded by his powers as raconteur. And with the possible exception of Wolf's stellar guitarist, Hubert Sumlin, his good friend, he's in a league of his own when it comes to spinning a good blues yarn. So, this writer issues a caveat to the reader as a preface to these following tales.

Concerning the late Eddie Taylor, Jimmy Reed's longtime accompanist, Red has a lot of pity. It seems that nobody could get along with him but Red because of his disposition. "Well, he was afraid and embarrassed to play at clubs in Chicago. His wife would always follow him and get drunk. Then, she'd climb up on the bandstand while he was playing and start showing off her drawers to the customers. It used to drive him crazy. I don't know how many gigs I got because Eddie didn't want to show," he said.

On Eddie C. Campbell, journeyman guitarist who backed up Little Walter, Magic Sam, and Otis Rush in the 60s and Jimmy Reed, Koko Taylor, and Percy Mayfield in the 70s, and who now resides in Germany, Red had his own strong opinion. "Now Eddie was a real dope hound. He'd eat reefers for breakfast. He owed people some big time money and the gangsters run him out of town for good," he claimed. "That's the real reason you don't see him in Chicago no more."

The late Shakey Jake (James Harris) apparently had a double life as a professional gambler. "Well, Shakey Jake played harp and was the uncle of Magic Sam, who I think played in his band in the beginning. After his sets, Shakey would go in the back room and start shakin' the dice. He never had a bad gig cause he'd win all his sidemen's money, too. I learned my lesson the hard way. He was too slick for me," confessed Red.

Toward the end of his Chicago stay, Red was in the business long enough to be wary of promoters. "Well, one day this little guy got Jimmy Reed, Kansas City Red [drummer Arthur Lee Stevenson], Eddie Taylor, Sunnyland Slim, and me this job at the Seaway Hotel in Windsor, Ontario, just across from Detroit. After the first set, he started braggin' about how he got these suckers to play for nothing and I overheard him. I told him he better pay me or I'd tell the others and he did. You can imagine the fit the other boys threw when they found out," he chortled.

It was Red's anecdote on harp player Little Mack Simmons, who recorded for C.J., Checker, and a variety of small Chicago labels in the 60s and 70s, that really took the cake. "Now Mack, he was another one who was half-crazy like Hubert Sumlin. And he smoked too many reefers for his own good. One night, these cops were chasin' a getaway car full of hoods and they threw a bag full of dope and money into Mack's car, as they passed by. He was just sittin' there with his window down, and in comes this little present. You know, he didn't turn it in. Next thing you know, Mack has got a new recording studio, a few houses, cars, you name it. Just goes to show you," he told this writer.

Evidently, Red is seriously contemplating a move to New York City, since his wife is now an intern at Bronx-Lebanon Hospital there, and commutes back to Philadelphia on weekends. If, in fact, he does change locale, he, at age 71, faces the daunting prospect of beginning anew and having to carve himself a niche in the crowded, competitive, and sometimes cruel Manhattan blues scene. It seems that all his latest efforts to that end will come to naught, after having been finally embraced by the City of Brotherly Love. But what would be worse, indeed, and a tragic oversight, would be if Big Guitar Red, one of bluesdom's most colorful characters, is forever denied the opportunity of ever calling an album his own. Perhaps, this time, he will finally be "discovered."