Today is the birthday of Chester Burnett, the Howlin’ Wolf.
I was privileged to catch the Wolf many times. The Wolf had one of the most unique and amazing voices in all of music, but he was also an outstanding harmonica player. When I was twenty I saw the Wolf do a show on a Tuesday night at Sir Morgan’s Cove in Worcester, Massachusetts. It was a slim crowd, but the Wolf was in bigtime harmonica mode, blowing some incredible stuff. Impossibly huge tone.
Paul Oscher, Muddy Waters' former harmonica player, had introduced me to tongue blocking on the harp a couple of months before, so I had that concept on the brain. Wolf’s first set ended and the rest of the band hit the bar, but the Wolf stayed on his stool under the lights, staring at the floor. Naturally, I just had to ask him whether he tongue blocked on the harp.
As I walked toward him my legs got wobbly. The Wolf was one of the largest—and certainly most intimidating—humans I had ever approached. Somehow I managed to open my mouth and stammer out an introduction. I was a harp player, I explained. I threw out Paul’s name, haltingly explained that he had just introduced me to this mysterious technique, complimented the Wolf effusively on his harmonica work, and asked him if he tongue blocked on that thing.
An eternity passed as the Wolf slowly lifted his penetrating gaze from my shoes to my eyes. Several seconds of silence ensued, which felt like forever. Then suddenly that otherworldly voice was addressed to me.
“The Wolf don’t tell nobody his tricks,” the Wolf balefully intoned. “If you find out, the Wolf don’t mind. But the Wolf ain’t gonna tell you about it.” I beat a hasty retreat.
One thing for sure: there will never be another Howlin' Wolf.
