Detroit blues historically has been largely a music of African-American migrants from the south — from Big Maceo to John Lee Hooker to Bobo Jenkins. Even more recent figures such as the Butler Twins and Willie D. Warren, a pioneer in use of electric bass guitar with Otis Rush in the 1950s, moved from the South and ended up in Detroit in the 1970s.

Most locally born musicians have been jazzmen or fell into the R&B bag. Still, growing local blues artists is not a futile labor. Juanita McCray, Robert Jones and Thornetta Davis stand out as Detroit natives who have taken on the blues mantle. And a growing number of young white musicians and racially mixed acts — some of them refugees from the rock arena — such as Jim McCarty, Mr. B, the Detroit Blues Band and Mudpuppy have maintained a fresh and powerful blues presence.

Alberta Adams bustin' some phat rhymes on the mic! photo by Artemia Nyos

Still, Curtis Butler of the Butler Twins is adamant about the need to acknowledge the African-American roots of the blues, which he thinks tend to get glossed over these days. He remembers a gig he was playing when a young white kid proceeded to lecture him in alcohol-drenched words about how the late Stevie Ray Vaughan had invented the blues. “I said, 'Listen, boy, the blues is the only thing a black man can call his own. Stevie Ray Vaughan never picked cotton. The blues come out of slavery. Don't you never say that.'”

The Butler Twins were preceded on the local scene by another pair of brothers. The Collins brothers — Louis, known as “Mr. Bo,” and McKindley, known as “Little Mac” — maintain that connection to the roots of the music. Mr. Bo, whose guitar sound bore a strong resemblance to that of B.B. King (so much so that some say it may have hindered his career), was a fixture on the Detroit blues scene for most of the years after he moved to Detroit from Mississippi in 1950 at the age of 18. He recorded with such Detroit labels as Blues Boys, Big D, and Gold Top. He won the Detroit Blues Society Lifetime Achievement Award in 1996, and died not long thereafter. Little Mac, who played both guitar and bass and made a memorable appearance at the 1973 Ann Arbor Blues and Jazz Festival, was also a regular performer around the Detroit area until his death, not long after his brother’s, in 1997.

John Sinclair, a ’60s political activist, poet and music impresario, first made his presence felt as manager of the MC5 rock band, then moved on to promoting blues and jazz. Sinclair’s introduction to the blues came when he was a kid listening to well-known WJLB-AM radio host “Frantic” Ernie Durham, who played the hits of such big-time blues names as Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters. For Sinclair, a white kid listening to the blues and absorbing the music as much as he did, Durham’s show was a transforming experience.

In an effort to expose others to the music that had affected him so deeply, Sinclair co-founded the original Ann Arbor Blues and Jazz Festival with Peter Andrews in 1972. “We met a guy who inherited a bit of money and wanted to know what to do with it,” says Sinclair. Although the original incarnation of the festival only lasted for two years — 1972 and 1973 — it is widely regarded as one of the largest and most influential such festivals anywhere in the country.

“There were people who the bluest they would get would be the Yardbirds and the Allman Brothers,” says Sinclair. “That was the fun part of it, turning on young people to folks they never heard of.”

More than any other festival, the Ann Arbor Blues and Jazz Festival featured a wide variety of talent from both music worlds, and Sinclair took great pleasure in putting together totally unpredictable lineups that still managed to work. For example, Saturday night’s lineup in 1972 featured Little Sonny, Doctor John, Bobby “Blue” Bland and Pharoah Sanders. That same three-day festival featured Sun Ra, the Art Ensemble of Chicago, Otis Rush, Hound Dog Taylor, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Bonnie Raitt and Sippie Wallace.

The following year the show was headlined by Ray Charles, Charles Mingus, Big Walter Horton and Jimmy Reed, but the hit of that year’s festival was a blues musician by the name of One String Sam. He wailed on that one string, particularly with a tune “I Need $100,” that was included on a record of the festival’s acts.

“I rediscovered him living in a housing project in Inkster,” said Sinclair.

By 1974, Ann Arbor wasn’t enthusiastic about continuing to support the festival, so it was moved for one last show to Windsor. “We basically were bankrupted by that time and had to shut it down,” said Sinclair. And just as quickly as it had started, the best music festival of its kind screeched to a sudden halt. The shame of it wasn’t just the vacuum left by the absence of such a great festival, but that without festivals, there really wasn’t much opportunity for Detroit blues artists to play other than in a handful of blind pigs, cabarets and clubs.

But not everyone was willing to just sit around and watch the blues disappear. Especially not Famous Coachman.

Uncle Jesse White, recalling the musical history of Detroit. photo by Artemia Nyos

The Coachman cometh

“People don’t know what I went through, man, to keep the blues alive,” says Coachman, sitting behind the counter of his record store, Coachman’s Records, which he has owned in one form or another since 1954. “I promised Bobo Jenkins on his dying bed that I’d keep the blues alive. He passed away in 1984, and I’m proud today of what I’m doing with the blues.”

To step inside Coachman’s record store is to step into a potent combination of blues history and modern-day reality. The neighborhood surrounding the store is in ragged disrepair, and occasionally someone may come through the door to ask Coachman’s help with one thing or another. More often than not, the request may be for a few dollars. Knowing virtually everyone who visits his store on a first-name basis, Coachman usually knows what the problem is before the request gets made — and he helps out if he can.

The store itself is cramped with memorabilia: old album covers, CDs, new releases, family photos, photos taken of Coachman with various blues celebrities, and just plain stuff. After spending close to 50 years running the shop, it’s not surprising that he has managed to store such an incredible collection of material. On one wall is a poster of hip-hop artist Lil’ Kim. Elsewhere are posters of Millie Jackson, Isiah Thomas and The New Life Community Choir.

Even if you never saw the man, anyone who ever heard Coachman on the radio would be able to pick him out of a crowded room the moment he began to talk, with that trademark voice full of down-home grit and gravel. It’s a voice tailor-made for the blues. And starting in 1976, for 21 years on WDET-FM 101.9, Coachman hosted the country’s longest continuously running blues radio show.

He would routinely shout out to some of his buddies over the air, share his thoughts on a particular topic or interject some spontaneous lyrics of his own during the middle of a song. Then, once his blues show wound down to a close during the wee hours of Sunday morning, Famous Coachman transformed into Brother Coachman, shifting the focus of the music from blues to inspirational. However on public radio it couldn’t be called inspirational or gospel, so Brother Coachman decided to name the program, “Positive Music With A Message.”

“I told ’em my religion wouldn’t allow me to play blues on Sunday morning,” he said.

Coachman’s show was readily identifiable with his deep, rough-hewn voice. He could be counted on to play “Three O’ Clock Blues” every Sunday, right at 3 a.m. The show was as much Coachman’s personality as it was the music.

Years ago, when Black Bottom and Paradise Valley were still a vibrant reality, Coachman’s store was called Sugar Hill Records. The building was originally used as an appliance repair shop, but Coachman altered it a bit when he disconnected the speakers from a large, old-fashioned radio that he had found, hooked those speakers up over the door of the shop, and began broadcasting the blues.

Coachman began doing a show out of the tiny shop for WGPR-FM 107.5, later moving the show to the studios of WDET-FM.

Coachman recalls that it took a lot of work to put the blues message on the air every week.

“I was producing the show, carrying my own records and everything. “Now they (WDET-FM) have one of the best blues libraries in the Midwest,” says Coachman.

Over the years it’s hard to estimate how many local blues musicians were steered home from their weekly late night gigs just by the sound of the gravel in Coachman’s voice. Thinking back on it, Coachman has to laugh. “I used to bring a lot of you home drunk.” •