BLUES FROM THE DRINK HOUSE, Part 1, by Larry B.

Photos and Text by Larry Benicewicz

Certainly one cultural phenomenon unique to North Carolina, especially in the less affluent communities, is the proliferation of what are commonly referred to as “drink houses,” in which unmarked, non-descript, private residences are utilized as lounges, offering not only cheap hooch to the locals but also live entertainment which can run the gamut from stand up comedy to down home gut bucket blues. Evidently, they are carryovers from a much earlier era - Prohibition, the bleak period in U.S. history (1920-1933) which forbade the manufacture, transportation, and sale of alcoholic beverages. Although many of these modern day speak easies have been raided by authorities and subsequently shut down, others have emerged in their place.
The most successful and long running of these surreptitious saloons have escaped the long arm of the law by not attracting any undue attention; that is, by not creating a commotion in the neighborhood. To gain entrance to this secret clubhouse, you have to either know a loyal client or be personally invited by one; otherwise you are trespassing and will be turned away.
There may be thousands of these urban juke joints (evidently both black and white) throughout the Tarheel State and there is no better representative around to introduce the uninitiated to these secluded (maybe camouflaged might be a better term) watering holes than blues singer, Captain Luke, since he’s been around since their inception. Yes, he can rightfully claim to have been here since the get go of these entrenched establishments.

I recently had the privilege to meet Captain Luke through the auspices of Tim Duffy, the founder of Music Maker Relief Foundation, whose headquarters are in Hillsborough, NC, north of Durham. In fact, Captain Luke was one of the charter members who first benefited from the proceeds of this organization which is dedicated to giving a helping hand to obscure, indigent bluesmen. Accompanied by Guy Fay, a talent scout for French label, DixieFrog records, who was also filming a documentary, I looked forward to finally visiting Winston-Salem, a good sized city west of Greensboro, where the singer lived. But when I arrived at our destination, I had second thoughts about embarking upon this adventure. Captain Luke’s address was on 15^th St on the northeast side of town, smack dab in the middle of the projects. It was morning and nothing much appeared to be stirring but a few late model cars came by which were luridly painted and ornamented enough to suggest that they might be used for all manner of nefarious activities. Their drivers, dressed in de rigueur hip hop costumes, scanned us cautiously, as we did them. Moreover, Captain Luke was late for the appointment and we were really nervous about hanging around in these strange, more than slightly menacing surroundings. But then Luke, wearing his signature admiral’s hat, pulled up in his big 1995 Buick just as we were contemplating leaving. His longtime sidekick Macavine Hayes (another area blues singer who will be covered in Part II) was riding shotgun and they both stepped out at the same time, smiling, obviously thrilled to see us. After handshakes all around, Captain Luke beckoned for all of us to join him in his apartment on the second floor of one of these units.

His tidy living quarters were a cozy but somewhat cramped suite of rooms of a standard, utilitarian design for low cost housing On the wall were photos or posters of his many international junkets, including a recent concert (backed by the great Miguel Botafogo) in Argentina with Beverly “Guitar” Watkins, another Music Maker artist. Scattered about were various ashtrays and lamps that Captain Luke had fashioned from scrap metal, folk “objets d’art” about which institutions such as the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore had inquired, hoping to include them in an exhibition along with his music. “Yeah, they’ve been after me a while now to display my handiwork,” he said.

You had the feeling that Captain Luke was really relishing his time in the spotlight. He seemed amused, even puzzled by all the fuss, even if it had come so late in his life. But he was lying back, enjoying it and going along for the ride. Yes, he was truly in his glory holding court for outsiders like us who came from afar to pay homage. A natural raconteur, he would embellish each factoid about his life with a colorful, humorous anecdote. Strongly opinionated, he was never at a loss for words. But any tete a tete chez the Captain was invariably spoiled due to the incessant ringing of the phone (and ours was no exception), such in demand was this bottomless source of information by writers, photographers, booking agents, friends, and even family. So many times was he interrupted during this particular séance that I had to give up myself and later do an interview by phone. At least no one could call while I was on the line.

As part of his documentary, Guy wanted to see a real drink house in operation and Captain was ready to oblige him. But first there was a little impromptu concert on the couch with Macavine, who thoughtfully had brought his acoustic guitar along. Without hesitation (or rehearsal), they launched into a duet of Slim Harpo’s “I’m A King Bee.” In short, they fit together like a hand in glove, following or shadowing each other, instinctively harmonizing. This type of close interaction was not a skill acquired overnight but through endless repetitions before friends, neighbors, and family. I realized then that I was in the presence of something special, even great.

Captain Luke was born Luther Mayer in Greenville, SC, on November 11, 1927. However, he spent his formative years on his grandparents’ farm in close by Clinton where he first heard the blues sung by his Uncle Jesse as he worked the fields. At night with his harmonica, Jesse would serenade his nephew from his front porch. The blues that first intrigued young Luther were those of the Piedmont variety of Blind Boy Fuller, Rev. Gary Davis, and Sonny Terry. Since it was the height of the Great Depression, times were tough, especially when a typhoid epidemic (he lost at least two aunts) lay low nearly all his close relations and Luther had to drop out of school to support them as they battled the illness. At age fourteen, he with his mother and sister relocated to Winston-Salem seeking a better standard of living.

At age 17, he took up with a junkman and scrap metal retriever, LaSalle Bell, who, according to Luther, nearly worked him to death “cutting up cars.” But it probably explains why even while pushing 80 he is lean (without an ounce of body fat), lanky, and in fact still sinewy. Spry and ever mobile (although he needs a cane to navigate the stairs), he’s far from ready for the proverbial rocking chair. There was never any sedentary period in his past and probably not in the immediate future, so much is he on the go. “I used to jog to work until I hurt my ankle in the 80s,” he said.

It was during the 40s when Captain Luke first became fascinated with the radio. And since black programming did not yet exist, he absorbed whatever music he could hear from that period, including country and big band. And he’d practice along to the songs.

In the early 50s, Captain Luke recalled his joy at singing in church, and his booming, resonant baritone soon caught the ear of Otis King, the leader of the congregation’s gospel quartet, the Veteran Harmonizers. He soon recruited Luke to provide the bass voice in this group but not before he instructed his young and eager protégé how to control his breath, extend notes, and make his voice ebb and flow properly. If nothing else, this experience strengthened his vocal chords mightily due to the sheer number of engagements. “We rehearsed every Thursday night at Otis’s house and then delivered two church services on Sunday, morning and night,” he said.

By the mid-50s, R&B radio was well established and Captain Luke took full advantage of it. Stylistically, Luke belongs to the so-called “Sepia Sinatra” brand of crooning which commenced in the 40s with exemplars such as Billy Eckstine, Nat King Cole, Charles Brown, Percy Mayfield, and even Ray Charles (during his Swing Time, pre-Atlantic days). Successors to this smooth, mellow, and sophisticated vocal approach include Brook Benton in the late 50s and Joe Simon in the 60s. Luke himself acknowledges a debt of gratitude to these latter two. But, in fact, Captain Luke had a lot of voices in his arsenal and would sing in whatever mode the occasion demanded.

As the 60s dawned, he was already making the rounds at all the drink houses in and around Winston-Salem, not only as a singer but as a comic, often acting in tandem with another entertainer doing Mutt ‘n’ Jeff type skits or Amos ‘n’ Andy routines, imitating the dialects to perfection just like in vaudeville productions. And if he couldn’t find a handy accompanist, he’d more than likely pull out his trusty Jew’s harp and render his own interpretation of Sonny Terry’s “Freight Train Boogie” or other such audience favorite.

Also, during this time frame, he was accepting quite a variety of jobs to provide the necessities for a family of four girls (his own) and two boys (step children)—roofing, plastering, and scaffold building for a contractor. In 1969, through a friend who lived in New York, he decided to investigate what the Big Apple had to offer as far as employment opportunities were concerned. But after working as an elevator operator at New York University, in the garment industry (in lingerie no less), and in the produce markets, he returned home to care for his gravely ill father in Winston-Salem in 1972.

But his luck soon changed upon his return from New York City. Not only did he eventually land a steady job in the maintenance department of Merita Bakery on nearby East 12^th St (from which he retired in the late 80s) but also he made a fateful encounter with one of Winston-Salem’s finest players, the late Guitar Gabriel (1925-1996), who was as well known in the territory for his outlandish hats as he was for his musicianship. Born Robert Lewis Jones in Atlanta, Guitar Gabriel has two Baltimore connections. His father, Sonny Jones, recorded a local blues hit, “Don’t Want Pretty Women,” here in 1950 on the Orchid label (#1211) at 1814 Pennsylvania Ave. In the late 70s, Gabriel himself lived in the Congress Hotel on west Franklin St. and at times either appeared solo or opened for a plethora of blues acts---Muddy Waters, James Cotton, Fenton Robinson, and Wild Child Butler---in the famed art deco Marble Bar located in the subterranean bowels of the same then seedy and shabby inn. Guitar Gabriel is not to be confused with Guitar Gable (Gabriel Perrodin) who recorded for J.D. Miller in Crowley, LA, in the 50s and 60s and whose tapes were leased to Ernie Young’s Excello records in Nashville.

The two hit it off from the outset and were inseparable. Captain Luke simply took up where he left off. But this time he had a permanent partner with whom he could perfect his vocal technique. They soon became the most sought after act on the drink house circuit, no mean feat, because there was a lot of competition---the aforementioned Macavine Hayes, guitarist and pianist Willa Mae Buckner, the Five Royales vocal group, keyboard player Cuselle “Mr. Q” Settle, and Haskel “Whistlin’ Britches” Thompson. Regarding this latter character, Captain Luke has much to say. “When I first met him, he was just hanging out, homeless. I actually took him in at my house for a spell and then even gave him his nickname. He doesn’t play an instrument but he’s like his own rhythm section because he can click his tongue and then pop it like a bongo.”

Up to this point, Captain Luke was still going by the name Luther Mayer. But this was soon to change. “I was clearing out a closet in a drink house when I came across this old blue yachting cap or whatever you want to call it. They were going to throw it out; so I put it on. From then on I was [christened] Captain Luke,” he said. Nowadays he’s never without one and every time I see him, he has festooned it with some newly acquired badges or insignias (perhaps souvenirs of his travels), like you might string trinkets to a charm bracelet. “I always have a white one now. And when they wear out, I go down to Miller’s Variety Store and order a new one,” he added.

It was Guitar Gabriel who in 1989 introduced Tim Duffy to Captain Luke. Tim was completing his studies for a master’s degree in folklore at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill. One of the artists that he was profiling for the institution’s notable Southern Folklife Collection (which by the way is a repository of the late Eddie Shuler’s Goldband archives) proved pivotal. The late, much traveled James “Guitar Slim” Stephens became a conduit to other long forgotten musicians in the region and he recommended that Tim get in touch particularly with Gabriel. After securing a substitute teaching job in a middle school in nearby east Winston-Salem, Tim finally located the elusive guitarist at a run down drink house on the outskirts of town. In short, it didn’t take too long for Captain Luke’s name to come up.

“At that time when he was teaching in the black settlement, he was living on Old Salisbury Road in Winston-Salem and we’d rehearse [Tim also plays a fine guitar] over there. He was just a kid then and we told him that we’d raised him,” said Captain with a laugh. Anyway the trio that they formed was called the Brothers in the Kitchen. And not long after they executed their first professional gig in Greensboro. “We got that name because I always did the cooking,” added Captain Luke. This popular ensemble lasted until Gabriel’s death in 1996, when he was replaced by stellar left-handed guitarist, Cool John Ferguson (b. 1953 on Saint Helena Island, SC). How Captain Luke and Tim Duffy (who discovered him) enticed Ferguson to move to Winston-Salem from Beaufort, SC, is a story in itself with Captain Luke again assuming the familiar role of Mother Teresa. But after he finally came on board, the band changed its name to the Music Makers.

As the Music Makers, it didn’t take long for them to expand their horizons. “I think it was in 1997 that I first went to Switzerland with Cool John. For some reason, Tim didn’t make that gig,” said Captain Luke. Most recently, Captain Luke and Macavine Hayes paid a surprise visit (they weren’t on the bill) to the annual Congressional Blues Festival this past May 16, not long after their arrival in Washington, D.C., from a European tour which included stops in France and Germany. There they were with Tim and with members of the Archie Edwards Barbershop Players under the rotunda of the Mellon Auditorium, warming up the invitees for the big show which included Derek Trucks and no less than three Music Maker artists---Adolphus Bell, “Sweet Betty” Journey, and Danny “Mudcat” Dudeck. And as before, being front and center of this huge throng, the two were positively glowing, basking in the limelight and having the time of their lives.

Yet, despite his long career in music, Captain Luke had only one album to call his own, a 2001 project (still in print) with Cool John entitled Outsider Lounge Music on Tim Duffy’s Music Maker logo (MMCD12). One track of this collaboration is included on the sampler CD, which accompanies the 2004 book, Music Makers: Portraits And Songs From The Roots of America. As its name implies, this handsome coffee table tome is a pictorial essay of the history of the foundation, including short biographies of its significant artists.

However, the principals of DixieFrog, including Guy Fay and head honcho, Philippe Langlois of Retheuil, France, wanted to do more justice to this most deserving artist, who had acquired a legendary status in the Winston Salem area. This decision to release a CD abroad made good business sense too, especially since he was often singing in their backyard and had no local album to promote there other than compilations or anthologies where he appeared, including three tracks on the 2006 Drink House To Church House Vol. One (DFGCD 8613) and two cuts on the magnificent 2005 double CD, The Last & Lost Blues Survivors (DFGCD 8597). To create this more fitting tribute, they took the original Music Maker CD of 11 tracks and augmented it by five new selections, thereby amply displaying Captain Luke’s comfort zone with a wide variety of musical styles, reflecting his many influences from childhood to maturity. The result is the elegantly packaged, double gatefold album, Old Black Buck (DFGCD 8631).

As expected, since Captain Luke had his favorite songs, Old Black Buck, as in the former CD, contains no less than four numbers recognizing crooner Brook Benton - “A Rainy Night In Georgia,” “It’s Just A Matter of Time,” “I Got What I Wanted,” and “Hotel Happiness,” as well as another preference of Luke’s - Joe Simon’s “Chokin’ Kind,” the latter was first a C&W composition penned by Harlan Howard for Waylon Jennings. Since in the original album, these five cuts, so near and dear to the Captain’s heart, comprise nearly half the selections, he hardly has any tracks remaining to remind people that he can ably handle a wide range of other musical genres other that of the descendants of the aforementioned “Sepia Sinatras.” But with the addition of the five new, carefully chosen pieces, this recent undertaking can now serve as the soundtrack of Captain Luke’s life, his musical biography -- from the folk rag, and title cut, “Old Black Buck,” that he might have learned behind the plow of Uncle Jesse to pop ballads like “Serve Me Right” (his composition) and “Waiter” that he could have heard, big band style, over the radio in the 40s, as well as the C&W flavored “One of These Days” of the same vintage, before R&B appeared on the airwaves. As far as the 60s drink house blues is concerned, there is the stark brooding, swamp blues of “I’m A King Bee,” the Delta blues of “Angels of Mercy” (featuring the slide of Tim Duffy and a cameo by Guitar Gabriel), and the barrelhouse blues dance number of Tommy Tucker’s “Put On Your Red Dress,” the latter invariably a crowd pleaser. Later in the 70s, no doubt Captain Luke had to adapt to changing public tastes and tackled the sophisticated soul numbers of Smokey Robinson’s “Still Water” and the funk of Tony Joe White’s “Polk Salad Annie.” There is something here for everyone’s taste and Captain Luke’s voice is still in fine form. As always, Cool John Ferguson supplies a superb, sympathetic accompaniment and kudos to the supporting cast of bassist Sol Creech, Michael Parrish on the 12-string, and Microwave Dave on guitar.

Indeed, Captain Luke, for a lifetime spent in music, is vastly underrepresented by recordings but Old Black Buck will go a long way to cement his reputation as the undisputed king of the drink house singers.

Next Month: Blues From The Drink House: Part II: Macavine Hayes

----- Larry Benicewicz

P.S. All of the domestic Music Maker CDs mentioned in the article can be obtained at www.musicmaker.org and all the DixieFrog releases can be purchased through
www.bluesweb.com

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Photos and Text by Larry Benicewicz

		Certainly one cultural phenomenon unique to North Carolina, especially in the less affluent communities, is the proliferation of what are commonly referred to as “drink houses,” in which unmarked, non-descript, private residences are utilized as lounges, offering not only cheap hooch to the locals but also live entertainment which can run the gamut from stand up comedy to down home gut bucket blues. Evidently, they are carryovers from a much earlier era - Prohibition, the bleak period in U.S. history (1920-1933) which forbade the manufacture, transportation, and sale of alcoholic beverages. Although many of these modern day speak easies have been raided by authorities and subsequently shut down, others have emerged in their place. The most successful and long running of these surreptitious saloons have escaped the long arm of the law by not attracting any undue attention; that is, by not creating a commotion in the neighborhood. To gain entrance to this secret clubhouse, you have to either know a loyal client or be personally invited by one; otherwise you are trespassing and will be turned away. There may be thousands of these urban juke joints (evidently both black and white) throughout the Tarheel State and there is no better representative around to introduce the uninitiated to these secluded (maybe camouflaged might be a better term) watering holes than blues singer, Captain Luke, since he’s been around since their inception. Yes, he can rightfully claim to have been here since the get go of these entrenched establishments.
		I recently had the privilege to meet Captain Luke through the auspices of Tim Duffy, the founder of *Music Maker Relief Foundation, whose headquarters are in Hillsborough, NC, north of Durham. In fact, Captain Luke was one of the charter members who first benefited from the proceeds of this organization which is dedicated to giving a helping hand to obscure, indigent bluesmen. Accompanied by Guy Fay, a talent scout for French label, DixieFrog* records, who was also filming a documentary, I looked forward to finally visiting Winston-Salem, a good sized city west of Greensboro, where the singer lived. But when I arrived at our destination, I had second thoughts about embarking upon this adventure. Captain Luke’s address was on 15^th St on the northeast side of town, smack dab in the middle of the projects. It was morning and nothing much appeared to be stirring but a few late model cars came by which were luridly painted and ornamented enough to suggest that they might be used for all manner of nefarious activities. Their drivers, dressed in de rigueur hip hop costumes, scanned us cautiously, as we did them. Moreover, Captain Luke was late for the appointment and we were really nervous about hanging around in these strange, more than slightly menacing surroundings. But then Luke, wearing his signature admiral’s hat, pulled up in his big 1995 Buick just as we were contemplating leaving. His longtime sidekick Macavine Hayes (another area blues singer who will be covered in Part II) was riding shotgun and they both stepped out at the same time, smiling, obviously thrilled to see us. After handshakes all around, Captain Luke beckoned for all of us to join him in his apartment on the second floor of one of these units. His tidy living quarters were a cozy but somewhat cramped suite of rooms of a standard, utilitarian design for low cost housing On the wall were photos or posters of his many international junkets, including a recent concert (backed by the great Miguel Botafogo) in Argentina with Beverly “Guitar” Watkins, another Music Maker artist. Scattered about were various ashtrays and lamps that Captain Luke had fashioned from scrap metal, folk “objets d’art” about which institutions such as the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore had inquired, hoping to include them in an exhibition along with his music. “Yeah, they’ve been after me a while now to display my handiwork,” he said. You had the feeling that Captain Luke was really relishing his time in the spotlight. He seemed amused, even puzzled by all the fuss, even if it had come so late in his life. But he was lying back, enjoying it and going along for the ride. Yes, he was truly in his glory holding court for outsiders like us who came from afar to pay homage. A natural raconteur, he would embellish each factoid about his life with a colorful, humorous anecdote. Strongly opinionated, he was never at a loss for words. But any tete a tete chez the Captain was invariably spoiled due to the incessant ringing of the phone (and ours was no exception), such in demand was this bottomless source of information by writers, photographers, booking agents, friends, and even family. So many times was he interrupted during this particular séance that I had to give up myself and later do an interview by phone. At least no one could call while I was on the line. As part of his documentary, Guy wanted to see a real drink house in operation and Captain was ready to oblige him. But first there was a little impromptu concert on the couch with Macavine, who thoughtfully had brought his acoustic guitar along. Without hesitation (or rehearsal), they launched into a duet of Slim Harpo’s “I’m A King Bee.” In short, they fit together like a hand in glove, following or shadowing each other, instinctively harmonizing. This type of close interaction was not a skill acquired overnight but through endless repetitions before friends, neighbors, and family. I realized then that I was in the presence of something special, even great.
		Captain Luke was born *Luther Mayer* in Greenville, SC, on November 11, 1927. However, he spent his formative years on his grandparents’ farm in close by Clinton where he first heard the blues sung by his Uncle Jesse as he worked the fields. At night with his harmonica, Jesse would serenade his nephew from his front porch. The blues that first intrigued young Luther were those of the Piedmont variety of Blind Boy Fuller, Rev. Gary Davis, and Sonny Terry. Since it was the height of the Great Depression, times were tough, especially when a typhoid epidemic (he lost at least two aunts) lay low nearly all his close relations and Luther had to drop out of school to support them as they battled the illness. At age fourteen, he with his mother and sister relocated to Winston-Salem seeking a better standard of living. At age 17, he took up with a junkman and scrap metal retriever, LaSalle Bell, who, according to Luther, nearly worked him to death “cutting up cars.” But it probably explains why even while pushing 80 he is lean (without an ounce of body fat), lanky, and in fact still sinewy. Spry and ever mobile (although he needs a cane to navigate the stairs), he’s far from ready for the proverbial rocking chair. There was never any sedentary period in his past and probably not in the immediate future, so much is he on the go. “I used to jog to work until I hurt my ankle in the 80s,” he said. It was during the 40s when Captain Luke first became fascinated with the radio. And since black programming did not yet exist, he absorbed whatever music he could hear from that period, including country and big band. And he’d practice along to the songs. In the early 50s, Captain Luke recalled his joy at singing in church, and his booming, resonant baritone soon caught the ear of Otis King, the leader of the congregation’s gospel quartet, the Veteran Harmonizers. He soon recruited Luke to provide the bass voice in this group but not before he instructed his young and eager protégé how to control his breath, extend notes, and make his voice ebb and flow properly. If nothing else, this experience strengthened his vocal chords mightily due to the sheer number of engagements. “We rehearsed every Thursday night at Otis’s house and then delivered two church services on Sunday, morning and night,” he said. By the mid-50s, R&B radio was well established and Captain Luke took full advantage of it. Stylistically, Luke belongs to the so-called “Sepia Sinatra” brand of crooning which commenced in the 40s with exemplars such as Billy Eckstine, Nat King Cole, Charles Brown, Percy Mayfield, and even Ray Charles (during his Swing Time, pre-Atlantic days). Successors to this smooth, mellow, and sophisticated vocal approach include Brook Benton in the late 50s and Joe Simon in the 60s. Luke himself acknowledges a debt of gratitude to these latter two. But, in fact, Captain Luke had a lot of voices in his arsenal and would sing in whatever mode the occasion demanded. As the 60s dawned, he was already making the rounds at all the drink houses in and around Winston-Salem, not only as a singer but as a comic, often acting in tandem with another entertainer doing Mutt ‘n’ Jeff type skits or Amos ‘n’ Andy routines, imitating the dialects to perfection just like in vaudeville productions. And if he couldn’t find a handy accompanist, he’d more than likely pull out his trusty Jew’s harp and render his own interpretation of Sonny Terry’s “Freight Train Boogie” or other such audience favorite. Also, during this time frame, he was accepting quite a variety of jobs to provide the necessities for a family of four girls (his own) and two boys (step children)—roofing, plastering, and scaffold building for a contractor. In 1969, through a friend who lived in New York, he decided to investigate what the Big Apple had to offer as far as employment opportunities were concerned. But after working as an elevator operator at New York University, in the garment industry (in lingerie no less), and in the produce markets, he returned home to care for his gravely ill father in Winston-Salem in 1972. But his luck soon changed upon his return from New York City. Not only did he eventually land a steady job in the maintenance department of Merita Bakery on nearby East 12^th St (from which he retired in the late 80s) but also he made a fateful encounter with one of Winston-Salem’s finest players, the late Guitar Gabriel (1925-1996), who was as well known in the territory for his outlandish hats as he was for his musicianship. Born Robert Lewis Jones in Atlanta, Guitar Gabriel has two Baltimore connections. His father, Sonny Jones, recorded a local blues hit, “Don’t Want Pretty Women,” here in 1950 on the Orchid label (#1211) at 1814 Pennsylvania Ave. In the late 70s, Gabriel himself lived in the Congress Hotel on west Franklin St. and at times either appeared solo or opened for a plethora of blues acts---Muddy Waters, James Cotton, Fenton Robinson, and Wild Child Butler---in the famed art deco Marble Bar located in the subterranean bowels of the same then seedy and shabby inn. Guitar Gabriel is not to be confused with Guitar Gable (Gabriel Perrodin) who recorded for J.D. Miller in Crowley, LA, in the 50s and 60s and whose tapes were leased to Ernie Young’s Excello records in Nashville. The two hit it off from the outset and were inseparable. Captain Luke simply took up where he left off. But this time he had a permanent partner with whom he could perfect his vocal technique. They soon became the most sought after act on the drink house circuit, no mean feat, because there was a lot of competition---the aforementioned Macavine Hayes, guitarist and pianist Willa Mae Buckner, the Five Royales vocal group, keyboard player Cuselle “Mr. Q” Settle, and Haskel “Whistlin’ Britches” Thompson. Regarding this latter character, Captain Luke has much to say. “When I first met him, he was just hanging out, homeless. I actually took him in at my house for a spell and then even gave him his nickname. He doesn’t play an instrument but he’s like his own rhythm section because he can click his tongue and then pop it like a bongo.” Up to this point, Captain Luke was still going by the name Luther Mayer. But this was soon to change. “I was clearing out a closet in a drink house when I came across this old blue yachting cap or whatever you want to call it. They were going to throw it out; so I put it on. From then on I was [christened] Captain Luke,” he said. Nowadays he’s never without one and every time I see him, he has festooned it with some newly acquired badges or insignias (perhaps souvenirs of his travels), like you might string trinkets to a charm bracelet. “I always have a white one now. And when they wear out, I go down to Miller’s Variety Store and order a new one,” he added. It was Guitar Gabriel who in 1989 introduced Tim Duffy to Captain Luke. Tim was completing his studies for a master’s degree in folklore at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill. One of the artists that he was profiling for the institution’s notable Southern Folklife Collection (which by the way is a repository of the late Eddie Shuler’s Goldband archives) proved pivotal. The late, much traveled James “Guitar Slim” Stephens became a conduit to other long forgotten musicians in the region and he recommended that Tim get in touch particularly with Gabriel. After securing a substitute teaching job in a middle school in nearby east Winston-Salem, Tim finally located the elusive guitarist at a run down drink house on the outskirts of town. In short, it didn’t take too long for Captain Luke’s name to come up.
“At that time when he was teaching in the black settlement, he was living on Old Salisbury Road in Winston-Salem and we’d rehearse [Tim also plays a fine guitar] over there. He was just a kid then and we told him that we’d raised him,” said Captain with a laugh. Anyway the trio that they formed was called the Brothers in the Kitchen. And not long after they executed their first professional gig in Greensboro. “We got that name because I always did the cooking,” added Captain Luke. This popular ensemble lasted until Gabriel’s death in 1996, when he was replaced by stellar left-handed guitarist, Cool John Ferguson (b. 1953 on Saint Helena Island, SC). How Captain Luke and Tim Duffy (who discovered him) enticed Ferguson to move to Winston-Salem from Beaufort, SC, is a story in itself with Captain Luke again assuming the familiar role of Mother Teresa. But after he finally came on board, the band changed its name to the Music Makers. As the Music Makers, it didn’t take long for them to expand their horizons. “I think it was in 1997 that I first went to Switzerland with Cool John. For some reason, Tim didn’t make that gig,” said Captain Luke. Most recently, Captain Luke and Macavine Hayes paid a surprise visit (they weren’t on the bill) to the annual Congressional Blues Festival this past May 16, not long after their arrival in Washington, D.C., from a European tour which included stops in France and Germany. There they were with Tim and with members of the Archie Edwards Barbershop Players under the rotunda of the Mellon Auditorium, warming up the invitees for the big show which included Derek Trucks and no less than three Music Maker artists---Adolphus Bell, “Sweet Betty” Journey, and Danny “Mudcat” Dudeck. And as before, being front and center of this huge throng, the two were positively glowing, basking in the limelight and having the time of their lives.
Yet, despite his long career in music, Captain Luke had only one album to call his own, a 2001 project (still in print) with Cool John entitled Outsider Lounge Music on Tim Duffy’s Music Maker logo (MMCD12). One track of this collaboration is included on the sampler CD, which accompanies the 2004 book, **Music Makers: Portraits And Songs From The Roots of America*. As its name implies, this handsome coffee table tome is a pictorial essay of the history of the foundation, including short biographies of its significant artists. However, the principals of DixieFrog, including Guy Fay and head honcho, Philippe Langlois of Retheuil, France, wanted to do more justice to this most deserving artist, who had acquired a legendary status in the Winston Salem area. This decision to release a CD abroad made good business sense too, especially since he was often singing in their backyard and had no local album to promote there other than compilations or anthologies where he appeared, including three tracks on the 2006 Drink House To Church House* Vol. One (DFGCD 8613) and two cuts on the magnificent 2005 double CD, The Last & Lost Blues Survivors (DFGCD 8597). To create this more fitting tribute, they took the original Music Maker CD of 11 tracks and augmented it by five new selections, thereby amply displaying Captain Luke’s comfort zone with a wide variety of musical styles, reflecting his many influences from childhood to maturity. The result is the elegantly packaged, double gatefold album, Old Black Buck (DFGCD 8631).
		As expected, since Captain Luke had his favorite songs, Old Black Buck, as in the former CD, contains no less than four numbers recognizing crooner Brook Benton - *“A Rainy Night In Georgia,” “It’s Just A Matter of Time,” “I Got What I Wanted,”* and *“Hotel Happiness,”* as well as another preference of Luke’s - Joe Simon’s “Chokin’ Kind,” the latter was first a C&W composition penned by Harlan Howard for Waylon Jennings. Since in the original album, these five cuts, so near and dear to the Captain’s heart, comprise nearly half the selections, he hardly has any tracks remaining to remind people that he can ably handle a wide range of other musical genres other that of the descendants of the aforementioned “Sepia Sinatras.” But with the addition of the five new, carefully chosen pieces, this recent undertaking can now serve as the soundtrack of Captain Luke’s life, his musical biography -- from the folk rag, and title cut, “Old Black Buck,” that he might have learned behind the plow of Uncle Jesse to pop ballads like “Serve Me Right” (his composition) and “Waiter” that he could have heard, big band style, over the radio in the 40s, as well as the C&W flavored “One of These Days” of the same vintage, before R&B appeared on the airwaves. As far as the 60s drink house blues is concerned, there is the stark brooding, swamp blues of “I’m A King Bee,” the Delta blues of “Angels of Mercy” (featuring the slide of Tim Duffy and a cameo by Guitar Gabriel), and the barrelhouse blues dance number of Tommy Tucker’s “Put On Your Red Dress,” the latter invariably a crowd pleaser. Later in the 70s, no doubt Captain Luke had to adapt to changing public tastes and tackled the sophisticated soul numbers of Smokey Robinson’s “Still Water” and the funk of Tony Joe White’s “Polk Salad Annie.” There is something here for everyone’s taste and Captain Luke’s voice is still in fine form. As always, Cool John Ferguson supplies a superb, sympathetic accompaniment and kudos to the supporting cast of bassist Sol Creech, Michael Parrish on the 12-string, and Microwave Dave on guitar. Indeed, Captain Luke, for a lifetime spent in music, is vastly underrepresented by recordings but Old Black Buck will go a long way to cement his reputation as the undisputed king of the drink house singers. Next Month: Blues From The Drink House: Part II: Macavine Hayes *----- Larry Benicewicz*
		P.S. All of the domestic Music Maker CDs mentioned in the article can be obtained at www.musicmaker.org and all the *DixieFrog* releases can be purchased through www.bluesweb.com

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