Today's feature is a documentary on the life and record collecting passion that Mr. Joe Bussard has carried out throughout his entire life. Joe, after many years of dedication to his one sole passion: music, has passed away. Eighty six years of pure energy and love through a common passion: Music! It was his first and last love. It would have been a great pleasure to meet the man, though personally I do not agree with many of his observations concerning music (especially those dedicated to Elvis, The Beatles or rock and roll). Even though I have never met him, I must admit that I do admire his passion, his drive, his enthusiasm, his craziness, his love and most of all his loyalty when it comes to the topic of music. A certain type of music and a certain period and performers of it. But music anyhow. Rest in peace, brother-in-arms.
It's tough not to like record collector Joe Bussard, subject of the film "Desperate Man Blues". Minutes into "Desperate Man Blues" we're treated to the bubbly and idiosyncratic personality of Joe Bussard. On the opening cut he's found smoking what is to be an omnipresent cigar and grooving to a prewar vinyl. Aficionados of air guitar will be as entranced with Joe as record collectors and old time music enthusiasts. Within minutes, the audience is treated not only to air guitar, but air clarinet, air fiddle, air trombone and even (this may be the only recorded case, which would suit Bussard fine to be sure) air Weissenborn. All this while dancing contagiously.
Joe began collecting 70 years ago throughout his native Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia. A few side trips into Georgia, South Carolina and North Carolina are certainties. Just like that barracks buddy your grandfather was acquainted with in the Great War who kept his copies of The Fantastic Four intact, Bussard had the vision to see treasure in another man's rubbish. He relates tales of collecting at a time when pre-Depression 78s were viewed as throw-away items. In the 1950s the original owners saw little value in what are now priceless records in Joe's collection.
A case in point. While hunting records in the Piedmont he came across an African-American man who had sold Paramount Records from his home. The humble tin roof shack didn't have electricity. Simply a gold mine, including a copy of Charlie Patton's "32 Blues", which we're treated to as video guests in Joe's basement.
This is only a pebble on the mountain that is his collection. While doing his once-a-decade interview with The Frederick Post, he plays an ultra-rare mint copy of Robert Johnson's "Crossroad Blues" on Vocalion. "Rock musician's will pay anything for it, and they've got the money," states Joe. One feels Bussard isn't selling. Only minutes before, he's quoted as saying that "Rock is the cancer of music," and referring to a 1933 side as "around the end of jazz." Though his enthusiasm for true American roots music is infectious, he does come off as a trifle monolithic.
A phone tip leads to the collection of a gentleman some distance from Joe's home. He happily travels out there while admitting that it could either be a mine or shaft. Shaft it seems to be. The records aren't nearly vintage enough, and few among us wouldn't feel sympathy for the elderly men whom Bussard invites outside to listen to some "real music."
So is the dichotomy of "Desperate Man Blues." Though one would be hard-pressed to find a person more moved by classic American music than the film's protagonist, a rye straw elitism creeps in, making the whole issue a bit unseemly. Naturally, a serious collector "and Bussard is as serious as they come" will tend to fall victim to a Manichean standard. We're talking about a fellow who has a Scotch reel-to-reel of his own recording of Clarence Ashley singing at home. Impugning his taste would make a fool out of the accuser. He sees Jimmie Rodgers as the greatest voice in American music and Uncle Dave Macon its greatest all-around entertainer. Hard to argue.
Joe Bussard's massive collection is his pride and joy, but he seems to share it freely through his radio program and a very inviting Southern hospitality to visitors. Who among us would hurl accusations of elitism at such a man, who is instrumental in preserving our greatest gift to humanity? As the spectacular stills and performance footage collected for the film would attest, he certainly has a point. This point would be welcome on a nationally syndicated radio program, in addition to his local one. Given the broad appeal that "Desperate Man Blues (named after the A.P. Carter side "John Hardy Was A Desperate Little Man") seems to aim for, we might all come to the realization that we've been listening to crap all along.
Joe Bussard was asked: What's your definition of hell?
"Hell, would be at a place where there's every beautiful record ever made, in mint condition. The finest playback system in the world and NO needles! (.... long pause....): "That would be hell!"
But before we get to the main feature, let's enjoy...
The Pre-Show:
The Main Feature:
Title: Desperate Man Blues
Director: Edward Gillan
Cast: Joe Bussard
Release Date: 9th October 2003
On Your Way Out:
Now that was an interesting evening, right there. I feel like jumping in a car and start record hunting. Problem is, I live on "the wrong side" of the world if my intention is obtaining those valuable pieces of treasure in my neighbour's backyard. I'll find other types of records, I assure you, but of a different type of folklore - believe me! Hope today's presents will be to your liking. It is there for you to dive into and learn more about the subject matter in the main feature.
Cheers, Shade.
Note: Password for all files: Shade'sVintageRadio
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