Fronting the Blues Express, guitarist-pianist-singer Fred “Dave” Davis played live around Cleveland throughout the 1970s-’80s before being murdered in a stickup in 1988. His only recording was made in a living room in 1969 courtesy of Howard Husock, the father of soul-blues singer-songwriter Eli “Paperboy” Reed. A fully accomplished guitarist and vocalist, Davis focused on original material with a disinclination to ape anyone’s style, though the comparisons to JB Lenoir and Freddie King are apt. Released for Record Store Day by Remine Records, the reissue subsidiary of the Colemine label, Cleveland Blues brings the modestly scaled but powerful contents of that tape to commercial availability for the first time.
There’s always a tape (either a cassette or larger reels), or maybe even a battered test pressing or lathe cut record, to ensure that the door is never fully shut in the vastness of music, as it was recorded, both commercially and in for more informal situations throughout the 20th century. Of course, the large majority of sound that’s poised for discovery is likely not particularly interesting. That’s what makes the exceptions, and the sole documentation of Fred Davis is a solid exception, so special.
Davis and Husock were coworkers in a Cleveland factory, where the two bonded over a shared love of the blues. The living room where the tape was made belonged to Husock’s parents, with the recording intended to help Davis secure live gigs. Had I read before listening that the band backing Davis was a high school aggregation named the Blues Renaissance (not the group pictured on the cover), I would’ve been dubious. Highly dubious. But across Cleveland Blues the band gets the job done, though roughly half the tracks feature Davis solo.
Learning after listening that it was blues loving teens backing Davis did clarify a few things, as whoever is playing the drums in opener “Wine Hop” is, like, really playing some drums. They don’t steamroll the proceedings however, as Davis’ singing and guitar bring the tune a tangible Chicago flavor, and specifically the styles of the younger generation (Magic Sam, Buddy Guy, Otis Rush) who had only recently made their mark at the point of this recording.
“Wine Hop” is essentially a dance number, but “Drifting Blues” slows it down, adds a little piano, and impressively conjures a dark anxious atmosphere that’s familiar to the best electric blues of the era. And then kicking it back into high gear, the instrumental “Express Train,” with the piano more fully integrated in the scheme of things, really drives home the objective of this recording, making it clear that Davis could get them out onto the floor and moving, and also mix up the tempo so that patrons could take a break (and drink up).
“Midnight is Falling” is Davis in solo acoustic mode, and it’s here, in the high-pitched nature of Davis’ voice, that the likeness to JB Lenoir comes through, though I couldn’t help but think of Skip James a little bit. Davis lacks the demonically anguished allure of James, but a switch to piano, particularly later in the record for the solo “Five Long Years” can’t help but reinforce the comparison.
I wouldn’t describe Davis as a great pianist, but he’s more than merely competent as “Piano Boogie” is another up-tempo showcase sans vocals. Far more adept at guitar, “Time When You Say You Love Me” dishes more sharp guitar soloing as the rapport between Davis and the band is strong. It’s followed by a full band electric version of “Midnight is Falling” that slows it down and rekindles that dark anxiousness.
“Euclid Avenue” is another instrumental groover, this time with prominent 88s. After “Five Long Years,” a solo acoustic “Wine Hop” follows, and the record closes with “Tell Me Pretty Baby,” another acoustic number that highlights the soulfulness and stylistic range in Davis’ approach. It emphasizes that had the chips fallen differently, Davis would’ve been a much bigger deal.
To be sure, Cleveland Blues is an unpolished affair, but that’s all down to audio quality. But the recording is full-bodied, with a lack of audio hiss and no real dropouts. The point that comes through loud and clear is that Fred Davis was the real thing as a bluesman.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
