There was a time, around 40 years ago, when Baton Rouge was not only the blues capital of Louisiana but also one of the busiest blues hubs in the entire United States.
From ramshackle juke joints in the countryside to rough blues bars scattered throughout the city came the raw sound of some of the greats of the genre — Slim Harpo, Raful Neal, Buddy Guy. It was nothing short of a golden age.
That was a while ago now, though. As the legends disappeared so did the places they once played; there are few juke joints left anywhere, and most of the clubs have long since been torn down. For blues fans these days, Baton Rouge is an altogether much quieter affair.
Quieter perhaps, but not silent. For the curious traveler — and music fan — there are still places in the city that hark back to Baton Rouge’s blues heyday. With a mix of the old and the new, it’s surprising to discover that not only are the blues far from dead; in some places, the blues are quietly thriving.
Tabby’s Blues Box, the rollicking bar run by the late bluesman Ernest Thomas, known as Tabby, used to be one of the liveliest, good-time blues bars in the city. It disappeared in 2004 after Mr. Thomas had a stroke, but, 10 years later, its location once again hums with the sounds of Baton Rouge’s finest. Spare and no-frills, the Blues Room hosts live music Friday through Sunday and occasionally on other nights as well.
Having opened only in 2013, it doesn’t yet have the prestige or reputation of Tabby’s; nevertheless, it’s the only blues-dedicated bar in downtown Baton Rouge. It’s too early to say whether it will measure up to the site’s former glory. It does have a tendency to close early and can be a little pricier than its hole-in-the-wall image warrants, but it’s still worth a look for blues fans who find themselves in the central city.
From there, it’s a roughly 30-minute drive to one of the area’s oldest and most authentic live music locations. Teddy’s Juke Joint, a rustic place in the middle of nowhere, has as much of an old-time, down-home feel as any venue in the South. As more than one disappointed traveler has discovered, there aren’t actually many juke joints left anywhere, let alone in Louisiana; Teddy’s, though, is the real deal. Operating continuously since 1979, the bar is still run by its founder, the gregarious Lloyd Johnson, who is known as Teddy.
It’s dark and cluttered inside, with green and gold Mardi Gras masks hanging from the ceiling and flashing neon lights lending the back of the bar a timeless air. Mr. Johnson’s wife, Nancy, works the bar while the man himself throws together food in the kitchen. He remains, very literally, a hands-on owner.
“I was born right there,” Mr. Johnson, 68, said, pointing to a spot in front of the bar’s small stage. It’s been a lifelong relationship; born in the building, he later rescued it after years of neglect by turning it into the juke joint it is now.
Mr. Johnson was a D.J. at the time, traveling around the area and spinning blues and soul records for a living. “Someone suggested opening my own place. They said, ‘Hey, now you can make all the money, ‘ ” he said with a grin. “But that’s a myth. Everybody gets paid except me.”
Thin budget or otherwise, the place has soldiered on through the years and now is the sole remaining juke joint in the area. Mr. Johnson still spins his records every night, a mix of both big names and locals, and still mostly soul and blues. Early country blues were often considered devil’s music, and by hosting rough blues musicians and their equally bawdy associates, juke joints developed a shady, vaguely sinister reputation. Teddy’s has a warm, welcoming atmosphere, although there’s still a touch of the mysterious about it. “It’s amazing what people think about life,” Mr. Johnson said. “Ninety percent of my friends won’t even come in the front door. They say it’s the devil’s place.”
Back in the heart of Baton Rouge, in an anonymous plain green building on Government Street, stands what is now the most active hub for the blues in the city. Phil Brady’s is, at first glance, nothing particularly special; all brick and windowless, it’s dark and smoky inside, its walls adorned with beer signs and hastily taken photos of the many local musicians who have hit its stage at one point or another.
(the los angeles times)
