B.B. King: One Kind Favor

No one should try and even if they did try could ever over-shadow B.B. King. One of the greatest masters of electric blues in the history of the music and of course, arguably the last of the legends still picking and singing on God’s good earth, One Kind Favor is a masterpiece and stands proudly alongside the best of his other fine recorded moments. He may have sounded as good, but never better or if better not by much. I present this prologue so my next statement is understood in a proper context: Dr. John makes this record.

You’ve probably heard by now the story behind this record, my favorite of 2008. T. Bone Burnett produced this record, brought together a cream of the crop bunch of musicians and helped B.B. King select a powerful group of Blues songs—classics both well known and obscure—that he knew growing up or were popularized by such long gone contemporaries as Howlin Wolf (one of the greatest artists mankind ever produced).

Blues scholars (you know who are and you have been warned) may disagree with the following analysis. T-Bone Walker is an early master of electric blues, but it was really Muddy Waters who electrified the delta sound first pioneered by prophets like Charlie Patton. Blind Lemon Jefferson and Robert Johnson. Yes, we all know that they had to plug in to amplifiers to be heard above audience din in Chicago and Memphis clubs. Another evolution took place, and perhaps here Mr. T-Bone Walker led the way, in the post-big band world of Rhythm & Blues. The guitar, specifically the electric guitar, migrated from the rhythm section to lead. The horn section and the piano—really a percussion instrument, thus well suited to the rhythm section—joined sides with the drummer. B.B. King is one of those artists from this era—actually an originator of this whole format—where the voice leads the songs and the songs are based around the guitar, which commands the spotlight within a large ensemble and handles most of the solos. Chess bluesmen for example, tended to play in smaller combos, one or two horns were typical while B.B. King was most comfortable with larger, more orchestra-sized backing.

The Blues create a mood. A genius like Muddy Waters with his smaller combo cuts to the emotional core of a song, he takes the mood and hits you with the truth. B.B. King, with his bigger band, takes the mood and loads it with layers of atmosphere. This thick blanket of the same truth wraps around you completely. Whatever journey you take, or prefer, the end result of transportation to humanity’s deepest and most universal emotions is the same.

One Kind Favor, with its selection of bedrock blues tunes and its texture of B.B. King’s traditionally large band sound stands apart from similar recordings in this genre due to the simple fact it has been recorded with contemporary studio equipment. Solely in terms of sonic achievement, this could be the best sounding of all recordings of authentic blues music. Listening to One Kind Favor is an exhilarating experience. There is absolute clarity in the musicianship, the emotional impact of the songs, and the style and gravitas of B.B. King, who is determined to make another signature statement at the sunset stage of a remarkable career.


“World Gone Wrong”, a song I know from Dylan’s acoustic version on the 90s cover record of the same name, depicts love lost, a perennial blues theme. The narrator feels that the loss of love can only be depicted via apocalyptical comparisons. Dylan performs it as a dirge, a mournful death chant. B.B. King swings it wide open, the band cooking up a joyous backbeat. When he sings, “ I can’t be good no more baby, because the world has gone wrong,” the poignancy has an added intensity because we know the singer has more days behind him than in front of him. His age gives him an undeniable authority that embodies the song, and it’s the same elderly persona that finds a happiness in a lyric that on the surface might seem pretty bleak. B.B. King conjures up that blues magic, that paradox of something to both bemoan and celebrate.

The horns make your hips shake and your vertebrae shimmy. But within this texture, heard throughout the record, there’s Dr. John’s distinctive piano. B.B. King invokes the delta origins and electric evolution of blues guitar. With Dr. John we get New Orleans, we get all that jazz, all that boogie-woogie, all that be-bop, all that gutbucket. We hear the marching band inspired funeral drum lines we remember listening to coming from outside the window into the common room at St. James Infirmary where we lay on our sickbeds wondering if we too would die today. We get that dense, simmering, swampy voodoo funk (which encompasses all of the aforementioned) the Good Doctor got us night tripping to thirty some odd years ago.

The band is humongous—six piece horn section, B-3 organ, two drummers and sometimes two bassists—electric & acoustic. Where else do your hear such a sizeable ensemble, outside of Jazz at Lincoln Center, these days? A lot of components are at work creating this humid, midnight hour atmosphere. The catalyst though is Dr. John. His fingers make sure that the big band has got B.B.’s back. I don’t mean to suggest Dr. John dominates, or the incredible playing by the other musicians is not as talented, as noticeable or that they are less than equal cohorts in the mission accomplished here. But he is Dr. John and with Dr. John we hear Big Easy history. B.B. King is an elder sage reminding us of the Delta’s ancient truths, which he distills into a single emotive voice and bended guitar notes. The Delta has probably met the Big Easy before, but rarely with such equal recognition of common ground and equal respect for where their traditions diverge.

“How Many More Years”, a song written by Howlin Wolf (may his name forever be praised) could easily just have been a run through of a well known and beloved classic. Simple is not the case anywhere on this record. “How many more years, are you going to wreck my life!” the singer asks and in the version by The Wolf, there is rage and self-pity. We still get the anger and hurt, but B.B. King’s interpretation abandons the self-pity Howlin Wolf explored so thoroughly. The guy is 80, when he asks how many more years, we do not need to be made aware about the limited number of years being discussed. The big band rocks hard, enabling that mysterious alchemy of the blues when anguish uplifts us. With Howlin, the narrator seems unable to leave a bad woman. B.B. King has had enough and is leaving, turning the song into a farewell invective. It becomes an anthem about enduring the few years one has left. An incredible achievement has taken place here—a song is transformed, yet remains true to its original intent.

The title of this record is a lyric taken from the opening cut, “See That My Grave is Kept Clean”—a Blind Lemmon Jefferson song (which also has a Furry Lewis co-credit) covered by many, including Dylan. The singer imagines his funeral—with two white horses in the coffin line, his hands growing cold, heading to his burying ground. While only a matter of time for everyone, this scenario is a lot closer to the singer than most of us, and his voice has a tenderness that conveys that realization. The moment you realize the particular relevance of the lyrics to the singer, B.B. King slams you with some particularly tasty lead lines that go right up through your spine. You wince helplessly with pleasure. That effect is made possible by Dr. John building the foundation of this shuffle with an irrevocable momentum.

“Blues Before Sunrise”, a John Lee Hooker penned tune covered by Muddy Waters, is my personal standout track. Before the band kicks in towards the end of the song, we get an extended dialog between B.B. King and the Good Doctor. T. Bone Burnett wisely lingers on the interplay of Dr. John’s ivory with King’s picking, producing essentially a jam to begin the song—as opposed to an instrumental break in its usual position of mid-to-end of the cut. The band eventually storms in to bring it on home, but the long introduction here of a master of the piano and master of the guitar talking to each other musically is a moment of historical proportions, captured for prosperity and just about as beautiful as any music gets. Was music created because there are emotions in our souls unable to be expressed by verbal or visual images? I’d argue yes, and to support that argument today I refer the ladies & gentlemen of the jury to the first half of this specific recording.

There is not one lackluster moment on One Kind Favor, even when the song choice seems too obvious, like those old standbys Tomorrow Night or Sitting On Top of the World. King reminds us why they are old standbys, and discovers a newness in their meaning that their familiarity might have overshadowed in recent decades.

Rick Rubin paved the way for senior citizen artists to prove they can still make vital music with his American Recordings series by Johnny Cash. Rubin showed that the age of a performer can enhance some songs. Those mainly acoustic albums were a different sound for Cash—and the work with Rubin stands toe to toe with the Sun Studio and Columbia recordings we all know and love.

T. Bone Burnett has taken a different tact with B.B. King, producing a continuum of a legacy rather than a surprising addendum. B.B. King may be looking at the sunset he is fast approaching, but he makes Blues music that sounds ready for a new dawn.

I can’t recommend that anyone buy a CD for the performance of a sideman—and this CD is worth it for its star and the songs—but if you were to buy a CD just for the sideman, One Kind Favor would be the one because you will hear some of the best piano Dr. John has ever played. More appropriate than ironic that he excels in this rare back-up role. To all parties involved: Sequel soon! Sequel Now!