Delbert McClinton has hardly mellowed with age and does not mince words. Which is unsurprising considering the road he’s walked. His teen years in his native Texas were spent in blues joints rockin’ with the likes of Howlin’ Wolf and Jimmy Reed, among others. When many of his peers were going full hippie in the ’60s, McClinton was lighting up the roadhouse, forging his own hard-as-nails, electric-blues-and-soul sound. Rising out of these roots, McClinton grew into a formidable singer-songwriter, guitarist, blues harp player and pianist.
Emmylou Harris hit No. 1 in 1978 with a version of his song, “Two More Bottles of Wine” and in 1980 he hit No. 8 with “Giving It Up for Your Love,” which has become a de facto soul and R&B standard. McClinton soon enjoyed greater notoriety—but, true to form, his audience learned to buckle up and follow the lead of one of the more raucous sons of the original electric blues.
Over the years, the now 76-year-old McClinton has continued to top both the U.S. blues and country charts and has scored two Grammy wins. But it’s onstage where McClinton is most at home. That’s where he began and, quite frankly, that’s where it might end; his tour schedule and pace might find him keeling over in the spotlight of some darkened venue.
McClinton swings back through to Ponte Vedra Concert Hall in support of his 19th studio album, Prick of the Litter (Hot Shot Records/Thirty Tigers). Once again, he’s backed by the Self-Made Men, featuring Bob Britt (guitar), Kevin McKendree (keyboards), Mike Joyce (bass), Jack Bruno (drums) and Quentin Ware (trumpet). The album also has guitarist Jimmie Vaughn and vocalist Lou Ann Barton guesting.
We spoke to McClinton as he paused in Nashville, where he was candid, blunt and humorous—three qualities that have surely served him well in a life of bringing it on home with the blues.
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Folio Weekly: I’m going to go ahead and give you Album Title of the Year Award with Prick of the Litter. Was that an autobiographical title?
Delbert McClinton: Why not? [Laughs.] Have you tried to name anything lately? Try to name a band. Somebody’s already got a variation of Blood, Snot and Tears … whatever. Somebody’s already got it. So we were sitting on the bus one night, before this record came out, trying to think of a title, and somebody said, “What about Pick of the Litter?” And then there was a pause, kind of like, “Ehhhhh.” And then Bob, the guy who plays guitar with me, he said, “What about Prick of the Litter?” And we all just lit up and laughed our asses off. So we knew that was it. Hell, if somebody can’t take a joke, you better get a grip, because that is funny.
Tell me about the Self-Made Men. They’re a helluva band and it seems like you have a real rapport with those dudes.
Well, I’ve been working with all of these guys now going on about five years. And it’s the best band I’ve ever worked with in my life. We co-wrote most everything on the record and there’s just been a kind of magic that came about. Everybody’s close friends and we enjoy playing so much. It’s really a rewarding thing after this long in my life to play with guys like this. At this point in my life, I feel like I’m 50 again. [Laughs.]
I got ya—lightning in a bottle. I want to dip into the new stuff. It seems like half of these tunes on the new record are quite laid back. Was that a deliberate vibe you were trying to cultivate?
Man, you think that was accidental?
[Laughs.] I guess now I don’t.
No, man I’m nearly 77 years old, so I have a great influence of music from the ’40s; that’s what I listen to on Sirius—the ’40s channel. That’s what rings true to me. It brings me peace to listen to it because I understand it and that was before auto-tuning and when you made a record, everybody made it at the same time. And there’s magic there. These days, there’s the ability to auto-tune so anybody can be a singer. That’s become what it is. It’s not talent: It’s technology. You give some asshole a mic and turn on auto-tuning … in my opinion, it’s just pandering to a bunch of idiots. It’s the spectacle and has little to do with music. But nobody gives a shit what I say anyway, so it won’t make any difference. [Laughs.]
“Don’t Do It” features Jimmie Vaughn on guitar and Lou Ann Barton on vocals. Someone like Lou Ann seems to be an example of a player who’s crucial to Texas. She plays with everybody out there. I first heard her sing on a Roky Erickson record. She isn’t totally unknown but she’s pretty unknown to a larger audience. That’s almost like a Texas Career Move. What’s up with that kind of regional thing?
Man, I don’t know. Texas has got its own feel, music-wise, and some of it’s exceptionally good and some of it’s very repetitious of other things. But it is what it is. You know, having lived this long, I can look back and see how all the pieces fit together. Texas was a big deal in the ’70s, when that progressive or outlaw country was big. And of course we know what that did: It was a major “lah di da.” But also partly because of Clifford Antone [late founder of the famed Austin blues club, Antone’s] who, for many years, had the guys come through his club who were the real deal. People like Jimmie and Stevie [Vaughn brothers] had the world looking at that scene. But Texas has always been a major, major blues spot for white people. You know? Back in the ’70s, I acquired a book called The Folk Songs of North America, by John and Alan Lomax, and it details musical influences of the world that came to North America and where they came in, through New York and New Orleans. And those influences spread across the nation, through Texas. This is color-coded, I assure you, and there are more colors coming through Texas than anywhere else; just because of the influences through the Port of New Orleans. Those influences are very, very heavy so Texas has a really colorful combination of those styles that have been born and bred and grown—and sometimes stay—in Texas.
Blues artists and ’60s rockers generally aren’t known for hanging out in health spas. How do you think you’ve survived the lifestyle that still wipes out many musicians?
Me? Survived? [Laughs.] I’m just lucky, man. I grew up taking every damn thing that came along and we didn’t know it was killing us. When you’re 21 years old and someone gives you a nice Dexedrine pill and you’ve never felt that good, and you take that motherfucker and you can play the blues all night long and into the next day? We all did that. But I knew some great players that had the worst self-esteem of anyone I’ve ever known. They hated themselves and they were just incredible players. I know of at least three guys who drowned in their own vomit from shooting heroin. So it was a learning curve. [Laughs.]
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