Pop Shield

Last night I heard from Henry that veteran blues singer Chicken Man had passed away aged 93. At least people think he was 93. He couldn’t remember exactly which year he was born. He might have been 89.

And so, I was reminded of the day in 2009 when Chicken Man was invited by Ted Robbins to Little Sister Radio to do a session. Earlier that day I had mixed an African dance band for Clarice. You may recall that this band had the most exciting rhythm section in the whole of Africa. Clarice scribbled down some things for me to ask Chicken Man.

Henry had warned me to expect a ‘bit of a character’. By this he meant that when he had met Chicken Man in 2004, he was still picking up the ladies on tour aged 84. Ish. He started playing the blues when his fifth wife left him and gave him a guitar as a leaving present. He is said to have fathered 26 children.

Chicken Man has a catchphrase. “I’m a LAYDEES maan.“ He says it rather a lot, onstage and off. Today is no exception.

When I arrive, Chicken Man is rooted to a chair in the middle of the room smelling of whiskey. I say hello. He shakes my hand several times and doesn’t seem to want to let go. He is a ladies’ man, he tells me. “So I hear” I say and start rigging mics and stands around him.

Before the session I had spoken to the radio plugger to inform him what would be involved. Some live tracks, an interview with Ted, some pre-recorded up-tempo foot-tappers and idents for Clarice. The plugger sounds concerned when I mention the idents. “Oh, we’ve tried this kind of thing in the past without much success. Also, we can’t predict in advance which song he is going to start playing at any given moment.“

This doesn’t dissuade me too much. “OK, we’ll how about we write it out all clearly for him?”

“No use, he doesn’t read nor write, he’s the real deal.“

“OK! Let’s just see what happens.”

There is a young sidekick involved called Ernie. He is Chicken Man’s touring drummer, who took him under his wing when they shared the same bill once, got him back out on tour. Decided to give back, he says. The relationship is endearing, but also there’s an undertone of something that I can’t quite put my finger on. Ernie is like some kind of musical care worker stroke puppeteer stroke interpreter. He works miracles with the instructions. Just bellows them out, winds up the clockwork mechanism on the side of the octogenarian blues guy, lets go and it all unfolds, albeit chaotically.

I roll the tape.

“OK, CHICK. THE LADY’S NAME IS CLARICE. CAN YOU SAY THAT?“

“Your name…is Kerry!”

“HEY NEARLY!!! NOW SAY “I’M CHICKEN MAN!“

Hey Kerry… I’m Chicken Man.”

THAT’S GREAT!!! GOOD!!

Best show IDs in a long time.

We go on air with the session. Given that Chicken Man is high on JD and speaking in a Mississippi drawl, Ted does an excellent job of holding it all together for the listener. The talk-song-talk format goes out the window, but what the hell. He’s Chicken Man. A Laydees Maan.