BBoouussssoolleess eelllleess && eeuuxx Hidden depths A guitar, a harmonica, and two music legends, whose new album of intimate, empathetic blues speaks with humility of the trials of life. Things are not always what they seem. Sometimes we think we when I’m playing,” says Musselwhite; the lap steel guitar “also know something without hearing it, and think we can see some- emulates the human voice—the slide adds that element,” thing that isn’t there. Take this man, for example. He has slicked- responds Harper). When Harper plays this extraordinary guitar, back hair, like a star from a black-and-white western, a neat people listen intently. Connoisseurs will emphasize what some mustache and a lightweight shirt billowing in the wind on this forget: that mastery of this instrument implies a particular agility. windless day, a scorcher. Yet his bright, mischievous eyes betray “Ben Harper’s best-known albums are deceptive,” explains a litany of memories that others would prefer to bury, unfathom- a music production student at the Abbey Road Institute. able times, boundless solitude. Charlie Musselwhite is a blues- “Behind the very simple art direction, which makes them highly man, the bluesman’s bluesman, a man who strides into a hotel accessible, there’s a rigorous musician, and no doubt one lobby in the most unassuming way, the blues buried in his soul of the greatest guitarists in the world. But his playing is humble. beneath a guise of grace and good humor. He’s in a great mood He never puts on a flamboyant display for the audience, so and cracking jokes, but suddenly it’s as if he were missing a piece people often miss the artistic aspect.” Harper is constantly exper- of himself. “Would you like me to go get my harmonicas?” Not imenting, and has always been seeking new ways of doing waiting for an answer, the veteran Chicago bluesman heads back things: “I was a very curious kid from a very young age. The fact to his room to get some of the tools of his trade. “Here’s Charlie that I’ve outpaced it so far and didn’t let the troubled side of with the extension of his arm—whole at last,” quips a member curiosity get the better of me, that’s a good thing.” Harper of his entourage. The metal case, a Christmas present from his explores sounds and instruments, something he has shared with daughter and his wife eons ago—months of scrimping during a Musselwhite down the years. “We want to learn, we’re learning time when they were eating stale bread—is covered with Hells and searching, honing our craft. . . . Ben is an evolved being,” Angels stickers from all over the world. “They’re friends . . .” the harmonica player explains. And he adds in a cheerful aside, Hard shell, rough exterior. Musselwhite opens the case with a “That’s a compliment by the way.” swift movement, cut and dried. From the array of harmonicas For the duo’s new album, No Mercy In This Land, Harper has and microphones, he picks up an instrument, puts it to his lips stayed true to his principles. His limpid songwriting gently and wails on it, still looking cheerful yet somewhat remote. He’s explores the boundaries of blues, giving the record a contempo- gone elsewhere; the reeds vibrate, images of lost highways and rary feel, with the two instruments—harmonica and guitar— lousy feelings arise, unbidden. Musselwhite is having fun. both played with extreme mastery, responding to each other, He makes sounds weep and intertwine; they clash and collide; joined together by the vocals. Each occupies their own space out they appear, breathless, from an abyss. It’s impossible to see his of respect for the other, creating a balance; no one is showing technique; all we get is the sound. “That’s what I like about the off. Their latest album grew out of a tour that began in 2013, harmonica,” he explains. “Everything is hidden. Nobody sees when the two musicians, who first worked together with John what I do with my mouth. I’m the only one who knows—unlike Lee Hooker, were promoting Get Up!, their first joint work. pianists and guitarists, whose hands are always in view.” Their instruments may play with masks, but verbal trickery is Harper listens to his partner. His instrument lacks this hidden out. The words of French poet Yves Bonnefoy could almost be dimension. He has to open himself up body and soul to the audi- theirs: “We are ships heavy with ourselves / Overflowing with ence. And yet Harper’s instrument of choice does have a similar closed things, we look / From the prow of our voyage at all opaque tendency: it’s a lap steel guitar, which has a piercing, the dark water / Almost opening up, but refusing, eternally plaintive sound that bluesmen lay bare in their melancholic shoreless” (Les Planches courbes). Harper chose to express melodies. It’s played seated, laid flat on the thighs, with a metal the demons of the past, the dark unquiet nights, putting words slide that changes the pitch, bottleneck-style. There is something to Musselwhite’s sorrows. That’s what blues does—it bores mysterious about the technique—you can see his hands move, through the layers of ugliness in order to capture its but not exactly which chords are being played. It’s not clear how lacelike beauty. “Bad Habits,” “When Love Is Not Enough” the notes emerge, flooded with dark sunlight. The instrument’s and “Trust You to Dig My Grave.” Harper captured the pain sounds are not so different from those of the harmonica. And of Musselwhite’s memories in his words without the latter indeed, the two men use more or less the same words when talk- having to spell it out. Touching on them with great delicacy. ing about them (the harmonica’s “a great instrument for blues Their blues is intimate and expiatory, its sharp edges mellowed because it’s very voice-like; I think of it as singing without words by the soft sounds of the English language. 78