Buddy Guy & Junior Wells
Buddy Guy & Junior Wells Play The Blues

THE ALIENS ARE AMONG US

Finally, it's Friday! I come home all pumped up and, as usual, I get comfortable, pass through the kitchen, grab a Ceres from the fridge to head to the living room and listen to a couple of vinyl records. As I enter, I see two strange creatures sitting at the far ends of the sofa. Well, sitting is a bit much, more like crouching: they're the size of my cat but are all head with a tiny body. I don't know why, perhaps due to some spatial sorcery, but I'm not scared; it all seems very natural, especially because the creatures reassure me by speaking like old friends. Just like that, it feels like I'm with two childhood friends I haven't seen in years, but with whom you immediately rediscover the school days' vibe. I pull out two more beers and put them on the coffee table; the aliens unroll a sort of butterfly-style trumpet from the small slit they have under their eyes and immerse it into the yellow, fresh liquid.

We start to chat, and they tell me about the great achievements of their kind, how they have reached levels of technology that free them from any obligation for the sustenance of their entire species. What drove them to come to Earth is what they themselves define as a paradox: they don't understand how, despite being close to extinction, our lives are better than theirs. This is due to the fact that they experience raw emotions and have sensed that what has made humans so emotionally evolved is art. With their boundless intelligence, it was easy for them to grasp what Dostoevsky meant by the famous phrase "Beauty will save the world," and they are investigating all forms of art. They tell me they have fewer problems with painting, sculpture, architecture, and so on. But music, no, they just don't get it. Perhaps that's why they ask me, since they know everything about me, to play an album that is the emblem of the Blues for them (clever aliens, eh eh eh, the Blues indeed!), probably just to study my emotions.

I go to the kitchen and get three more Ceres, pondering what to suggest: "King of the Delta Blues Singers" by Robert Johnson, no, I'd like something electric, "Live At The Regal" by B.B. King? "Muddy Waters At Newport"? Maybe it's best to propose something clear from the title, so what better than "Buddy Guy & Junior Wells Play The Blues"!

I put the vinyl on, sit down between the two little critters, and close my eyes to enjoy one of my favorite LPs, oblivious to their presence. The needle runs through and presents covers and original songs played like they're from heaven. Well, in fact, the one who had such an alias for his guitar skills, Eric Clapton, is present as a co-producer but, like the religious person approaches bread with mystical respect, he "limits" himself to playing (divinely, of course) the rhythm guitar and the bottleneck, leaving the solo to Buddy Guy. Buddy Guy, the only survivor of the electric Chicago Blues scene, lives this condition as a mission. With his friend, singer and harmonica player, Amos (Wells Blakemore Jr.), they have known each other since 1958, when, just arrived in Chicago, he bested him during a music competition, and with whom he formed an inspired duo forged in the studios and ballrooms of the chitlin' circuit. They reunite in 1970, then again in 1972 to record this masterpiece with a complicated genesis but incredibly compact that flows so well I almost forget about the aliens. Occasionally, I open my eyes and see them observing me with what I think is a questioning expression. Perhaps it’s due to how I twist on the sofa, contorting like a Sicilian pastry, playing imaginary guitars, beating drums that exist only in my mind, making duck faces in the silence of "uuuuu." When, upon their request, I list the musicians summoned to the spatial guests, I feel faint, maybe also because, while flipping the vinyl, I opened three more Ceres preceded by three shots of Jack Daniel's. But the names really are dizzying: the saxophonist A.C. Reed, keyboardists Mike Utley and Dr. John, bassists Leroy Stuart and Carl Radle, drummers Roosevelt Shaw and Jim Gordon and …

When the album ends, they leave without saying goodbye, sneaking out the window, of course, from the bathroom. I see them floating in the air, head-butting each other like my Ziggy does when I serve him his favorite meal. Maybe I dreamed it! But …BREAKING NEWS: Decoded message from space. In Italian with a southern twang it enigmatically reads: "We didn't understand a damn thing, but we're coming back. Keep the beers chilled."

Buddy Guy & Junior Wells Play The Blues

• A Man Of Many Words
• My Baby Left Me (She Left Me A Mule To Ride)
• Come On In This House / Have Mercy Baby
• T-Bone Shuffle
• A Poor Man's Plea
• Messin’ With The Kid
• This Old Fool
• I Don’t Know
• Bad Bad Whiskey
• Honeydripper

Bass – Carl Dean Radle* (tracks: A1), Danny Klein* (tracks: B2, B5), Leroy Stewart

Drums – Jim Gordon (tracks: A1), Roosevelt Shaw, Stephen Bladd

Electric Guitar [Lead, Rhythm] – Buddy Guy

Harmonica – Junior Wells, Magic Dick (tracks: B2, B5)

Organ, Piano – Mike Utley*

Piano – Dr. John (tracks: A1), Seth Justman (tracks: B2, B5)

Producer – Ahmet Ertegun, Eric Clapton, Michael Cuscuna (tracks: B2, B5), Tom Dowd

Recorded By – Richard Oulleppe (tracks: B2, B5), Ron Albert

Rhythm Guitar – J. Geils (tracks: B2, B5)

Rhythm Guitar, Slide Guitar [Bottleneck] – Eric Clapton

Tenor Saxophone – A.C. Reed

Vocals – Junior Wells