John Campbell
One Believer

"And when the time of my death has come, lay me down along the highway, so that my old wicked spirit can take a Greyhound bus, and go away".
(Robert Johnson)

What is this sudden craving for blues? Could it be the season, the desire to feel "in front of the fire", the need for slowed rhythms, to feel dark emotions to see if the heart still reacts.... finding oneself face to face, in the nest, in the warmth, with oneself, tightly clinging to oneself. And there's nothing like the blues to look within.

One of my favorite blues albums is by an unknown artist, John Campbell. I don't remember who introduced me to him, but I remember perfectly that I fervently advocated for his presence during a renowned festival here, in 1993. I insisted so much that finally the promoter gave in and scheduled a date with Campbell, to headline the festival on Friday night.
I can't express my joy. I couldn't wait to meet him, to hear his live music, to verify (ahem...) his murky mojo-voodoo charm. All of this for an album, One Believer (1991), an intense and gripping record, which I claimed as mine from the very first listen. (Here are some samples in Media player)
A fascinating character, John Campbell, a man always on the road, with a powerful, deep, and "dark" voice - like a Cohen of the Delta - that speaks of deserted roads, of horizons never reached, of love never resolved, of jealousy and vengeance, of eternal damnation. And with an angry, painful, angular, predatory slide guitar.
A man from Louisiana and his fingerpicking, in all its rawness: no technicalities, no intellectual pretension. So simply, honestly, sincerely. John Campbell is the personification of the devil in "Devil in my closet" who peers into the hell of “Couldn’t do Nothin' ", and who implodes into a rage too long restrained in "World of Trouble"... in this album, Campbell bares his soul and embraces his demons. The same demons that haunted the nights of Robert Johnson and that await you at the crossroad, the ultimate one...

A week before his performance at the festival - on June 13 - these demons took him away. He was 41 years old, his life interrupted by a heart attack that fatally struck him during a grueling tour in France. His weak heart was the consequence of a severe accident in his youth during a hot rod race where he also lost an eye and a lung.
John Campbell was a man with a guitar and knew he would die young.
Every time I listen to One Believer, I regret not having met this artist: it's like the intense nostalgia of a love that could never be consummated.
Is this the blues?

(Absolutely also listen to Campbell's Howlin'Mercy - Elektra, 1993, his last album, dedicated to the great Howlin' Wolf.)