John Lee Hooker
Chill Out

They call it "Urban Blues" his. A blues bare, raw, made of removed things, without frills or embellishments (or so-called).

A nervous and undisciplined guitar, which often prefers the wild stride of a single rhythmic chord to the reassuring sequences of blues chords. A preference for dark tones and hypnotic riffs, repeated obsessively and indolently. A deep and cavernous voice, raw and visceral, bold and insolent, evocative and sensual, in a word incomparable.
"Chill Out" showcases the traits just outlined with the poise and elegance of great records. Furthermore, it stands out for an astonishing stylistic versatility, significant especially in relation to the bluesman's compositional standards. In particular, alongside an evident and unexpected approach to "orthodox" blues, there are noticeable soul contaminations of varying intensity, a nod to rhythm and blues, and an openness to Santana's Latin rock, with whom our artist signs the splendid "Chill Out (Things Gonna Change)", the album's "incipit", a triumph of warm colors and summer joy, perfectly painted by the extraordinary guitar touch of the Mexican musician.

After finishing our bike ride through the sunlit streets of Mexico, with "Deep Blue Sea" we find ourselves catapulted into the cotton fields of Mississippi, listening to the blues of an old colored picker. A blues as Hooker as it can be. Protagonists: a monothematic acoustic guitar (probably with an open tuning), a suffering voice, a foot tapping the beat. And that's it. Or rather, the rest is magic.
You remain hypnotized, listening to every single note, every single modulation of the voice. Four minutes slip by quickly and so, before you know it, from the cotton plantations we find ourselves in one of those magnificent American clubs of the late '50s, where blues and jazz played until the early morning: "Kiddio" appears slightly naive but exudes charm from every pore, resulting in a decidedly enjoyable episode.

The next piece is of an entirely different kind, "Medley, Serves Me Right To Suffer, Syndicator", a true fetish for lovers of great music: "Hook" duets with Van Morrison, another sacred monster of immeasurable eclecticism, in a blues that, while moving on roads already trodden and retread (as in the best tradition after all), displays an extraordinary freshness of execution and power, almost entirely attributable to the greatness of the performers. Definitely one of the compositional peaks of the album.
After sobering up, we encounter a liquid rhythm and blues that flows without particular pretensions, and then land on the splendid "Tupelo", another glaring manifestation of Hooker's minimalist blues, followed by "Woman on my Mind", which is on the same wavelength as the previous track. In these pieces, Hooker's interpretive skills - both in voice and guitar - clearly emerge, showing us once again a fact that not everyone understands: it’s one thing to play the blues, and quite another to feel it boiling in your veins. This regardless of the execution technique in possession (it is also known that Hooker was not a prodigious guitarist).

But back to the album. "Annie Mae" is a blues that stays with you, dominated by sensational piano phrases and a languid guitar that stitches shivering pentatonic garlands here and there. The grace and elegance of "Too Young" rock us in a gentle "lullaby", constantly teetering between minimalist blues and soul, the ideal "exemplum" of the stylistic variety that characterizes the album.
With "Talkin' the Blues" instead, we happily find the old dirty blues of old John, who with his unmistakable talk tells us a story that could be his, the life of a musician who traveled 90 (or 19..) days and.. well, the rest is written in the other verses of the piece... With "a hint of sadness at the bottom of the soul" - to quote a great one - we arrive at the last track.

The moving "We'll Meet Again" continues the dialogue started with "Too Young", with the difference that here the scales tilt decidedly towards soul: the soft flow designed by piano and organ, the unusually smooth and velvety vocal interpretation (well, as smooth and velvety as Hooker's voice can be, mind you..), the never intrusive guitar, the serene and relaxed rhythm. Everything is in perfect soul style, and it cannot help but pleasantly surprise us. "We'll Meet Again" is a piece full of pathos, and hearing him sing those words now that he's no longer here provokes a whirlwind of emotions in those who have loved and still love him.

Sadness above all. But also the awareness that John survives in the six strings of our guitars, and that in every blues played by those same guitars, we will meet him again. Forever.