When he moved up to Chicago in 1966 he was still working a day job, but would hang out at the Blues bars at night and sit in when he could. In the sixties the old Masters like Howlin' Wolf could be found playing at places like Vern's and the Blues that Tail Dragger sings is still what he learned at the feet of those people. There's nothing cultured or slick about it, it's as raw as an open wound, as rough as sandpaper and will send shivers up your spine listening to it.
Tail looks to be about six feet seven inches tall, but he's built like a bean pole and wears a massive Stetson hat on his head so it could be an illusion and he might only be six-two. But he sure is resplendent with his sparkling grey shirt, bow tie, and Stetson. He carries himself with the assurance of a rooster who knows he's king of the coop, and Mick Jagger could take lessons on how to strut from him.
But the real show begins when he starts to sing. After telling everybody about how he's old now and hopes they don't mind if he sits down while he sings, he coils himself up in a chair just in front and between Lurrie and Billy. He gives an imperious nod of his head, and they're away.
After only about two lines of "Sitting Here Singing My Blues" he's on his feet and walking the length and breadth of the bar for the whole number. He shimmies and he shakes, singing and flirting with the women in the audience while keeping track of the band. Every so often he'll turn back to the band and call out "take it Lurrie – or Billy –or Kevin and the named player will solo.
I've been avoiding the subject of Tail Dragger's voice for as long as I could but I can't put it off forever. The problem is how do you describe the indescribable? I could use some fancy, almost romantic language, about it being the voice of experience; that it is a road map on which can be read the pitfalls and joys that come with living life to its fullest or other such shit.
But that doesn't even come close to describing the experience of seeing Tail Dragger open his mouth and start singing and his whole heart, mind, and body being forced through his throat and out his mouth. But even when he's singing stuff like "My Woman Is Gone", and walking right up to every woman in the bar and singing it to her, it sounds more like a song of joy then someone mourning a break up.
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